Six Months


Has it really been that long? It feels like just yesterday that we were laughing at your efforts to drink some water with a syringe. I didn’t think for one moment that I’d cope, that we would all manage to get through the first days after you left but we have, and we’ve done it well. We’ve remembered you with joy, with love, with painful grief. There is still a profound sense of disbelief, a feeling that you’ll get home from work and crash your way through the front door, whistling, with your shirt sleeves rolled up and your pass in your top pocket. I miss ironing your shirts!


Your last day was beautiful; sunny and warm with gusts of wind shaking the trees outside our bedroom window. You’ve missed Summer and Autumn and it’s frightening passing through the seasons without you; every change of weather marks the time I’ve been on my own. There’s an unsettled feeling in me, as if I’m waiting for something.

We talk about you often and laugh at the things you used to say and the ridiculous things you did. But we all know things will never be the same even if eventually they’re OK because you, my darling boy, are irreplaceable.


So today is a bad day, a day when tears are falling before I realise I’m even crying. As our lovely friend Jane advised, I’m wallowing. Maybe it’s because it’s been 6 months, or because it’s your Dad’s first birthday without you forgetting to sign his card, or because I have so, so much to tell you! Perhaps it’s because Dexter made a phone call to you on his toy phone and had a long chat with you, or because the lovely people who bought your car found your work pass in it and sweetly posted it back to me along with some scribbled notes and a pen with “Dad” written on it.


Or maybe it’s just one of those days when I miss you more than ever and find myself looking for ways to get you back.