When I first returned from the hospital, I didn't really notice them. They were just a part of the normal clutter of home. Not something that needed my attention. But as the days moved on and I sunk back into my life – half the old and half the new – I started seeing them everywhere, and it made me uneasy. Eventually the snippets of tension they were creating, the cracks they were prising open within my coping, meant they had to go.
I went around the house collecting them, one by one, and putting them in a clear plastic bag. How did I ever need so many? One on my desk, one on the coffee table, one in the bathroom, one on the dresser, one by my bedside, one in my handbag . . .
I put them away in the back of a cupboard. It would be a good 18 months before I'd need one again.
the rain quickens
I should have known
there'd be tears