I stayed up very late last night. Everybody was in bed, and I stood in the dark outside the back door, my last glass of wine in my hand, hardly able to drink it. I watched the pale shape of our dog roaming in the blackness, sniffing in the garden, and I knew that my drinking time was up.
My husband, who has been unwell for a couple of weeks now, came downstairs this morning, to find I had finished the wine by myself. ‘That drinking alone thing,’ he said, ‘that’s what is different. That’s why you need to give up.’
I hope the darkness will now lift. I’m nearing the end of my new day one; and leaving behind all the other day ones.