I was about to delete last night’s Rioja-fuelled post fearing that it was badly-written, moronic drivel (Christ, maybe that woman was right after all), but someone commented on it which made me think that it had obviously resonated somewhere out in the ether.
What I wanted to add was that whilst anniversaries register as a minor blip on the flatline of emotions since M’s death, it is the milestones reached by my daughter which cause it to zigzag out of control. She is turning 5 and I want Him to see it. She reads her first sentence and I want Him to hear it.
And with each milestone that passes, her memory of Him recedes. Photographs and keepsakes are important, but she won’t remember what it felt like to have her hand curled around His.
Nurse, send in the crash team, quick!