On our way up to bed, I swiped a Milky Bar yoghurt out of the fridge and went to get my favourite spoon from the drawer. I was met with shock and confusion.
I have no idea where this spoon came from, by the way, I only have one of its kind. I adore it.
The shape, the curves, the weight, everything. It's perfect.
So where is it?
This cutlery which I cherish is unnaccounted for.
I can't begin to express the weight of the anxiety that crushed down on me.
I know, I know…
“Get a grip, it's just a spoon!”— you
“I agree!”— me
I know there's so much worse in life. I know it's just a spoon and that logically I can use any spoon in the drawer, but this is where I'm at right now.
I've had so much taken away from me, I just want to have what I want for a little bit.
One day your favourite spoon is gone, the next day your dad is.
Thankfully, I found the spoon. It was in the kitchen sink. Submerged. Isolated.
My dad was not in the kitchen sink.