A Glimpse Into Izzy's Head

Last night when we had our bedtime chat after reading, both of us lying down on her bed, I told Izzy I had something important and a bit sad to tell her. I asked if she could guess what it was. She replied, "You're never going to have another baby, Mummy?" 
I answered, "Well, that's part of it, yes. But the main thing is that Olivier and I are going to divorce."
"Does that mean you and Olivier will never get married again?" (I think she means live as a married couple)
"Well it means that we are still married right now but at some point in the future we won't be any more."
"So he won't come and stay at the house any more?"
"No. Are you sad about that?"
No reply.
"How do you feel about that?"
Quietly, "OK."
"Mummy is going to concentrate on you now, Izzy. What would you rather have, loads of time concentrating on you with you and I doing loads of really fun things and spending heaps of time together or to have a new baby brother or sister who takes up Mummy's time again so there is less for you?"
"A baby brother or sister."

Heartbreaking.

Another new chapter

Well. It's been a funny old time since my last post. My long-time friend (we've known each other since we were teenagers) Sean came to stay, ostensibly to provide companionship, friendship and a good, strong pair of working hands to help me get some house jobs done and to help my builder, Alex, with the ongoing bathroom project.
 
Sean was a breath of fresh air. He would not let me do anything - so chivalrous. When out shopping he wouldn't let me carry a bag, at the supermarket he fetched and then put back the trolley, he made copious cups of tea, emptied the kitchen bin when it was full, helped no end with my jobs list and I even found him mopping after having Hoovered when I came back from fetching Izzy from piano on Saturday morning! He and Izzy bonded immediately (Sean has three grown children) and baked together, played connect 4 together, he read her bed-time stories - and all performed willingly and with enjoyment! Izzy completely blossomed in his company. What a breath of fresh air! What a star!
 

Essentially, I have been looked after for 12 days. Cared for. Hugged as I wept my regular William tears into his big, broad shoulders. And how nice it was! I have spent six weeks begging and cajoling Olivier to come home; working hard at trying to repair my marriage, as you all know by following this blog. Well these last few days have allowed me to see slightly clearer. IS that what I REALLY need to do? However much I begged, my husband could not or would not budge, advance, see the future more clearly. Six weeks of hearing 'I don't know' to every question I had for him. Six weeks of him saying that he didn't see how we could pull it back after losing William. And four months of hearing that he will never have another child.

I know that six weeks is not long in the grand scheme of things and especially as I have this mantra swirling arond in my head that you mustn't make big decisions within a year of loss, but it has been nearly four months now since we lost William and it's become demeaning and dispiriting to keep battling and not even advance a little. In fact, I feel that Olivier has been slowly pulling back. While Sean was here, he refused to come to the house. If he loved me, surely he would be here every day, battling his corner while there was another alpha male in concurrence? But instead he stayed away.

So yesterday Sean left and Olivier finally came to the house, supposedly for dinner but we never got that far. We chatted, I told him I didn't think our marriage could survive. I won't go into details as that is too personal and not fair on Olivier, who I still love and have a huge amount of respect for, but I had finally seen a benchmark of family functionality while Sean was here, and this removed the blinkers from my eyes. I had had my engagement ring repaired recently (the pearl had lost its sheen and I'd lost a diamond out of it in the mélée of William's accident - more symbolism). This was with a view to show Olivier and say, 'Look! I got the ring repaired. You mean the world to me. Come on, let's make this work.' Instead, as he took the proffered band and said, 'Oh, you got the ring repaired', before handing it back to me I found myself saying, 'Keep it. It's over.'

You don't need to know the rest, but eventually I was alone in the house. Strangely elated, but I knew I was on one of those false adrenalin highs. This soon turned into utter despair as I wept now for the the loss of my marriage, my assured future, my family life... But the phone started and didn't stop all night. Various friends called and buoyed me and I am now back in touch with one of my best and dearest friends, Di with whom I'd fallen out a few years ago for a daft reason. Di lives just outside Malaga with her 5-year old son and has invited Izzy and I to visit, so today I booked tickets for a few days in the school holidays. It will be so good to see her.
 
One more thing - I finally downloaded and started my on-line TEFL course yesterday which I feel GREAT about. I'm going to give this my all. I'm off to lunch today with a friend, Teena, who is an English teacher here and hopefully she can give me some pointers.
 
