I've had a couple of wonderful dreams about Cliff this week. Just normal stuff. Like being out on the town with Shaun and Debbie. Having a great time.
Just the wonderfulness of being with him.
God I miss him so so much. That closeness. But I am grateful for the dreams. If that's all I can have, I'll take it, gracefully.
On my way to lunch today, I was talking to one of my friends at work (who I like to call Claire-Bear ... she is a wonderfully warm woman with heaps of empathy and she has a great sense of humour.) She was accompanied by another colleague who I know less well and who asked me how long ago Cliff died, and how long I'd been with him etc ... and Claire piped up:
"Two weeks before he died he'd been working on the stage at Buckingham Palace ... for the Olympians coming home, and then bam ... just like that, from being fit and well, he'd gone, bam ... what a shock for you, it was for me even."
I had to reach out and touch her, for (she won't be aware of this) she had given me a Cliff story. One that I had forgotten through the fog of grief and loss.
Like the ones I used to tell and share.
It meant so much to me. So much.
And tonight I fly to Sofia to see some old school-friends.
It's time to write some new stories, whilst keeping those old cherished ones in my heart, and taking them along for the ride.