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This time last year, I was tentatively thinking maybe, just maybe, with the steroids, Pilau would make it to 2012 - and maybe, just maybe if the wind didn't change, he'd be with me for my 40th in February.
And, this time last year, he looked so frail. So very frail. He swayed when he stood in one spot for more than a few seconds.
And this time last year, life was a roundabout of medicines and tablets.
And this time last year, I slept with half an ear out for sounds of distress from downstairs...
And this time last year I marked a full year since he'd been upstairs to his (my) beloved bigbed.
And this time last year, we made short forays into the world, bundled up in his tartan old man coat.
And this time last year I'd have sold my soul to stop the clock, close the calendar, and hold him in a frozen moment.
This time last year, I didn't know it, but we had less than a fortnight left together. And 2012 would be a year without him in it at all.
Ahh Pilau, my bonny, bonny lad.
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