Progress, advancing. But I have to admit that today the heartache is back there, physical symptoms of emotional pain. A completely valid need to mourn the end of my marriage now too.  So much has changed in such a short time. But I owe it to William to make sure that Isabelle and I are content, fulfilled and even happy - it's what he would have wanted.
 
 
 

Dashed Hopes

Things are going downhill again. I had my long-awaited meeting with my friend's gynaecologist in Montpellier yesterday. He basically said my chances of getting pregnant are pretty slim and will be even slimmer by the time I'm 45. Great. But he also told me that no such thing exists as a fertility test to see how fertile I am or how much longer/how many eggs I have left. I know this isn't true (http://www2.macleans.ca/2012/03/14/time-is-not-on-your-side/) which puts into question everything else he said. I do have to note, however, that he did work wonders to get my friend pregnant.

At the end of our meeting, I asked him about egg freezing and sperm banks. He looked at me wide-eyed and speechless for a second or two and then said,"But why would you want to do that?" So then I felt obliged to explain that Olivier had actually left the marital home for now but I was hoping against hope that he would come back. I was a little embarrassed as I felt like he might think that in that case I was wasting his time being there. But then he asked incredulously, "So you would have a baby without your husband?" I have to admit to being slightly stunned by his attitude, when in my Anglo-Saxon world I read about women doing this all the time. He quite simply could not believe that I would even consider doing that. And then he went on to tell me that such things do not exist in France and that, especially considering my age, it would never be allowed. To say I left his office in a slight state of shock would be an understatement! Ladies - can you believe this?!

I have so much to say about this mysoginistic Gallic attitude (sorry French male readers!), I don't know where to start. But I think I'll just inform you, where in the UK kind, conscientious and modern husbands choose to have a vasectomy as their married couple's form of contraception (18% of men between 16-69 have a vasectomy in the UK), that vasectomies were ILLEGAL in France until 1999 (http://www.connexionfrance.com/getting-vasectomy-in-france-only-legal-since-1999-11041-news-article.html) and leave you to make your own conclusions as to their attitude towards women and the French male fear, quite literally, of impotence.

Needless to say, I am feeling extremely depressed after this hugely negative meeting. I oddly feel like I have lost William all over again. It's not like I thought I could ever make a new William, but the hope of being able to have another baby was one thing that I had latched onto to keep me lurching through this deep grief at losing my baby boy. This has set me back a few steps; sent me crashing to the bottom of another wave where I was riding up and surfing along a medium-sized crest for a while there. I am feeling my 'aloneness' more acutely today - the loss of everyone important in my life except Izzy. The fact that despite my 'progress', I struggle to get through every day, and yet I am the one expected to approach/apologise/make amends to these people that should have been there to support me and weren't. I am so, so sad about this.

Thank goodness my good friend of nearly 30 years, Sean, arrived yesterday.  Good company and distraction (and having three children himself, he is SO good with Izzy). If I was in the house on my own I would be doing a lot more crying than I am doing - I think it would have been a shutters down and sofa day. As it is, Sean is up demolishing the old blue bathroom with a jack-hammer in his hand so I have been able to weep a bit without him hearing, but this morning when Alex, my builder, was here too, I had to be chipper with them and make builders' tea and butties which kept me drier-eyed. So this afternoon my blog has come to my rescue again to focus me and download.

Here are some photos of our little explorer - oh the boundaries he pushed! Love you William xxx

William's Bench and a Different Type of Moving

On Wednesday 12 September, I sent a registered post letter with proof of reception to the CEO of Roimage, the company from whom I bought William's bench, which was delivered completely broken and irreparable in August.

Having received no reply as of today, I called a consumer rights group in my local town of Béziers, who recommended that I wait another two weeks (as apparently replies to this type of letter from companies often take quite a while - part of their complete disregard for the customers that keep them in business) and then call them back (the consumer group) to arrange a meeting. They seem to think I have a good case and from that point on they will be my allies in order to try and secure a replacement bench.

As you can see from all this, I have come a long way from the cautious wreck who had a return panic attack to the bench delivery guy's panic attack (and subsequent bench-dropping) upon seeing my dog. This was the day feeble me who could hardly stand up left for my restorative nine days being looked after in the UK. Now I am stronger and I am on a mission to get this sorted out. I am so glad that someone is finally listening. Don't worry Girls' Night friends - William shall have his bench!

Now, you have all been following my head in its twists and turns regarding what the heck to do with my life, to move or not to move, if so, where to, etc. And we all know now that one shouldn't make big decisions in the first year of grieving. In light of this, I am doing nothing till January. If things haven't changed by then, I will re-assess the situation and see whether I have started, or it looks like I might start, generating enough money to keep this house, our family home.

