Peach vodka from the back of the fridge. Sparkling water and a spash of lime. My favourite band playing in the living room. Helping me forget that it’s Sunday night. Mins sleeping curled into a box of electrical leftovers from the attic pot light installation. Leuk napping outside, his nose pressed against the door. An irobot clean floor. And on the deck, a new doghouse nestled under the kitchen window. Half-clad in beautifully installed cedar shakes. For everyone that thought the day would never come – well, they were wrong - it did. Leuk’s turning one this week J He’ll have a cosy abode for his second winter.
I’m leisurely making dinner, David in the back room. Preparing tomorrow’s lecture, a little reluctantly tonight. As I walk from the living room to the kitchen I pass a letter sitting on the edge of the banister, enveloped and ready for a stamp. I get a little emotional thinking about its contents, knowing that when it finally hits the mailbox reality may be able to find us. In the letter, David releases his personal information. If David’s donor agrees, they will be able to contact one another.
A chance to say thanks. That’s all we want. To say that the difference you made in our lives will never be forgotten.
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