We will never fight again, our lovely, quick, template-ready arguments. Our delicate cross-stitch of bickers.
The house becomes a physical encyclopedia of no-longer hers, which shocks and shocks and is the principal difference between our house and a house where illness has worked away. Ill people, in their last day on Earth, do not leave notes stuck to bottles of red wine saying 'OH NO YOU DON'T COCK-CHEEK'. She was not busy dying, and there is no detritus of care, she was simply busy living, and then she was gone.
She won't ever use {make-up, turmeric, hairbrush, thesaurus}.
She will never finish {Patricia Highsmith novel, peanut butter, lip balm}.
And I will never shop for green Virago Classics for her birthday.
I will stop finding her hairs. I will stop hearing her breathing.
The house becomes a physical encyclopedia of no-longer hers, which shocks and shocks and is the principal difference between our house and a house where illness has worked away. Ill people, in their last day on Earth, do not leave notes stuck to bottles of red wine saying 'OH NO YOU DON'T COCK-CHEEK'. She was not busy dying, and there is no detritus of care, she was simply busy living, and then she was gone.
She won't ever use {make-up, turmeric, hairbrush, thesaurus}.
She will never finish {Patricia Highsmith novel, peanut butter, lip balm}.
And I will never shop for green Virago Classics for her birthday.
I will stop finding her hairs. I will stop hearing her breathing.
( Max Porter )
[ Grief is the Thing with ]
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