I Drink a Little More and I Cry a Little More

Much of the colour has been sucked out of my life but I still enjoy a glass of champagne. Very much. When the witching hour arrives (6pm on the dot) I dart to the fridge, unearth a bottle of whatever is open, grab a glass from the cupboard and oh what a relief. Pop, fizz, pour. Ah, relief.

I'm not hung up on the time. Sometimes I will wait till 5 minutes past 6.

Usually a bottle will last 3 days, which isn't bad. Or maybe it is. I really couldn't care. I was teetotal until I was 30 and didn't have much energy back then and often found socializing pretty dull. SInce I have embraced steady, moderate drinking I get fewer colds, have more energy and every evening a great treat awaits. How I love my fizz.

But since Nutty's diagnosis of squamous cell carcinoma (oral cancer) I drink a little bit more ... and I cry much, much more. My drinking is still controlled but a bottle will last me just over 2 days, which means on the the third day I finish a slither in the bottom of the bottle before opening a new bottle. At times like this I wish I could drink even more to be honest, oblivion would be heaven, but it goes against the grain to do anything exessively. Except cry of course, I cry excessively. All the time. At the drop of a hat.

Later in the evening, when things have calmed down, I sit on the stairs and drink up the sight of Nutty. He slowly perambulates towards me before sitting down with a sigh at the foot of the staircase.

I suck out the beauty of him as if the next moment will be our last. My beautiful, beautiful boy, who I love more than anything else in the world. How lucky I am to have found such love although the thought of losing it tears my heart apart. My heart is choked with tears, it feels like a big wet bomb bursting out of my chest, about to detonate at any moment.

We watch each other for a while before I turn away and walk up the stairs to bed. He follows loyally behind, click, click, paws against the wooden floors, before sinking gratefully onto his fluffy rug and falling asleep.

When I wake up in the morning his mouth will be thick with matted blood and there will be a trail of crimson drops on the stairs.