Days

So the days come and go. The sun rising over the black line of the tops each morning. I make porridge and meet another day in a world without G. A walk in my wellies through the sucking mud and the puddles. Some small task, cleaning the sink, some shopping, washing my favourite jumper. Emails to friends, and to my work to start planning my return next week. Cups of tea. And as it grows dark, lighting the fire each day in the wood burner, the crackle of the kindling, the ticking of the metal as it heats up, the warmth growing in the room. I read through the pile of notebooks where I wrote about my therapy, and feel amazed, sad, moved, filled with respect and affection - for both of us who went on that journey together... who never expected it to end like this... And the nights come and go too, when I turn on the light at 2am to read I Capture the Castle, listen to Radio 3, or REM or Portuguese Polyphony on the MP3, doze on and off through the small into the bigger hours.