Rhubarb is four today. Four years old ! Custard is nearly five 🙂 Custard is sitting on my lap as I type, playing therapy bunny. Do I need therapy ? Probably.
Last night Mark brought some papers for Mum from the hospital where George died, and I started leafing through them while Dad and Mark chatted. There was a booklet on greiving, which I flicked through, and suddenly I was in floods of tears.
More tears this morning – I feel like I am right back where I was when he died, I haven’t healed at all. The wound, the loss, is still as sharp as ever.
Marguerite and Gregor gave us a wedding present last night – a gorgeous framed card of a Lindsay cat. We love it:)
And yesterday was Dad’s birthday. We got him a carving of a turtle breaking out of his egg, and I printed up one of the mushroom photos as a card. Lovely dinner, I think Dad had a good day.
So now I have the rest of the day to stop feeling like I’ve been steamrollered, so I can go back to work tomorrow and pretend everything os OK.