.... and it's still true.
I had half thought hoped dreamed that I would wake up this morning and it would be Friday morning again, and I would be in bed with him and this would have been some particularly nasty kind of dream.
I've dreamt through whole days before. It happens.
And it isn't.
It is just the living nightmare of see-sawing numbness and pain that it is.
The next few weeks are set to become an endless list of to-do and people to see. Today it is the Police again, and the RAF.
Caroline is on her way down, Ian and Mum will go back today. To be honest, I can't think further than 7.50 this morning, when it will be 24 hours that he has been dead. I keep making myself use the word, or killed, or something like that, to make me realise he isn't coming home in a week from Bisley, or a few weeks from Khandahar, but there is a part of me still hoping, just like we did with the baby.
I guess they get to be together though, and AC and I will join them many years from now.