On one of the first few days, I sat at the top of the stairs in our house, and shouted out your name. It was a dreadful ‘plunge’ moment, thinking that you’d never reply back to me.
Then when there were more hopeful days, I was so happy, thinking that of course you would be back, and that one day I’d be telling you about how I shouted your name from the top of the stairs, and in fact that it would be something I’d do repeatedly, shout your name in order for you to reply to me.
And you might eventually get slightly annoyed but would generally be understanding about it, because it would be a reflection of how much I wanted to hear your voice reply to me, and how dreadful had been the prospect of you never replying again, and me just shouting out to empty air.
Of course then it’s unbearable when I think back, and realise that, the way it worked out, I had been right in that plunge moment, and it was the case that I would never hear you answer me again. But that first time I had the thought, was the worst.