There was a moment some time this weekend when I felt a familiar kick in the hollow guts. And it wasn’t when the All Blacks pipped the Wallabies in Wellington (I’m getting used to the Wobblies).
I can’t talk about how much I will miss her even though she’ll still be around. I will miss her brave chirpiness. I will miss her slight smile. I will miss her mistimed laughter that catches me off guard. I will miss her glancing away after her first sentence. I will miss her colourful slippers.
I will miss her while I nurse my hollow, sore guts. But I can’t talk about it yet. There are some things I still can’t talk about.
…Deep in heart-wrung tears I’ll pledge thee,
Warring sighs and groans I’ll wage thee.
Who shall say that Fortune grieves him,
While the star of hope she leaves him?
Me, nae cheerful twinkle lights me;
Dark despair around benights me…
Ae Fond Kiss – Robert Burns
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