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”
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”
Continue reading “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.