It's now a month since mum died.
I had a proper cry last night. It doesn't seem fair. It doesn't seem real. Everything is just a blur. I keep forgetting, and wanting to share something with her, or pick up a conversation we never finished. And then I remember.
It doesn't matter that we used to fall out sometimes. A friendship isn't about the low points, or the things we get wrong. It's about being there when it's most important. I see dad apparently coping so well, and I know that on the inside he must be hurting at least as much as I am. He's lost his best friend, with whom he had an almost telepathic relationship. My sister is clearly struggling; I've seen a lot more of her than usual and she's been round my dad's place almost constantly. My wife is going through the same pattern as me.
But the kids have been a real inspiration, especially our eldest. I think it's safe to say that her grandma was her best friend too. They shared a birthday, and had a bond like I've never seen before. She's hurting deeply, and yet still manages to find pleasure in the rest of life. She sees no need to hide or dilute her feelings. As she grieves, she is honest about everything, just like the woman she is grieving for. This gives her great strength and freedom. In “little Tricia”, mum lives on.
I guess normal service will be resumed shortly. Maybe.