Its been 365 days.
8 stews, 4 soups, and 6 lots of egg mayo sandwiches – all of which you never got to share with us. I can’t even count the banana breads you’ve missed out on.
Some days I can laugh about old stories, and some I still mourn that I’ll never hear one for the first time again.
There’s a box of your things in my room that still smell of your cigarettes.
Your Order of Service still sits on display in my living room.
A tag from one of Julie’s favours given out at your funeral still proudly on the wall behind my desk at work.
The Chi-Lites’ ‘Have You Seen Her’ came on the radio in the office the other day, a totally random choice during the same 100 songs that are on rotation daily, so I like to think, in a way, it was you saying you’re alright.
I miss visiting you and listening to your music – you always had the speakers so loud that you could feel the bass in your bones.
I’ve found grief is a bit like a Christmas tree, where it’s visible all at once for so long, but even when you think it’s gone you’re still finding the odd pine needle in places you don’t expect to.
I don’t think I’ll ever find all of the pine needles, never fully get over losing you so soon and so suddenly; at least when I think of you now, it’s happy tears.
Alisha Dempsey 