It is hard to imagine that this time last year it was still snowing. I was sitting by your side, not sleeping, not eating. My dress three days unchanged, my underwear the same. My face unwashed was tight with dried tears and crumpled make up, my hair unbrushed scraped back from my face, this is the worst you have ever seen me look. And you've seen me ill and drunk and broken.
It's hard to imagine that this time last year you were still here. Breathing softly, the whispering noises of hospital equipment, the soundtrack of the past few months. None of us had slept, all too scared to close our eyes or slip out for food or fresh air in case you sneaked away unnoticed. It's probably what you wanted to do, but those last few moments felt too precious to sleep through.
Selfishly we invaded your peace, your privacy, your every wish. We forced our company on you, our chatter, our prayer, our songs. Even if you wanted to slip away in peaceful solitude, we gave you no choice. This invasion had some funny consequences, a triumph to how well you raised us to find laughter in the saddest of circumstances. But exhausted and unkempt we were ready to let you go.
I'm tearing up writing this, and I miss your cold hands wiping away my tears cooling my hot cheeks. Sometimes I don't know how we managed last year, the snow; and the sleep; and the months of terrible hospital food; and the week of starvation...but then I remember we had you. You were still here.
Now I wish you were here still, and I regret letting you slip away. I regret not holding on. You said you would leave us when we could look after ourselves, sometimes I think you were a little premature in your departure. I miss talking to you, I know we all do. I missed your advice when picking out my birthday dress and what to get Rose for Christmas. I miss you proof reading applications and your disappointed talks when I've settled for mediocre and easy. I miss calling you only to find you were busy, I miss your ridiculous magic and you being the only person who too thinks its acceptable to have cheese and crackers for supper (if that's what we fancied). I miss your singing and your stories I know by heart.
It's hard to imagine that it's been a year and secretly I'm not ready to wash away the hospital smell, the exhaustion and the hunger. Not yet.
