missing me

I miss and pine for my darling baby boy every single day. But this is also intertwined with missing me.

I miss our old house in Hammersmith despite spending all of my time there wanting to move back back to NW London

I miss listening to my music. I deleted all my playlists after Eddie died – I just don’t take any enjoyment in listening to music anymore

I miss laughing without it swiftly being followed by my painful reality

I miss filling up my diary with social arrangements and Chris getting annoyed with me for cramming too much in

I miss being a good friend to my friends, a sister to my sister, a daughter to my parents, a wife to my husband

I miss the ability to celebrate in other people’s good news and happiness

I miss my enthusiastic and glass half-full approach to life

I miss the missed opportunities of watching 2 of my friends get married and not meeting 3 of my friend’s newborns

I miss 2013 despite my adversion for the number 13

I miss my sense of humour (though Chris would argue I find myself funnier than he does)

I miss my innocence

I miss my old life and the old me.

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