Dearest John

This is really the first hot day since – you left – and I’m sitting in the garden, ‘our’ garden, now my garden, feeling pretty blue.

It’s nearly three months now but it still breaks my heart, this issue of YOUR loss.  Yes, you’re not here to experience it – but it’s my projection of how you WOULD’VE felt if you’d known (that your life was ending/over).

There must have been a last time that you sat out here in the garden – and didn’t know it was the last.

It has bothered me that I don’t even remember what your last meal was, the night before it happened.  Some ready meal from Morrisons.  Last meals are supposed to be significant – you ate something that night not knowing it was your last meal.

Oh God, this sort of reflection is intolerable!

You didn’t know our last holiday was your last holiday.  (Who knows, maybe it was mine too.)

Your last swim in the sea.

The last time you sunbathed on a beach.

Your last steak.

Your last pint of beer.

This way madness lies!

But this heat, it brings back so many memories, so many.  Summertime, holiday memories.

Walking on the beach under the cliffs in Tenerife, where the sand was so hot, we couldn’t step on it in bare feet.

You waving at me from the balcony in Menorca, after I’d been to take the car back.

Sitting on a bench in Venice, waiting to board our cruise ship.

Sitting outside a pub in Tenterden once, our oft-remembered perfect relaxing moment, ie ‘isn’t it wonderful to sit somewhere as long as you want with no pressure and only leave when you’re really, really ready to’.

Up on the hill in St Thomas looking at the amazing view, walking on those little wooded paths in the heat.

Eating little potatoes with spicy sauce in a square in Gran Canaria, sitting outside the tiny cafe at its only outdoor table.

So many shared memories, still there for me, but not for you.

How can it be borne, this heat, without you?  Knowing how you would have loved it.  Reminiscing with you about nice places we’d been, as we often did.

Am I allowed to enjoy the sunshine, the heat?  Won’t there always be this guilt that I’m still here, and you’re not?

There’s one noisy magpie round here, disturbing the peace.  I wish it would go away, cos its name is Sorrow.

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