It is pouring outside. The wind is lashing the rain against the windows. Louder downstairs than up. I don’t know why. It has gone one in the morning. I am tapping away at this on my phone. It might help; I don’t know. After a day which began in an impish fashion, with larks on the school run and a general sense of okay, I spent the day feeling just so empty. I turned in as quickly after LP as I could. I washed my face. I stared down the washing machine, willing it to finish so I could set the drier and have fresh PE kit for the morning. I had set my course. I wanted hours of sleep. I wanted to have formed a new skin overnight.
Hours later, I awoke. It was not the plan. The pleasing storm failed to lull me. I thought about this James song. I was wide awake then, they were so loud in my head; like Marley’s ghost at my bedside.
I went downstairs and made a cup of tea, standing parallel to the spot where I last saw Seb alive. I ate one mini Soreen; then another- thinking how much he disliked raisins but always managed a mince pie this time of year. An act of compliance with tradition over personal taste. I wondered whether a proper drink would help, but decided not to set foot on that road- I didn’t want to end up in the local paper protesting my suitability as a parent.
Having a child who believes that 5am is a completely reasonable time to wake up, has led me to spend the last few years with a 10pm curfew. Knowing that at some point in the night I’d be needed to right the wrongs of an errant duvet or the white noise that accompanies her sleep switching itself off. My current circumstance has thrown that into a state of chaos. I get a bit giddy at night. During the day I am practical, at night I crave distraction. It has been impossible to experience the kind of tiredness one gets from too many people; there isn’t enough society to exhaust me. It reminds me of waiting for my pals to return from uni for the holidays so the playtime could start. Are you back yet and where are we meeting?
I envy those who stake their claim on the night. Who achieve life stuff in the standard sleeping hours. People who think nothing of seeing the clock pass midnight and just sally forth until their own bedtime, unhindered by convention.
There are two half painted shelves on the kitchen table. I could get up and finish those, then hang them tomorrow, filling them later on when they’ve had chance to settle in. There is a basket of ironing to do. Some drip dried dishes to file. Still tomorrow I would still add to my list of actions. These small purposes that are keeping me vital in some way. I continue to set myself little puzzles to return to and solve. I am worth my place here and that tidy cutlery drawer is the reason why.
I just keep going. If I lay down and gave into the true core of myself I feel like the grief could leave me comatose. You may wonder where the respite is. This horrible thing that happened has joined forces with my blood. My mind is constantly occupied, processing the loss, searching for a diversion like a child who has fallen and will only be appeased by a lollipop. Don’t remind them of the pain, here comes the sweetness, nothing bad happened. I seem okay though right? Don’t worry.
The rain means business. I feel like surprising it by opening the windows and seeing what it does. A action and a reaction. Like me, it loves a bit of pathetic fallacy. Even the rain seeks validation. I went to sleep with the Fleet Foxes.