My Reason

Ever since he died I've gotten into the strangest habits.

I have the fears you would expect, that drive me to leave all the lights on and sleep with the radio for company.

I find myself setting the alarm for 6am, so he can get up for work.

I serve two plates of dinner and still cook chicken rather than pork, just to please him.

When I put on my make-up I turn around, expecting him to be there to compliment me.

I feel angry at him for leaving his shoes at the door. But he hasn't left them there, and I don't remember doing it.

Each evening I switch the channel over whenever the news starts, because he hates watching it. Hated, I mean.

At 5.50pm I stop whatever I'm doing and give the house a quick clean. I wait with the door open at 6pm, just to check whether he'll be coming home again.

When my girlfriends phone and invite me out I pause, almost saying 'I'll ask him if he minds." He never minded. I don't suppose he'll start now.

When I go into town I fetch a chocolate eclair for him. Then I stare at it all niht because I don't eat them, and he can't anymore.

When people ask for my opinions I find myself saying his opinions. Somebody has to now he can't.

I laugh when I break wind because he always did. If I didn't the silence would be deafening.

I'm more aware of silence now, because I was always the quiet one. I used to tell him to shut up; to give me some peace. Now I hate peace.

I sing to myself just for the sense of company. Songs he liked, of course.

And I talk to him constantly. It's almost like revenge. I can imagine him wishing for a silence I won't allow him.

I tell him everything, even though I believe he watches me. I spend hours each night reading old diaries and apologising for each time I was angry with him.

Each day I wear my hair in a plait; his favourite style. I want to be perfect for him.

My family tell me to move on; to live.

They don't understand the irony. How can I live if I move on?

He was my reason to live.