Into the last week now. Approaching ‘the anniversary’. I don’t want to mark this date. It makes me feel sick. But it’s unavoidable.
The tap tears are back. Slightly delayed/derailed by the continued magic of #107days. A strange standoff between the awfulness of what happened and the awesomeness of what is happening. An aw-battle.
That’s good really. Less than a week to go. And no collapse. I steel myself over and over to think about the good stuff, the years of happy and hilarious memories. Yeah. That’s comforting. A shedload of awesomeness.
Then I come back to the enormity of life without LB. Of the canyon size space he left. That there will be no new memories. That the stories and memories have stopped. He packed em in. Giving us the richest bank imaginable. But they gotta last and spread across however many years. Maybe losing colour and texture along the way. [Howl].
And every ‘special’ day – birthdays, weddings, Christmas, Easter, even holidays – has become a day of sadness. Or more sadness. Sort of anti-special days. Days I’d rather avoid. How crap is that?
I don’t know.
What do you do a year to the day your beautiful, funny and off the scale of quirky dude drowned in the bath in hospital?