I was supposed to be doing something else tonight. Something very important. Very important indeed. Instead I'm here at home cooking some casserole (for one) and having a glass of red wine.
The red wine's something I suppose. Something like what I should have been doing tonight.
I should have been at a party. A birthday party. An eighteenth birthday party in fact. For my niece. For Rebekah. But I'm not.
Instead I'm sitting at home with only my cat Elmo for company. But at least I'm having a glass of wine. And Elmo is good company.
Thirteen years ago Bekah, not even quite five years old, had life snatched cruelly away from her by the terrible disease that is cancer. When the end came I was there at her bedside with my wife and Bekah's parents, my brother and his wife.
I shared her last moments of life.
Like I should have been sharing her celebrations at turning eighteen today.
Like I should have been sharing a toast to her health today.
Like I should have been enjoying the company of a beautiful young woman.
Instead I am here at home, in tears, raising a glass of red wine to her memory, and she is with my mum, enjoying the wine of heaven, and looking down on us who mourn, and miss, and cry.