I thought I would only miss you for the big things. Like not having you around for my birthday or the year end festivities.
But driving back alone after saying goodbye to you today made me realize that it’s not the big things that I am afraid of.
Rather, it’s the little reminders of your absence that creep up unannounced; the minute, often overlooked details that threatens to unravel me.
It’s in the cling wrap pulled taut over leftovers from dinner because I keep cooking for four instead of three.
It’s in the laundry basket devoid of your mountain of clothes, the million socks that you go through every day.
It’s in the nakedness of your bed; stripped of linen and the smells that I know so well.
It’s in the songs we sang in the car during rush hour; when I have to duet with myself.
It’s in family photographs and get-togethers; odd in more ways than one.
It’s in the look in Mummy’s eyes trying to be strong yet holding back a dam of tears.
It’s in the silence that hangs thick and heavy in the air; missing your laughter and our inside jokes.
It’s in the you-shaped hugs and the void that nothing else can fill.
It’s in the getting up, getting dressed, going to work, pretending that all is fine when in truth, I feel off-balance because I have lost my axis.
It’s in the realisation that I am now merely a second-hand spectator to your life experiences through tagged Facebook photos and tweets.
It’s in the helplessness I feel when I see you skin your knees and get your heart broken but be just a little too faraway to reach out and comfort you.
I wish I missed you for only the big things; because the sum of these little things is breaking my heart.
See you soon, Ah Bi.
Cece love you. Always, always.
When does saying goodbye get easier?