Wednesday, January 19, 2011

And up we get again....

Yesterday was a sudden and dramatic slip into grief again.  It roared through me like a thunderstorm yesterday morning, at school, but before the children were in. A few did look at me strangely and one did ask if I was ok - I don't cry attractively.  It's all blotches and snot.

I was surprised by it, and by the all consuming need that I had, at that moment, for Rich.  I would have done anything to have him home.  Anything.  Given up anything, gone anywhere, done whatever it took, just to see him once more.  I sobbed all over a friend for a few moments, then made a cup of tea and faced the day, because what else is there to do?

She asked if I've had counselling (sp?!) but it's never materialised, and I've been thinking I'm doing ok.  To a vast extent, I am.  And I don't need little white pills, or anything like that to maintain a stability, this kind of grieving for the love that we had, but also for the future that we should have had - the children, the holidays, the Landy shows, the..... everything!  That all is being wept for as well.

I know that there is a bright new future out there, and that it will be as excellent as I choose for it to be, and I love it and intend to choose most rightly, but the old future, the other trouser leg of time, still needed to be mourned.  There may well never be more children now, and I think that's something I got my head around yesterday.  The AC may well be all there ever is.  That's a shocker, when Rich and I were thinking of at least two more.

Anyway, I have to pull myself up by my own bootstraps, and face the day.  I found an excellent quote this morning which describes how I feel, perfectly.

"Courage doesn't always roar. Sometimes courage is the quiet voice at the end of the day, saying "I will try again tomorrow." Mary Anne Radmacher. 

Laters lovely peoples, laters.

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