annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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45
We made it. We went to The Ivy which is fucking glorious, madly excessive decor and fairly fancy food but not too much and not too expensive. Me and Daughter and Grandson. Sam's mother, her sister and her son. Daughter had printed off a ittle strip of photos of Sam which we were able to put on the table between us. It was good and easy between us - we three feel like the core of the family somehow - we've spent a lot of time as a trio, from when GS was small - he always spent a lot of time with us, when Sam was working - school holidays and that. And we used to go to festivals together. His dad is half Italian, and he has an Italian name, shortened to an English one. His Italian grandfather, his Nonno, died recently and it's made GS want to reclaim his Italian name. No more Tony, hello Antonio. Good for him.
When Daughter booked she'd said it was her late sister's birthday and who we all were. After the meal they brought us a little choux bun with a candle and a chocolate slice with 'Happy Birthday' written on, quietly, not trying to get everyone singing, which made me cry and cry and cry, but it was OK. If you can't cry on your dead daughter's birthday it's a pretty poor show.
To the beach, after GS had to go back to work, and Bloke joined us, bringing flowers for Daughter to incorporate into the mandala-type thing she makes for her sister on these days. We had to find flat grey stones, small black and white ones, bits of brick and bits of treasure. It was OK - something to do with Sam as the focus, but when it was all done, Bloke had gone, daughter and I had been in the sea and were back on the beach, our Sam's still fucking dead, isn't she? I don't know what I thought I'd feel but I was surprised by the intensity of the sense of pointlessness and fury. I don't think it's pointless, though. I think it's the best we can do.
12:01 a.m. - 23.08.23
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