Every 4th Sunday

Gather your thoughts and stuff them into your pockets with your cold hands.

Burrow your head between your shoulders and smother your feelings with the warmth of your gifted, cotton scarf. The same one you always wear at this time of year. The one she gifted you on her last Christmas.

Press your lips together in a flat line. Now is no time for self-reflection. Save that for later, when you’re lying in bed awake at 2 am, desperately craving sleep and an end to the longest day of the year. Make a mental note to set a reminder on your phone to turn off the blue light exposure and close the old photo album.

And pick your feet up while you’re at it. Don’t let them drag and snag on the ground like you usually do. You know that always reminds you of childhood nagging. It used to bother you so much when you were young, but you’d give anything to hear it again.

No. Fight the urge to play her final voice note. You know how much it hurts to hear her voice. Don’t put yourself through that, not now. You’ll never make it there if you do.

Make another mental note to delete it. You know you will have to eventually.

Leave your phone in your pocket and focus on the journey ahead.

Lock your eyes onto the well-trodden city street in front of you, with all its cracks and imperfections. I know it may seem unloved, but it’s always there. No matter what happens, it never changes. That’s the kind of familiarity you could use in your life right now.

Forget the compulsion to check your phone for directions. You know exactly where you’re heading. You’ve made this same journey dozens of times. Thirty-six to be exact…

The last Sunday of every month for three years.

Ignore the urge to look around for companionship. You’re the only resident your age heading this way out of town on a Sunday evening. You’re likely the only twenty-something who ever goes there. You used to think it was because you went so early in the mornings, and then you started drinking, and you arrived later and later, but nobody ever came. Some days you never see another soul. Most days, you see the same old faces you always see. At least they’ve stopped with the pity eyes. Now it’s all soft smiles and quiet greetings.

Don’t choke on your emotions. Swallow them, bury them deep down where they belong.

“Pull yourself together and stop feeling sorry for yourself.”

There’s that voice again. It’s getting clearer, but that’s normal. No need to be alarmed. It always happens around this point of the journey, you know that. This is just another Sunday, so don’t treat it any differently.

Remember to stop at the corner. THAT corner. You know it’s a blind spot. Those bloody reckless drivers. They never slow down, do they, even after what happened. Nothing has changed...

Well, not for anybody else anyway.

Ignore the stab in your gut. You know anger and resentment won’t help. You’ve made such good progress since you quit the drinking.

Wait at the crossing opposite the paper shop. It’s the last one before the city peters out, and then you can relax. It gets easier beyond this point. Lighter somehow.

Pass the big house on the corner and brace yourself for the thunderous bark. He’s harmless.

Pause at the top of the hill and collect yourself. Let your eyes wander along the sloping hedge line to the towering steeple at the bottom of the hill.

It is a beautiful spot. You’re allowed to acknowledge that. It’s been too long to continue living without appreciating the beauty around you. There’s no guilt in moving on. You know she’d want you to.

Train your eyes on the roadside and hope you’re not too late to buy something from the kind lady. Her cart is here somewhere. She never leaves without greeting you.

Don’t forget to smile this time and nod when she sees you. Allow yourself to appreciate her kindness. She always remembers which ones were her favourite, and you know she sets them aside for you every time. That’s more than a small act of kindness.

You’re not as alone as you’ve led yourself to believe. Remember that.

At the gate, brush yourself down and lift your chin. You must look presentable. You know she’d hate it if you looked tardy. She always told you so.

Take a deep breath. It’s getting easier, but you can already feel the heat building behind your eyes.

Blink quickly and find her in the crowd of headstones... That one there, underneath the tall oak. Next to her parents, your grandparents, like she would have wanted.

Let your feet carry you through the storm raging in your heart. They know the way, and they’ve carried you this far.

Kneel at her side. Let go of your strength. You don’t need to hide yourself here.

But don’t forget to say hello…

And change her flowers…

Tidy the grass…

Now let go of everything you’ve been holding onto for the last month.

Tell her everything you wish she were still around to hear. Leave nothing out.

You’ll be back again next month.

At least it’s getting easier… It’s starting to feel normal.

Next month, you might not cry. But this time it’s okay. Especially today. Today of all days.

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*This is my entry into the Instructions Included challenge. I hope you liked it. If so, it would be great to hear from you below.*

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© Simon George 2026. All Rights Reserved.

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