Special days

The Birthday Party (band)

The Birthday Party (band) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Apparently, anniversaries are hard. Birthdays, weddings, Christmas, they all play havoc with the grieving widow’s heart. Except, for me – they don’t. M’s birthday came and went. We lit a candle on a Tesco cupcake, sang Happy Birthday and watched Lion King. I barely noticed the wedding anniversary passing by. Christmas was a drunken blur – I have a vague memory of a game of Articulate somewhere between the salmon blinis and a vat of Prosecco.

The problem is, I miss Him EVERY FUCKING DAY. No day is special by virtue of its relation to a date in the diary. All this earnest chinking to ‘absent friends’ – in my life, M is absent all the time, not just on significant dates.

I have just returned from a joint birthday party for my daughter and her best friend, V. My girl turns 5 on the 2nd of May and her best friend was 5 ten days earlier. Today couldn’t have been better – early rain clouds cleared for blue skies, bouncy castle was in place.

I tried so hard not to acknowledge you, Grief, but sadly you got the better of me didn’t you? On the way home from this joint party I could barely see the pavement through my tears.

I’m pissed. And I miss Him so fucking much.

Sleep well with your partners tonight. Imagine what it would be to never cuddle up to them again.

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4 thoughts on “Special days

  1. The last time I cuddles my son, Sulien, 12 was his last night here. Even though he was dead, it was his last night before we buried him and I held him knowing Id never hold him again. We were very physical, us too and I miss it terribly. And I cant drink, so just feel x

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