Monday, 4 May 2009


There's some stuff that I need to get out. Or maybe, just write down. Same difference, really.

My moments of delight are important to me at the moment. Without them, I truly believe I may go mad. Here's another:

Love white daisies...

It's that horrible period of two weeks that will always be hard. Between Tom's Angel Anniversary and his birthday. This year he will be/would have been 16. Old enough to:

  • get married with one parents consent
  • have heterosexual sex
  • have homosexual sex
  • leave school after official leaving date
  • join armed forces with parental consent (but not permitted into war zone)
  • work full time
  • claim social security benefits
  • get licence to drive a moped
  • sell scrap metal
  • join a Trade Union
  • buy a pet
  • choose your own doctor
  • buy premium bonds
  • drink beer, cider, porter or perry with a meal in a restaurant
  • play the National Lottery
  • sell National Lottery tickets
  • change your name

List from here.

Clematis montana alba - magical with the sun going down behind it...

So I sit here and wonder what he would have been like now. If he hadn't been brain-injured. Or if he was simply still here. My heart is breaking. I have taken books off my book shelf that have not been looked at in many months to see if it is normal. Lines from them pop out of the pages and they resonate with me to my core.

"How will people be able to deal with the person I have become, will become?"

" To be forced to be well behaved is torture"

Love lime green stamens...

My days are dark and robot-like. I'm finding it difficult to be motivated and I go through daily rituals almost in a trance. No2 gets fed and always has clean clothes to put on. I watch him and wonder how it would be to have two boys under my roof. His voice has broken, he sounds grown-up apart from when he giggles. I haven't heard Tom's voice in nearly 12 years. His injury robbed him of it along with all the other things that we take for granted. He had a funny little voice. It delivered what he wanted to say precisely and thoughtfully. The last thing he said to me was 'can I have a drink?'

I wonder how tall he would have been and what he would have been good at at school. Would he be revising hard now, for his GCSE's or just winging it like his brother?

There are new and shiny things in my life now but I wonder if there is room for them at the moment. Will I ever feel whole again? I want to move forward but my grief drags me back. I'm angry. It is unfocused, just a general feeling that bubbles under my skin.

Bear with me. One day at a time.

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