I didn’t realize how many clothes Pia had. Although in her defence, her bulging wardrobe wasn’t because she was a big spender, rather she liked to keep hold of everything. Even clothes that were covered in moth holes or stains had still been afforded space. I felt bad placing them on the ‘dump’ pile when she’d clearly wanted to give them an extra bit of lifespan. If Vicky hadn’t taken those boxes with her and offered to do the trip to the dump I don’t think they’d have ever left the house.

Another thing I failed to predict was how hard it was going to be seeing other people handling her things and moving them around – even if those people were our best mates who loved her like I did. My heart ached at the sight. Every hand that touched her belongings seemed to be robbing me of parts of her, stealing her away, overwriting her being. Erasing her. Making this shit situation real while letting me know she’s not about to wander back into the flat any time soon for a change of clothes … It was like I was taking her home away. Drawing the curtains and turning out the light.

I know Pia wanted me to do this today, she wanted to ensure I kept moving forward and didn’t sit in my brokenness for too long, but maybe sitting in my grief is what I feel like doing. Maybe it’s what I should be doing.

I grab a beer from the fridge. As I open it and hear the pressure disperse my body echoes with a sigh. I take a quick gulp and enjoy the cold liquid shocking my insides as it flows through my body. I rub at my face, enjoying the roughness of the stubble and the pull on my skin. When I stop my eyes fall on the full boxes out in the hallway. I’m meant to be taking them to the charity shop in the morning. ‘My’ collection went into two boxes and back into the wardrobe. A wardrobe that at the end of our sorting session looked back at me mockingly. A near-empty wardrobe to match my near-empty bed, house and heart.

Memories of Pia were attached to every single item unearthed today, with constant visions of her wearing them – her comfies when lounging on the sofa and binge watching Breaking Bad, her little black bikini when we were carefree, travelling around South America and taking in the world, and then her wedding dress on what I thought was the biggest day of our lives. She said it best though on that sodding box. The happiest. Not the biggest, but the giddiest, most joyous and pure. The biggest was her last. There’s no denying that.