A friend’s Birthday and he’s not here to celebrate. I am thinking of birthdays, and how some ‘die young and stay pretty…’ (thanks Blondie). I can’t imagine Mottsu any older, can’t picture him. Birthdays pass and ageing is held in abeyance.

I, on other hand, am becoming increasingly obsessed with not showing signs of progress by time. Lotions and potions are essential to morning and evening rituals so I can ‘…deteriorate in my own time’ (thanks again Blondie). Today that makes me feel superficial or at best frivolous, on the Birthday of a friend I miss.

Can’t picture him? No, I never have, I’ve struggled to conjure Mottsu and failed. I’ve not seen him since he drove away. A friend who works for the Coroner was able to identify the body, so not even after he was found floating did I see him.

Three or four people reported sightings of Mottsu in the interlude following his death, unexpected glimpses, whereas I didn’t even dream him. Gone. I kept his things for a sense of him, inhaled his clothes for the faintest suggestion of him – gasping for connection. I know that’s a cliche, and I sought his scent with more determination than an airport sniffer-dog. I took big drags of wardrobe air, inhaled pillowcases and socks, attempting to abate the sense of abandonment and all the while haunted by regrets of not being haunted.

In the early days of mourning I watched Truly Madly Deeply over and over again, envying Nina. She not only sees her dead Jamie, he moves in and drives her mad with his other world antics.

Someone asks Nina what Jamie would say if he could speak to her. She considers and says he would tell her to lock the back door. I start remembering to lock the back door. Most nights anyway.

Jamie says, “Thank you for missing me”
Nina replies, “I have, I do, I did”