A Brighton based blogger sharing a candid tale of 20-something humanness

Thursday, 1 November 2018

A note on grief

*Illustration: Ruth Lewis illustrations*


He had a kind face
and it's the kind faces that I drive home and think about,
the blue eyes, greyer than last year,
that don't light up like they used to
and the warm smile that falters at the edges.
I wonder what he was like before.

'Life wasn't meant to be like this,' he says. 
They were going to go to Paris and drink champagne on cobbled streets,
get married in a big old barn in the countryside
and renovate a boat.
Sundays, for the next 50 years,
would be spent at boot sales finding old scratched vinyls
and cooking roasts with extra Yorkshire puddings
because if there's one thing she loved in life,
it was Yorkshire puddings.

'She's always with you,' I said
but neither of us quite believed it
because how is that so when there is one more bottle of champagne in Paris than there should be,
and the vinyl player doesn't spin anymore
and three Yorkshire puddings go uneaten on Sundays?

It still seems absurd that he won't see her face again.
Wildflower eyes and a trademark berry lip.

There is a man: kind face and greying eyes,
with a smile that falters at the edges
and I drove home thinking about him
and the tidal wave of grief that had swept him away,
the promises he wanted to make to her
and the Yorkshire puddings.
I wonder what he was like
before his loss,
before he became his loss.

- drowning
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