This is tricky. I'm not a memories person - not any more. I have to live in the now, appreciate the now, love the now.
So that's why this picture is my picture. Well, it's not my picture because there isn't one of the garden I had at RAF M, but I loved the garden, and eating from it, and making from it. I loved baking and cooking and keeping house. I loved spending time with the child as a toddler, doing everything together. I didn't have to dump him in nursery until he was 2.5, and so I didn't. AC and I lived and loved life together. We were rarely apart for more than 30 mins.
I also loved the garden for when AC was in bed, for the times when friends, and especially Rich, were round, and I would be hoeing, barefoot in the dirt, picking weeds, listening to chat, joining in, laughing in the dusklight. Sitting outside when the only light was the glow of a cigarette end, and Rich's voice was just there, talking about his hopes and dreams for BG, for him and the She-Ex, for their lives together. It was sitting there that we planned how they could get back together, how he needed to show, because apparently she didn't know, that he appreciated her. How she didn't know, I have no idea, but she didn't. We schemed our schemes and planned, but she went off to the States anyway, stealing his daughter in the process. In that garden I held him when he cried, he held me when I cried, and we had always planned to have another garden one day. He wanted me to have growing space. He wanted to plant things with our children, like he did with AC.
I-t-b said that he wouldn't let me have access to the ashes because he didn't want them put into our garden. As if I would? As if I would choose to leave Rich somewhere so suburban. As if I would do it without his family there. And so he took them without any thought, without any care, and he scattered them somewhere, I don't know for certain where, because I have never heard from him properly again - he was clearly that proud of what he did that he could defend it....... not.
Moving on. Weird phrase.
Shower, dressed, school, solicitors, here we come.