Today you’d have enrolled on your Geog Degree at Sheffield Uni.
Yesterday we’d have helped you move Ikea pots and pans and a choice selection of kitchen essentials along with your newly acquired and excitedly ordered and colour coordinated stationary into your halls of res.
We’d have argued about helping you, because you’d have wanted to do it all yourself, in Mario your Mini, of course. And you’d have not realised how important a moment it was for me and Trace and how much I’d have wanted to help you move your stuff in with Jeepie.
You’d have smiled and chatted and charmed the pants off everyone you met. You’d have worked hard and never missed a lecture, even when you’d partied hard. And everyone would have loved you and loved Mario and you’d have taken new friends around Sheffield and introduced them to Corp and gone to places to hang out in town, away from the Uni crowds.
And, as you knew, because I’d told you so many times, expectations were high. After all, I’d have reminded you again, we’re a Family of Firsts. First for me, First for Molly, First for Beth. There’s nowhere else to go but a First, is there? I’d remind you again. So, over to you Izzy Squire, no pressure.
And I’d have been so happy and so proud of you and you’d have been embarrassed about what I wore and how I’d have chatted and flirted with your new housemates and you’d have ushered me out or blatantly told me to leave now please.
Then I’d have slipped you some 20’s on the quiet and we’d have done the false hug/slap-on-the-back thing we did, the ‘father/daughter bonding’ joke.
And I’d have missed you and gone home and your room would have felt empty and void of you. But we’d have smiled knowing you’d be in your element, a confident, courageous, studious charmer, finally at Uni, where you so wanted to be.
Instead, there are now splashes of tears and droplets of snot on the floor of the Hallamshire gym and I’m late because I’m writing this and your room is silent and exactly as you left it when you went, except for your still unpacked backpack and your top, hung up on your wardrobe door, the top you wore the day before you died.
Izzy Squire. Love of my life, apple of eye. I miss you.