The heights and descents, the ebbs and flows. The prints and negatives, the sunrise and fall.
The now everyday contradictions and the things I’m convinced I’ll cope with nicely.
The ‘No problems’, the ‘Nothing to see heres’.
These things often turn out to be,
The things that stab and jab and burn and land the hardest, splice the deepest. They spike and surge and blister up. Opening cavernously, unexpectedly, unashamedly.
Like today’s tsunami, after an undetected under ocean volcanic eruption.
Rising from hidden ancient platonic plates, to cut and divide and devastate everyday lives.
I mean, after all, it’s only a quiet lunchtime drink with some of Izzy’s old school friends.
The ones that remain to this day, framed by her bedside, a group selfie lovingly encased, cherishingly placed.
And later in the day, a visit from her childhood friend, her Nandos and Nachos best buddy, now here with her beloved son and family in tow.
And as the midday breeze chills to an early evening Winter freeze,
I find that I can’t stop crying.
Every tiny, gentle gesture, every knowing expression, every familiar tone, every knowing glance. Every laughed at memory, every iPhone photo recall. Every overheard minor chord change and lyrical turn of phrase.
These spark and ignite more salt water teardrops, bitter warm, running down my face. I sit in Waitrose carpark, waiting, as Nick Cave sings to me.
My shivers and shudders turn to common cold like symptoms.
My bow strains, my frown forges, as my consciousness, still, near 3 years on, strives to make some sick sense of this.
Later, in the evening, alone in our PJs, half way up the stairs, Trace and I hold each other.
And she says, ‘This is our life now.’