I am sitting staring at the Google search box. The curser is flashing angrily, annoyed at my ineptitude. Just do it, just do it... it seems to signal impatiently. I am frozen.
It will be another brick in the wall of goodbye. It will be another sign of the end. It is another finality. I am sitting about to google local stonemasons for my mother's grave. My mother's bed in death. My mother's monument.
I have to think of wording, but how do I put in to a few short words the woman who helped me live? The woman who helped me breath? The woman who was my mother, my best friend, my teacher, my inspiration. My Wise Woman.
It is another goodbye, another confirmation that this is not a bad dream, she is truly gone.
I can never forget the cries of my second son as he came into the hospital to farewell the woman who had been there for him his whole life, "Why? why is she dying? What is killing her? Nanna can't die, Nanna ALWAYS bounces back."
I know son, I know. I cannot accept she is not coming back either, for whilst you had her for your eleven short years, I had her for nearly forty seven of mine.
Once more, the screen has blurred. And because you never believed in tissues, my mother, I now have retrieved one of your soft, delicate hankies. It smells of you. And my tears flow harder.
Goodbye is just too hard.
Diagnosis by stealth - Yesterday I went to see my Rheumatolgist. He is an interesting guy. At first I didn’t like him much. I felt like he was dismissing me, writing everything ...
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