Last night, I had an extra large glass of wine and stayed up until 10pm. This morning, light filtered through my curtains at 4.45am as usual, my eyelids flickered and then I fell back asleep. Then, when I awoke, I sat in bed slowly sipping an enormous mug of hot chocolate whilst talking to my boyfriend and reading a magazine.
My daughter spent the night at her grandparents.
When I finally got up, I made the bed. I took a long, hot, silent shower and got ready. I took a trip to Tesco and ambled down the aisles stopping to look at anything and everything that caught my eye. Afterward, I wandered around the clothes shops and treated myself to a coffee and cake. Upon returning home I did other jobs; hung out the washing, watered the garden, painted my nails.
And I type this now back in bed! At 2pm!
I remember how this used to be the norm. How I could pick and chose how I spent my days, filling my time with this or that. Wandering. Ambling. How I knew the names of made-for-the-media celebrities and would spend my money on party dresses and fashionable shoes. Shoes that looked lovely whilst wandering and ambling.
Things were different today though. Where was the bouncing as I changed the bed? The photos I flicked through featured smiles that were unusually dimmed, subdued. The enormous hot chocolate was too much for me alone. In Tesco I missed the singing. As I shopped for a dress for this weekends party I realised that practicality was probably the order of the day. I left empty handed. And here is the part where poetic license suggests I claim to have scanned for sensible shoes, but anyone who knows me will see right through that. Suffice to say I looked at lovely shoes…in size 22.
Her absence was everywhere. How did I not see it before? Or maybe I did. Maybe all of those times I felt lost and alone I was simply missing someone I was yet to meet.