The two big issues are that the house is too big for two people and the overheads are enormous, so, as I noted in a previous blog, I have decided to chop off two rooms of the house from every day use and dedicate it to earning its keep - my chambre d'hôte idea (bed and breakfast). Apparently this is very time-consuming and hard work (yikes!) so I don't know if it will work in the long run, especially once I have done my TEFL course and want to get out teaching. But one longer term option (to be decided in January), as the rooms have their own independent access, is to add a small corner kitchen and call it a gîte (holiday apartment). That way I don't need to be quite so present.

But for now, I've had to do hardly anything to get these two rooms to a point where they are rentable. Oh, apart from several days of hard painting!  But I finally finished on Monday and have spent the time since doing a deep clean and putting the furniture back, as well as dressing the rooms a bit; a new kettle, crockery and tea and coffee bits.

My friend Sean arrives tomorrow and my builder friend Alex is turning up on Friday for a group demolition job on the old blue bathroom. I'm hoping Alex will have time to put up my curtain poles, ceiling rose and light, fix the new shower taps on and box in the loo pipe and then it's off we go! Photos and then up on some websites. I'm slightly nervous. I've been thinking, what if they end up in the house and see photos of William and ask about him? What do I say? Maybe just that he died in hospital and leave it at that, because let's face it, I don't know if I'd be comfortable staying in a house where a little boy had died. I know that sounds blunt, but I have learnt to be prepared for questions. You have to put yourself in other people's shoes in order to protect yourself later.

Here are some photos of my work:

And I now have almost everything for the new bathroom. I've been extremely busy both with preparing the chambre d'hôte rooms and researching and going out to buy bathroom things. My time-filling is going very well.

 

One interesting aside to organising the two chambre d'hôte rooms is that it has necessitated a furniture re-arrange elsewhere in the house. Moving furniture to new places is like a breath of fresh air - it's amazing how swapping one piece of furniture out can completely change a room. I have also hung some new paintings and drawings on the walls recently as well as putting more photos of William (and Izzy) around the house (we had loads of Izzy already and not very many of William - second child syndrome!). So instead of moving house, it seems that there is a natural evolution occurring right where we are which is moving us on, changing things without us having to lose our happy memories. And if I'm honest, I'm hoping these small alterations, although unnoticeable by Olivier (I do have to point them out to him when he pops in! Which he is doing quite regularly which is a good sign, I hope.), may help a tiny bit for him to consider coming back here in the future. God, I hope so.

 

One thing that was in fact huge for me was that yesterday morning I went and did the food shopping in my closest supermarket - I haven't been back since William died. I couldn't bear it. My trips there with William are so indelibly marked in my brain as they were so regular and all the staff knew him - we always stopped for chats and the usual 'Oh isn't he getting big now!' ,'Will he be starting nursery this September?' and so on and so forth. Fortunately no-one saw me, or at least, no-one stopped me for a chat. I have no idea if they are au courant but I would think so. It was a really hard half hour or so (empty seat in the trolley glaring at me) and just when I was heading to the till, it was made even harder because I bumped into William's friend from Fridays at the childminder, a little boy just 6 months older than William. I had to gulp back the tears then. To make matters even worse, the only open till was the one where, on our last shopping trip together, I remember so clearly William standing up in the trolley seat ad launching himself on me to give me a massive hug and everyone around me laughing with us.

 

Another big step forward was that last night (my 'no Izzy' night - she's with her dad on Tuesday nights) I finally accepted an invitation to eat out with our French mummy friends (originally Olivier's friends and now mine too) - the mummies of the families with whom we madly attempted to holiday with so soon after losing William. It was a super night and we talked a lot about what's been going on since we last saw each other, with some enlightening information emerging.

 

They are very, very good friends and fabulous girls, but I haven't been able to see them since the holiday as I've been unable to step back into my previous life where William was once so present whenever we saw them and their families, and where these families still have their two children, older girl, younger boy. It's fine, I don't feel guilty about this as I know from my research that it's quite normal to feel like this. I knew these feelings of sadness and even jealousy wouldn't last forever and they haven't, although I'm not sure I'm ready to see them with their children just yet. We've arranged to meet again next month, which is terrific. 

