You

The funeral finally came around. Black was everywhere, emerging from corners, seeping through doors. People mumbling apologies, but I’m still not quite sure why. ‘Sorry for your loss,’ they say, but it only confuses me more. What did I lose?

I don’t remember how it happened. Some say it was an accident, and others say it was planned. No one really knows, so they could be making it up. But that doesn’t seem likely.

They look stupid. With their oversized hats and black veils. You would say they look like zombies or vampires. Using their hats to cower from the light, their veils to hide their hideous faces. Not that I’m saying anyone’s ugly, of course. 

No one smiles. No one remembers all the good in your life, all the happy memories. Just one bad thing and that’s it. 

They don’t remember they way you smiled when I said your name for the very first time. They don’t remember how you held my hand as I took my first step, how you wouldn’t let go.

They don’t remember my first birthday, how you organised the whole thing. They don’t remember how you fed me cake, how you grinned as I refused to eat anything besides cake for two days after that. 

They don’t remember how you giggled when you bathed me, how I’d splash around when I was happy. They don’t remember how I’d pick my own outfits, how I’d repel when you held up a onesie I didn’t like.

They don’t remember how you’d pick me up from pre-school, how I used to run into your arms. They don’t remember how you’d carry me as I’d tell you about my day, babbling in my baby voice.

They don’t remember how you taught me to swim, how you showed me how to ‘kick, kick, kick’ my legs. They don’t remember how you told me to pretend I was Nemo, swimming back home to my anemone. 

They don’t remember the first day of school, the way you held my hand and brought me to the teacher. They don’t remember how you refused to leave me, until I felt safe, even though the teacher had to have a talk with you. They don’t remember how you made funny faces in the window, making me laugh so hard I couldn’t breathe.

They don’t remember the holiday we took to Disney, where you insisted that you wear two pairs of ears instead of one. They don’t remember how you brought me around to every ride, even though I was too old for some of them. They don’t remember the way you cheered when I was picked to go up on stage and help Olaf.

They don’t remember how every Christmas you would make sure we hand-make every ornament on the tree, how you said it looked beautiful even when it didn’t. They don’t remember how you’d film a Christmas video filled with laughter and fun and memories. They don’t remember how you individually wrapped each and every one of our presents, how you wrapped with Grinch wrapping paper.

They don’t remember how we used to have conversations, all deep and thoughtful before we burst out laughing just a few moments later. They don’t remember how you used to help me get past anything, how you used to tell me to ‘just hang on’ and everything will be alright again. 

They don’t remember how you used to laugh, how happy you sounded. They don’t remember how once you started; you couldn’t stop. They don’t remember how your chuckle was infectious, how after a few seconds people would be on the floor. 

They don’t remember when Little Lilly was born, how your eyes brimmed with tears at the first sight of her red, mashed up face. They don’t remember how you cradled her with so much love she started crying. They don’t remember how you got flustered and handed her back to the nurse. They don’t remember how you promised me she wouldn’t take my love away, because; let’s face it, I was here first.

They don’t remember how made sure I felt loved, how (when Lilly was old enough) you would designate time for me and me only, no one else. They don’t remember how we’d go out the whole day, doing whatever I wanted. They don’t remember how we’d gone to Alton Towers only to find out I was too short, how you drove all the way to Thorpe Park so I could go on some rides. 

They don’t remember how we’d stay up at night, just the two of us, talking and whispering our deepest, darkest secrets. They don’t remember how we would make a teepee tent in the living room, how we’d pretend to camp because we didn’t want to do it in real life. They don’t remember how we’d tell each other how our week had been, telling each other what we needed most. 

They don’t remember how we’d cook together, how we’d take turns in choosing the recipe. They don’t remember how your brow would furrow in confusion as you tried to figure it out, how you wouldn’t give up until you got it.

They don’t remember how if we ever fought, I would show up outside door with a box of Quality Street and a note saying, ‘I’m sorry.’ They don’t remember how you gave me your soft smile when I was too scared to come in, how I sat outside and finished all the chocolates. 

They don’t remember how if I was ever sick, you’d take the day off work and devote your whole day to me. They don’t remember how you’d rub my back until I fell asleep, how you would cure me in a day. 

They don’t remember how you used to blow me a kiss as I got out the car, how I used to catch it. They don’t remember how we made a secret handshake, how we vowed not to teach it to a single other soul. They don’t remember how we were more than family, more like best friends. 

They don’t remember how you were always there for me, a bad day or a good one. They don’t remember how you’d comfort me with your cuddles and hot chocolate. They don’t remember how I was there for you, waiting under our teepee tent, listening as you went on and on about some stupid client. 

They don’t remember how I always felt loved, every second of every minute of every day.

I don’t know what will happen to Lilly and I. I guess Granny will take us in, but I don’t want her to.

I want you.

Now I know what I lost.

The one person who loved me unconditionally.

And I miss you so, so much.