I know your life is not perfect.
But some days, right now, when I picture the look of shock on your face as you read this blog…. I wish your life were mine.
I’ve read stories before, real stories that happened to real people, and recoiled at the horror of them, and selfishly, ashamedly felt so glad that it was someone’s else’s life, not mine.
I know, there are so many people so far worse off them me…
But I can picture you, right now. I can almost taste the bitter sweetness as you go to home to your partner, your loved ones, and hug them and be so grateful, in reflection of my story, that they are still there to hold.
I had moments like that, with Tony.Where I cherished everything we had, every moment of sweetness. Recognised how divinely lucky I was.
I’m so glad I did.
I wish I was still on your side of the wall, to feel that way.
Take those moments, run with them, if sometimes that is what this blog inspires in you.
I’ll be happy for you, I promise. Every time I hear that, that my writing has had that effect, it takes the sting off my grief, just the tiniest bit. It brings me comfort to know that love is blooming from here, from something so horrible…
Lilies growing from water.
The squelchy mud of this winter, drying into the dust of a summer that hasn’t happened yet.
An email, from a reader of mine named Jo….
“Please know that I haven’t stood by staring, but for want of a better word “abided” with you, head bowed respectfully, whispering a prayer for mercy from the universe for you and your bubba’s.”
I’m more than OK with that. Thank you Jo.