Snippets of Grief

 November 22. The end of this year has just been a blur. I'm in short stay again, respite, whatever you want to call it. Y is having a sleep, then we're going to get dinner and go to a movie. I still feel guilty that you and I never quite made it to a movie in the end. I did want to, I hope you know that. Equally, I hope I stop feeling guilty every time I see one with someone else.

 I'm home from respite now. I don't know why, but it suddenly hit me, on the drive, that I'll never again feel your arms around me while we sleep, the warm press of your body against my back. You won't irritate or itch me by lightly stroking my skin in that way that you did until I'd get too annoyed and make you stop. I never thought that would be something I'd miss, but there you go, you ill-natured malt-horse.