It sounds so stupid. But the day my jade face roller snapped in two, lying there in my sink, I just thought right, that’s it, the absolute pinnacle.
You’re probably thinking why does this even matter? But that’s the strange and funny thing about bad days, you remember all the little details like it was yesterday. The small things that others around you may not have noticed. I remember going into the kitchen and half laughing to my flat mate and saying, “today really isn’t my day!” and I couldn’t have been more right. Just a few hours later I’d find out my grandad had passed away.
A missed call from my dad came appeared in my notifications and I knew something wasn’t right. I rung him back and was told the news. My head couldn’t compute. Then as harsh as it felt, I was told that within the next hour I’d need to decide whether I could make it to the funeral or not. 60 minutes. To try work out the logistics of getting from Cheltenham to Derry in Northern Ireland 458 miles away- what trains, taxis, flights to take, who’s the nearest family member to pick you up from uni??
I stood there mulling it over in my head. As much as I wanted to be there it was practically impossible, the only other option was to stream it online. One word. Guilt. I found myself justifying it all- It’s best to stay put for everyone. With the big ‘C word’ still at the forefront, it felt even if I could go, there would be a risk of bringing it back with me and to my flatmates. It was difficult enough to get a test done in time and the thought of having to isolate on my return couldn’t work alongside my work timetable.
When the day came, I woke up to stream the funeral online. I watched as my family, all masked up stood and waited for the service to begin. Looking through a screen thinking I should be there. In that gap between my dad and brother. But instead I sat there alone, two days after the same weekend Boris and colleagues sat around downing in Downing street, deciding between Merlot or Chardonnay.
