Grief
He's going to miss - I know he's going to miss... He missed - Oh fuck - I really didn't think he would. I thought I could will him to score - I wanted him to - I needed him to - It can't stop now - It's got to carry on...

It stopped.

A moments silence. Sickness in my stomach. Throbbing behind my eyes.
The came the analysis - we tried to rub away the emptyness with words - as if understanding it would make it any better. It doesn't matter why - I doesn't really matter at all - It just feels so much like it does.
I went straight to the loo without a word. I didn't know what else to do. WhenI came down I held my son who was on the edge of tears - you and me both. Why do they always have to lose he said. I didn't know.
I started cooking in the kitchen as they left one by one. One shouted goodbye from the living room. I wished later I'd hugged him. The other came to say goodbye. I hugged him and called him mate. I wasn't sure why. I went into the garden and couldn't bear to tell her about it because I knew she was pleased and thought I was stupid for acting like this.
I couldn't eat my tea - but did anyway and watched Doctor Who. I took some solace from Andy Murray beating Roddick. A phonecall invited me out from a drink. I jumped at the thought that alcohol would take the feeling away - but then he said that he thought that Rooney was a wanker and I didn't know if I could be with him - but I went anyway.
This morning I felt a bit better.