"The house was cleaned, and the tables were set out to make a room for you. Your coffin was brought out. The mourners came and wept, falling on the ground and mixing their tears with dirt. They scratched their faces and pulled out their hair. Funeral blues for you. I wonder if the cats notice your absence. I wonder if they wept too when I struggled to shed a tear. I still haven't cried for you.

I rested my head on the bathroom floor and played out the past year piece by piece, while a lump formed in my throat and fought me for air. The years to come seemed like a waste of breath, a waste of breath the years behind. I think I'm finally aware of your absence. At the same time, I feel your presence. Do you feel forgotten? I feel guilty avoiding the memory of you, but remembering you feels like touching broken glass and barbed wire. I felt awfully hollow all week, as if it was me that died. Grief wrapped me in its comfortless embrace. Missing you comes at the most unexpected times. Just when I think I have my life back, suddenly, with no warning, I get ambushed"