Grief is a funny old bedfellow. I hate it. I hate the explosive unpredictability of it. But I also wallow in its now familiar depths. It is where I feel close to my father. Where I hear his voice the clearest.
Continue reading “Behind Her Eyes”Imperfectly Perfect Humanity
I have not written a blog post for a while. I have not had the will, nor the words. And if I’m honest, I know there is enough doom and gloom around without my maudlin witterings.
Continue reading “Imperfectly Perfect Humanity”Mabel’s Idea of Heaven
I started this blog as a means of sharing my mother’s story. A woman cut down in her prime by an aggressive and rapid version of dementia. I never once dreamed whilst pouring my broken heart out on to the screen, expunging my pain through the over-sharing of my experience and shock, that I would need to use it to grieve my father.
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