Ray and I doze in bed and he suddenly moves his hand as if scratching, "I was dreaming of scratching your back" and I laugh.
I get up and put on my necklace and wear my son's name.
The cats follow me around our flat insisting on breakfast and then watch me shower. They watch me eat toast. They chase my shoelaces.
I walk into town watching the pavement.
My Mum bumped into a couple she hadn't seen for quite a while, "How are you getting on with your grandchild?".
My Mum holds my hand while I cry in the coffee shop and says, "It will happen if it's meant to" and I feel like screaming. I drink my decaf vanilla latte instead.
We bumped into a couple my Mum knows, she introduced me, "So, any grandchildren?"
My friend K, whose sister is dying too quickly of bowel cancer, smiles, makes jokes, hugs and makes everything just that little bit better.
My Dad forgets the word for "lift" (elevator) and I wish I could make him better. I make him smile instead.
Ray sends me sweet texts and comes to collect me from my parents place and my Dad shakes his hand.
I wash the dishes and Ray hugs me tight from behind, because it's his turn and I'm doing it because he feels ill (definitely not man-flu).
I sit down with a purring kitteh cuddling and find some peace.