Eyes blearily opening, a quick check on the time, one of those long luxurious stretches that extends and eases every muscle from a long deep slumber followed by an involuntary squeak as it comes to a climax, “just five more minutes” I tell myself as I bury myself deep down under the fluffy covers and pull a pillow in tight for a morning cuddle.
Finally I rise, taking my time sitting on the edge of the bed and relishing in the feeling of the deep pile beneath my feet, my toes sinking in as I eventually make my way downstairs. A small furry body wrapping itself in and out between my legs giving me a welcome like he hasn’t seen me in days, his chocolate eyes dancing as much as his little body in anticipation of the day ahead and, of course, the sights and smells of outside while we wait for the warm hugs to brew in the coffee pot. Mmmmm it smells good, rich and nutty and oh so good. A whine brings me back, and reminds me that our morning walk awaits. But the oven needs filling first, a chore filled with a deep sadness as I’m reminded of being alone: My first Christmas without my children.
Our morning walk was quiet, that low winter sun glinting blindingly off of surfaces, lighting up the world around us, the air heavy with - I don’t know what actually, but it was suffocating. I thought he’d be at my place, our place, but it was empty, so I sat and listened to the sea with that warm furry body curled up on my lap. He’s been absent for days now, just a message to say sorry he missed us. I stare down at my hand, thinking of the hand that’s missing which has become the key to my tears in our place. I rub the smooth surface of the cold damp rock beneath me, and realise it’s the place he sits. A whine from pupper, and then home we go, the sound of children waking up and discovering presents ringing in our ears.
A waft of Christmas hits when I open the door, herbs, warm spices, red wine mingling with rich stock slow cooking lamb shanks with rosemary… A sigh, the pupper not me, and I remember he’s still on the leash while I just stand there with him dutifully sitting by my feet. I laugh at his submission, and envy instantly what he gets from me. So I unclip him then head for a shower.
And so the day goes, a good book, a pupper curled up snoring alongside me, the sound of a fire crackling interspersed with mellow tunes while the glorious smells of the season circle us, alone.
I must have nodded off as I’m startled by the sound of knocking, loud knocking, urgent raps against the door. The pupper is already there but his tail is wagging, probably just a neighbour that forgot something. But suddenly there he is, those broad shoulders and his magnificently etched face are right in front of me taking up the height and width of the doorframe while the wind howls through the house. Delighted to see him, I smile and welcome him in yet his eyes I can’t read. He steps inside. I close the door. But he doesn’t move. I can’t hold his gaze, it’s too intense for me. “Is everything alright?”, I ask. Yet all he replies is “No”. So I look up again. I can’t read him. “What’s wrong?”, is all I can muster. “The scent”, is all I get back.
All of a sudden I find myself wrapped in his arms, tight against him, feeling tiny and fragile despite my own height. His mouth close to my ear, I’m told in finite detail of “the scent”. Every nerve in my body is alive, goosebumps all over, I can feel each follicle on my scalp as he cradles the back of my head holding it in place on his shoulder as he tells me of “the scent”. I feel the strength of him as his other hand so gentle yet so firm against the hollow of my back holding my body against his as his voice dips to a whisper as he tell me of “the scent”. I can feel the urgency of what he’s telling me, I sense his frustration as he apologises for his absence and the reason behind it, the heat of his words and the fire of his emotion a blatant truth as he tells me of “the scent” of me, his disappointment rings true as his body sags as he tells me he couldn’t see me while the teen was away because he didn’t trust himself anymore, and then his urgency as he holds me tight again and begs me not to take away “the scent” from him because of his confession.
And then just the sound of his breath, fast and hard, almost breathless from his soliloquy. I can physically feel his heart pound in his chest against my own. I’m speechless and immobile, my arms hanging like twin rag dolls at my side. I try to move them but feel him tense and stiffen in resistance. I try to pull my head away to look at him, needing to see him, needing to look into those eyes. His fingers dig deeper into my hair, taking a fistful as he holds me tighter than before. And so I speak my truth, a whisper in his ear this time, the only honest words I can think of to say:
”I’ve missed you too”.