 

I have come to realise that since losing William, I have actually been creating new friendships, rebuilding 'paused' friendships from where I was absent in the land of toddlerdom with a French husband, or cementing friendships from what used to be passing acquaintances. And mainly within the English community here, with mummies whose children are older. I've completely changed the dynamic of my social life. I am now proud to have these lovely ladies as friends. Due to me having both my children rather late in life, my English friends are more my age group but have older children. Olivier's friends are younger but have children of Izzy's age (and William's before). So I straddle these two worlds, and I'm comfortable with that.

 

The best thing in the world would be if Olivier came back strong enough for us to try and rebuild our marriage. If that happens, I would definitely like to keep this new balance of friendships across both communities working for me.

 

I've said it before, but I'd like to say it again, thank goodness for friendship! And thank you to all my wonderful friends, old and new, for your unwavering support, kind words and attention in the last few months. I couldn't have come this far without you.

Three months since, but for now the therapy ends

It's been quite a sad week this week, with the three month anniversary of William's death passing and the days around it being palpably more difficult to get through, like wading through treacle. Less 'neutral' time (time where I go about my daily life almost normally) and more thinking about and missing William time. But I totally believe that this is necessary and is part of the long term grieving process. Not every day is the same; the first year is hardest as it's full of anniversaries (this feels like an odd word to use as it's usually associated with happy moments) and, of course, the natural progression of grief as we all now know advances in an oscillatory fashion.

So my waves are now much shallower, I do have more neutral time and even times where I can laugh without feeling guilty. But, of course, I do still think about William a lot and I do still miss him. My screensaver is my William file of photos and videos, so sometimes when I come back to my laptop and the screensaver has been activated, I just sit and watch for a while as the computer randomly decides what to show me. I've noticed just how much William looked straight at me when I had a camera in my hand. I can see directly into his eyes - it's like we are looking at each other once again. He looks so alive - he WAS so alive. It's hard to believe he's gone in these moments of retro-connection.

 

 

My gorgeous poppet. I am beginning to accept that I will probably never have another baby. It's bloody hard. But it seems this is the way life was meant to be. Izzy is sad too - she desperately wants me to give her a new baby brother. But, hard as it is to say, she is blossoming from all the extra attention I am giving her. I am more patient with her and she is responding.

 

We went to see the psychotherapist yesterday for Izzy to have a session - the first time in a couple of months for Isabelle as we wanted to wait for school to get going. We are both doing well and the decision has been made that we no longer need to see her, which is another huge step forward. She suggested that if Izzy needs any therapy in the future, it might be an idea to find a male psychotherapist, as she may respond better to a masculine presence, who might represent a firmer form of discipine during the sessions. I've been reading parenting books recently to try and discover more about what makes Izzy tick and how to react better to her different moods and moments. It seems she is rather oppositional - and in fact lots of people, including the psychotherapist, have said to me that she searches to push me, or other authority figures, to their limits. She pushes and pushes till shouting is the only option to get through to her, till you have to say 'Stop!' to make her stop. But the psychotherapist also said Izzy is obviously highly intelligent, giften even, which makes me very proud. Her behaviour has improved markedly recently though and we are working through things together. Patience, love, cuddles and rewards for good behaviour through words or treats. My main aim now is to ensure that Izzy grows up to be happy, well-rounded and fulfilled.

 

As for my progress in my ongoing projects with the ultimate aim to generate some revenue so we can stay in this house, at least for the meantime, well, in the next day or so I'm hoping to finish the painting of the little living room that will be part of the suite for our BnB project. I've spent two long days on it so far, with all to do, including painting the skirting boards and cornice/decorative coving which is a nightmare, although I have now found out what those pointy paintbrushes included in paintbrush sets are actually for! I like hard work and I think I'm going to be proud of it when it's finished.

 

 

 

 



Blog no 2 - Chatty Ham

I deleted my rant blog of Saturday 29 October, but wanted to reproduce a little of it here as not all of it should be relegated to the Big Blog in the Sky. So here is the bit that counts:

Let me tell you about my fabulous few days with Angèle last week. We cleared out and cleaned the cellar, a shed, sorted and tidied William's cupboards and chest of drawers (two drawers out of three of his clothes packed away - that was tough). We did numerous trips to the tip and to Emmaüs to donate things. We also had a fantastic evening on Wednesday when we had our monthly Anglo-group Girls' Night here at my house in order to raise a glass to William in William's Garden. He waved his wand again on this evening and produced for us the most amazing double rainbow. 

