annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hurts Well we made it through the first bit, just 'happy' new year to go and we're done and can settle back into just living as best we can. Daughter and I had a swim on Christmas Day, at the harbour, with loads of other people, or alongside them at least. Cold water swimming is meant to give you a blast of utter joy and I can see that writ large on faces all around me, but me and Daughter just get reset to 'just about OK' which is better than continual overwhelm with sorrow and loss of our girl. There's no logical reason why it should hurt so much more at one time rather than another, but it does. There's a giant hole in all our lives and I think sometimes I forget and wonder why I'm fighting so hard just to not keel right over. Reading back the blogs from 2017 and 2018 has been instructive. I forget how truly fucking awful it was for so long, how much more than a person should have to deal with, on and on and on and on and then she died. My baby, she died. I bottle it all up, give myself a hard time and it's no good. Today the Sunday yin yoga class was on and as soon as I relaxed in a room on my own, the tears just flowed out of my eyes and down my face and although it was hard, it was good too, it's the right thing, but it is hard. I just want her back, more than I can say. more than you can imagine. But here in the world what do I do? I come home from my swim with Daughter, we half-heartedly exchange a few presents, eat a scaled down version of Christmas dinner, she goes home and I eat myself into submission in front of the telly. Quite comforting telly apart from the expected departure of Mick Carter (Danny Dyer) from Eastenders, which had to involve him dying and his mother, Shirley (the Shirley the dog is named after), howling like I wish I could howl. A stupid version of The Canterville Ghost -honestly, a clever, funny short story by Oscar Wilde made into four hours of fatuous nonsense - he'd be turning in his grave. The only link was some Americans, played by English actors, bought a house with a ghost and the names were the same. Yes, I did watch it all. Pure shite. Some of my presents are fab though - daughter made me a model of Shirley that is fucking perfect and Bloke gave me a Dryrobe, also perfect. Today I went to my niece's house for a Boxing Day family do but I couldn't bear it for long, all of them there, all those young women with their long blonde hair and faces not quite like my Sam's but still reminiscent, similar, but alive, busy, fussing around their children, telling tales of work, plans for the next year... I stayed about an hour then fled and walked miles along the beach, dragging the poor little dog through the crowds of people, more fucking families out enjoying the sunshine.
12:53 a.m. - 27.12.22 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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