Sometimes when I wake up on a morning, it can be way the light catches me.

It can be the haze, weaving in and amongst the houses and lampposts on the street outside.
When I rise long before the world does and there’s no-one else to talk to, just silence and stillness.

Well there was one particular morning like that. It was St. David’s Day and though I’m not welsh (nor was she), daffodils were her favourite flower.

So when I nipped to M&S that morning, to grab some nice things for lunch, I picked up some daffodils; to put into a little vase on the table, whilst I was thinking of her.

It’s mornings like those that I wished I could just pick up the phone to ask if her if she needed anything getting from the shop. More often than not she’d ask for something spectacularly ordinary, like a two pinter of semi-skimmed or the sweet and sour chicken ready meal she used to like from there.

It was also days like these that I’d usually go knock on her door and make her a morning brew.

Well on that particular sunny day, I made an extra cup of tea when I arrived home – one for me and one for her.

I placed it on a coaster, next to mine, as if she was about to walk into the kitchen and sit down next to me, in her favourite seat.

And for a moment, maybe, I did actually feel like she was there – listening intently, even though I wasn’t saying a word.

Days and feelings like these creep up out of nowhere. It had only been the day before that I was thinking ‘I’ve not cried in a while, maybe it’s starting to subside’.

But days like these remind me that the little moments were sometimes the most magical.

I have such a great capacity to love and when we lost her, the centre of our universe, I found myself suddenly with a void and unsure where to put the love. As time passes, I’m coming to learn that the process of grieving is not only becoming accustomed to life without that person and the enormous hole they leave behind in our lives – it is gradually beginning to understand and learn where to place the love that we find we can no longer give to them now that they’re gone.

Of course, this doesn’t mean that we no longer throw love in their direction – there are the days I visit my Nan’s grave and cry and ask for her guidance, there are days that I quite literally throw my head up to the sky and shout ‘I FUCKING MISS YOU’ like some crazy person and there are days I go and sit in her now empty, unoccupied flat and throw my love out of the window towards the view of the trees outside, blowing in the wind.

This day, March 1st, I poured the love into that mug and sat with it awhile and for a sweet half hour, I felt her love, via my own cup, in return.