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.