Just One More Kiss

12th February 2012 Sunday

I love my pyjamas at the moment - Marks and Spencer’s soft, warm and lacy at the neck but not my colour - steel grey. And the long woolly socks I wear in bed. I don’t want to take them off in the morning, I can’t wait to put them back on as early as possible at night. They mean I don’t have to be responsible any more today, they mean I’m safe, I don’t need to relate to anyone, I can curl up into the darkness and go under cover - till I have to put on my dressed persona again and mask all this raw grief with denim and jumpers and mascara.

I did get dressed to make lunch. A leek and mushroom risotto - my husband is on a diet so it wasn’t quite as delicious without the creamy sting of parmesan stirred in at the end and that long glug of white wine splashed in at the sofrito stage. Made do with lots of chopped parsley instead and some grilled fillets of lightly smoked salmon for saltiness. We were going to go for a walk afterwards but my husband said he wanted to lie down after his stint at the allotment. It was nearly dark when he woke so we didn’t go.

Tonight my brother’s email about how it is for him without our father unstitches me. He feels so far away in Holland and alone with it all. There was so much separation in our family, so much wrenching apart - going back generations. I suppose dying is the ultimate separation - in this life anyway.

I understand about eternal life - it’s just that tonight there isn’t any room in me for understanding when I’m aching for just one more kiss on my cheek from my father - just one more Pa hug before he leaves.