What-ifferies...

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.

Don't you just love it when...

...you find a caterpillar underneath a leaf...

and it co-ordinates perfectly with the flowers?

This is still one of my favourite exhibitions at the zoo.

Three Years...

Today is Tom's 3rd Angel Anniversary.

Three years since I have felt his soft little hands in mine, squeezing gently and showing me, subtly, that he shared a bond with me that would be unbroken in spirit forever. Three years since I have breathed in the smell of his hair. Three years since I have looked into the biggest brown eyes - brown like Minstrels - and seen a twinkle in them despite everything...

Yes, I cut and paste from last years post. My thoughts are much the same.

I could go on forever.

Three years since I listened to a rare giggle or saw a precious smile. Three years since he's given me a wobble - his way of showing he was really enjoying something, sort of a happy shudder! We made Wednesdays 'Wobbly Wednesdays' with the idea being to do a lot of wobbling on those days.

Three years sinced I coaxed his left hand into a dynamic lycra splint to prevent his wrist from curling inwards or his feet into AFO's or his back into a spinal jacket. Three years since I have carefully measured out 25 doses of medicine per day and planned my day around giving them at the correct time.

The good with the not-so-good.

I sit here, at my laptop, wondering if the time has come to empty my medicine cupboard of his medicine - it's all out of date, not that that matters. Or maybe sort out the drawer next to his bed and throw away the bits of unused dressings and masks and syringes. Maybe take down the drip-stand next to his bed? I don't know, the time still doesn't feel right, but will it ever? Sometimes I sit in his wardrobe just so I can feel his clothes around me. Another tear splashes on my cheek. Will they ever dry up?

On Saturday I attended the Annual Service of Remembrance at Great Ormond Street Hospital. The chaplain read out this quote from a bereaved mum: 'You do not get over losing a child; you just learn to behave in public.' I'd say that hits the nail on the head perfectly.

Today we are going to the zoo again. We decided last year that this is what we want to do on this day.

A couple of months ago I decided to treat myself to my own angel wings.

It wasn't as if I needed a permanant reminder, but it feels good to have one.

I had the star done last year. An eight-pointed star symbolises unity and completeness.

Tulips...

I may have alluded to my love of tulips before. I think these are worth another outing this year.

They give me great joy.

Baby Orangutans...

Last week I pruned my tree fern after having removed its winter jacket. It always seems so brutal, but within days, new leaves emerge from the centre, uncurling their way upwards.

It's like they've just been itching to get going. You can almost see them grow right in front of your eyes.

They remind me of baby orangutans stretching their little arms up...

Scratch 'n' sniff...

If only you could smell my wisteria. I wish I could share it. Bottle it, maybe.

It's divine.

It always flowers quite early and unfortunately I don't get to enjoy it so much as the weather is usually dull. Thank goodness for cameras and blogs!

My kitchen table...

At the moment, it looks like this:



Just trying to meet a deadline. Back soon...