A Visit

The following was written on 14th May.. 7 months to the day Oli died. I didn't feel strong enough to post at the time but I do now... and I did.. I heard him.

I heard him this morning. It's as if he came to me. It felt like he wrapped his arms around me and whispered in my ear 'I love you. You make me so happy.' And I felt his whole body wrap around me and envelop me. I whispered back, 'Thank you'. So grateful as I was to receive his message and his love. And when I say I heard him... I really did. It was his voice, clear and strong and exactly as it was when he was well. I was lying in bed at the time. It was early morning and I'd opened the window to hear the dawn chorus. I know the more cynic of you might say that I was dreaming... and I might well have been but during the exchange between us I was very aware of myself and I felt awake... and I heard him. It was glorious and the saddest thing, all at the same time. It's got me all out of kilter for the day and as a result, I am a bit of a mess. It's taken me right back. That's what this journey seems to be about.. one step forward, five steps back. I miss him with every ounce of my being. I want to drop to the floor and scream in agony and at the injustice of it all. Why him? Why the kindest, most wonderful man on the planet? Why not take someone like Nigel Farage? Or Putin? Or Trump, for fucks sake? But however unfair I think it is, it does not change the outcome so I know thoughts such as this are useless and unhelpful. I just feel empty. Totally void of any emotion. A shell... similar to his body as it lay on the bed after he died. I curled up beside him and held him.. but he was just a shell. No longer there.