Angèle was fabulous; she motivated me, inspired me and kept me very busy! We had a fantastic few days together. She totally gets it. I love her to bits. Oh, and the new idea that my friend Isabelle suggested and that Angèle and I love the sound of is to try and do Chambre d'Hôte (bed and breakfast) using my spare room and the attached lounge! We already have a sprung sofa bed in the lounge, so we have a ready-made suite for a couple or a family, with an en-suite shower-room and UK TV. All I need to do is paint the lounge (we had it plastered at the beginning of the summer and haven't painted it yet), put the curtain rails and curtains up and hang a lockable door on the entrance from the hall. There are French doors with their own lock to the front, so guests would have their own access. We have secure parking with a beep to open the electric gate. What more could you ask for? So that's a new mission. Keep 'em coming I say.

What doesn't break us, makes us stronger. My new personal motto. Off for dinner at a friend's house now. Put the mask on again. Smile the rictus smile - it works! You have to try - put it on and some of it wears off for real! I have worn my smile recently and found it actually became real as time went on.

Progress, n'est-ce pas?

So from here is an update on what I've been doing this week. Yesterday Olivier and I joined forces to go and do something very difficult. It was our 'post-losing-a-child' meeting at the hospital, three months after William died. The meeting was held with one of the doctors who treated William, as well as the hospital psychologist allocated to dealing with parents in these situations. We were 25 minutes late going in and we both almost left - the wait was unbearable. To be in the same hospital where William died; the smells, sounds, even the sight of the metal-barred cots with high sides that he'd been in the year before after his fit (by the way, it was exactly a year to the same few days that William had his fit as when he drowned) had me fighting back tears. But suddenly we were in the consultation room (double doors for extra privacy which I found odd - when I went to leave I was first at the door and when I opened it, there was just another door. I hadn't noticed at all going in.).

As you can imagine, the meeting took two directions: the clinical and the psychological. Our opportunity to ask any questions that may have come to us since the horror and the days of living in the fog. I thought I didn't have any questions, but found that actually, I had lots. Was an EEG the best way of telling that he definitely had no brain activity? Yes - it was pretty conclusive. Was the fact that he was a premature baby a factor in his death? (William had had an MRI the year before after his fit and the medical examinor had immediately stated 'oh, he was premature?' - apparently premature babies' brains are different and stay different, so they are immediately recognisable by neurologists). The answer to this question is quite simply that we will never know. The doctor told us that every case was so different and that sometimes children that had been submerged for a long time came through with no apparent harm at all, while others were irretrievable after only two minutes submersion or lack of oxygen. He said it's the same for babies at birth who suffer from lack of oxygen - some cope better than others and, for the moment, the medical world cannot find any link or common ground to tell us why.

Although these conversations were very difficult to have, I am glad we went. It did feel a little like a mini-closure. The hospital has now been done. William will never go back there and hopefully we won't either.

The other part of the meeting dealt with how we were coping 'since'. Apparently, three months is a timeframe where many parents are truly at their most distressed as they try and find new routines in life, having emerged from the hazy, foggy days where they have no short-term memory, and now try and return to their lives as best they can. To find their 'new normal'.

They were quite amazed, I think, at everything I have done to 'advance'. But that's me, I HAD to. I couldn't stay where I was, in the madness. Out of control. I had many setbacks after a small advance - one of my blogs was even titled 'Two steps forward and one step back is still  one step forward'. It seemed to be that every time I fought to regain some control, some sanity, something would knock me right back again. But I fought on. Olivier even admitted that he thought my three month pit was actually around a month ago (that is, two months 'since'). I think I agree, although I did hit a new pit a couple of weeks ago. But that's grieving, folks. Just when you think you've grabbed that wretched black claw of grief and tied it up with string and tucked it safely away in your back pocket, it Houdinis out and torments you again.

In fact today was a hard one. I think I may have mentioned that I don't cry every day any more. That's a good thing. That's not to say I don't think about William all the time. I do. Today was tough because Izzy woke up in a funny mood - I'm sure she is a teenager in a 6-year old's body - she didn't want a cuddle, didn't want to wear the clothes we had chosen together the night before, slammed her bedroom door on me... sigh. I don't know why I still bother choosing her clothes every night as she always changes her mind (oh, for school uniform in France!). But I just let her get on with it now. As long as the outfit is weather-appropriate and she's not wearing her coral pink butterfly knickers under white leggings (she got teased in the playground about this!), who cares? It's just not important. So I am more patient in that respect. I think that is why we still choose the outfit before bed, just because it's another routine for Izzy (important) and something we do together.

