The phone rings.

“Hey Charlie!”

“I have your mum on the line for you”

“What? My mom? Really?”

*click*“Hello?”

“Kirsty….”

I wish I could forget the rest of that phone call.

I wish I had never answered the phone.

I wish you were still here.

Six years.

And I’m still heartbroken.

I’m still angry.

I’m still grieving.

I fell. And I fell hard. And I’m still getting back up.

I watch tv or read the newspaper and can hear your voice, knowing exactly what you’d say.

I can picture you sat on the corner of the bed with your sandwich and pack of cookies, kissing your teeth and cussing politicians/athletes/etc.

I can picture you in one thousand different scenarios with each of your grandchildren.

And I can hear you snicker as you teach them something wholly inappropriate to say.

I wish for a lot of things, but what I wish most is that you got a chance. A chance to meet these five totally different but all so amazing little people that I know you would love completely and fiercely.

Some days are better than others.

But every single day I miss you.

And every single day I hope you knew how much you were and forever will be loved.