..... and it hurts like a massively massively hurty thing.
I feel like I can't do this any more, like I can't do another 17th of July. Obviously that's rubbish, and I will do it, because itwillallbefine and I know that.
The AC is having some not-counselling at school. He's ok, he just wants to talk things through with someone who isn't me or Jack or his Dad. He says to Mrs B that he doesn't want to talk to me about it at this time of year, because he can see in my eyes that it hurts. He doesn't want to talk to Jack about it, because he loves Jack and doesn't want him to feel unloved. He won't talk to his Dad about Rich because, well, it's his Dad. So he's been by himself. School have been fabulous though and supported him right from the first email that I sent.
I feel very rambling tonight. I haven't blogged for a while because I haven't had time/energy/inclination. I've been having some weird abdominal pain that I'm studiously ignoring on the grounds that I will go to the doctor in the holiday about it all. I want to leave it until after the weekend so I know if it's stress related. My Dear Reader doesn't need the details, but stress is a stomach thing in my family.
So.
I'm leaving this here because it feels as though I'm sitting on a plug, and the second I start to loosen it I'll be typing for a year.
The numbness is coming again. Grief is a bastard.
- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone so don't mock the spelling and I'll be back later to sort the layout!
