Wandering the strange landscape between dream sleep and morning thoughts, a faint voice drifts over my pillow. I rise slowly and follow the subtle call, shuffling quietly through Claire’s closed door. 

“Hello, my heart.”

“Papa, did the Easter Bunny come?“

“We’ll look in the morning love.”

“It is too light to sleep.“

“I will turn on your music for you. Leonard Cohen live?”

“It is too dark to sleep.“

“I will see you in a couple hours.”

As she settles, I wander out to the opening words of Dance Me To The End Of Love.  “Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin / Dance me through the panic till I’m gathered safely in…“

One foot, then the other, shambling rhythmically back to bed. A dry mouth detours me from the most direct return to slumber. I slide open the sideboard and remove the first receptacle that lands in my hand, carry it closed-eyed to the kitchen sink, run the water a moment, fill it up, and take a deep pull. 

A foil-wrapped Lindor chocolate egg, once skulking at the bottom of the small white mug, surges forward with the full force of ‘bottoms up’ and the element of surprise keenly in its corner. All my senses reboot fully as my gag reflex kicks in. I snatch the forty-year-old stoup from the air before it can crash to the tile floor below. 

Relaxing back to a state of early morning calm, I revel in the fact that this chocolate egg was one of the few too large to swallow, foil and all. I remove it from my mouth, hold it under the tap a moment, and then for reasons that I’m certain were sound at that instance, place it in the refrigerator. 

As I drift back to semi-sleep Claire’s words echo in my mind, “Papa, did the Easter Bunny Come?“

“Yes dear, that asshole tried to kill me.”