Anyway, all the tantruming, and the light in the house, oddly enough, as it's darker in the mornings now, just made me feel the fact that William wasn't there incredibly deeply. I have these moments when I feel totally alone. I should say that Izzy and I have bonded immensely recently and are closer than ever, more cuddly than we have ever been. But when she has her moments (quite normal for a 6 year old - I'm the adult) I do occasionally touch on despair. Despair that I have no parental back-up (Olivier), no cuddle back-up (William) and that I have to make all the decisions now. So today was quite a tearful day. I spontaneously shed a few tears over breakfast, in the car on the way to school, when I got home again, and even later on when I had prepared the new chambre d'hôte living room and was finally painting it. The reason was as I said before, today I missed the presence of William immensely, I couldn't shake off the feeling that he just wasn't there and should have been.

I still catch myself picking things up off the floor so he doesn't put them in his mouth. I check my watch in the middle of the afternoon to see if he'll be waking up from his nap. I often quite simply catch myself wondering where he is. It's a horrible moment as in the same instant I know he's gone and I'l never see him again. But you can't just erase the hard-wired mothering instincts that have grown and evolved with each child on a separate plane, just like that. Even these take their time to slowly dissipate.

I am on my own tonight as it's Tuesday and Izzy is with her dad on Tuesday nights and Wednesdays. I really need to start planning things for Tuesdays as I hate them. I hate being in this house on my own. No noisy kids running around and playing, no Olivier watching the news in the other room... Just me. Trying to find something to do to occupy my brain. Next Tuesday I have a dinner planned with two French girlfriends that I haven't really seen since everything happened (the two mummies from the families we attempted our holiday with); partly because I seem to have extricated myself from Olivier's world and they were originally Olivier's circle, partly because it is still so hard not to be jealous of people who still have two children, especially a girl and a boy. But let me just say, this is another advance for me - I am ready to see them. They are both fabulous girls, have both kept it touch assiduously over the last few months and it will be an adult-only evening, so I am much looking forward to it.

One last thing, I have another visitor due. A friend that I have known since I was 17 and who has been my friend through thick and thin. Sean arrives next Thursday for an almost two week stay, ostensibly to provide some company for me and for me to avail myself of his building skills for jobs around the house, as well as testing out the hopefully by-then-ready chambre d'hôte guest suite! I can't wait - he will be an excellent tonic!

 

 

Apology

I'm thinking about taking my blog down a notch. I've been looking at the bigger picture - something I know from psychometric testing for jobs in the past that I am not very good at. I tend to look at things very much in black or white - hence the impetuousness you sense (sense? Ok - no sensing needed - it's pretty much in your face) from my posts. I may have been a little too emotional to write, but in my head I had the notion that I needed to get my thoughts and feelings down in an honest fashion.

Let me say that since William died, the rules of life have definitely changed. And in the early days there literally were no rules. Everything about every day was alien to me (a lot of it still is). How were other people in the street around me standing up, walking around and going about their lives quite normally when my son was dead? Didn't they know? Couldn't they see that William was dead?  That he wasn't in his pushchair in front of me?  It sounds mad, but that's what you think. One of grief's manifestations is the sense that you are going mad. The world is spinning around you, you are spinning in the middle of this vortex and everything speeds up or slows down around you, depending on the moment. You are out of control. Nothing is real any more. How could this happen? This doesn't happen. Dead? Gone forever? NO!!!

So you see, if I was up before a court of law for the crime of speaking my mind, I could quite credibly plead temporary insanity. Intense grief envelops you, wraps you up in a big, black claw and squeezes the light out of you. It squeezes your heart till it feels like it will burst, it squeezes your lungs so you sometimes gasp for breath, it squeezes your brain so that you have no idea what time it is, that you should eat something or sleep or... that you should not say the first thing that comes into your head in case you regret it later.

I Googled 'Fractured families after a loss' yesterday. At least 25% of families fall apart or suffer some fracturing after a loss. People grieve differently, or at different rates, and this leads to tensions. Things are said and done that are out of character for the normal rational person concerned.

What I am saying is that perhaps I have said too much on this blog and hurt the feelings of those mentioned in the heat of the moment. I humbly apologise for the public nature of my emotional download. I also hereby, by the same medium, give an opportunity to anyone I may have offended to contact me directly and in private for their opinion or return apology, whichever they see fit.