I have started without finishing more posts than I can count. I have and still do find it very difficult to put down the words that will most likely open the sluice gates I am not sure I am willing to open. We were living in Japan when we received the phone call from my mother telling me that my father had chosen to take his life. My mother felt it necessary to tell me before I read it on Facebook. I don't want to talk about suicide now or how damn angry I am with him, I will at some stage, I need to share what life is like for those left behind. I do want to talk about how grief is like the scene of a train wreck. For years I had prided myself in my ability to self-evaluate. I new I was insecure, or if I had treated someone unkindly. I was able to prejudge my emotions and navigate them before they caused damage. I have always been deep, but I had moved clear of the precipice leading to despair. Grief comes like a thief in the night. It robs you of wha
It's late and my thoughts might come out a bit smooshed, but I have to get into the practice of doing this again. Today was hard. This week was hard. I started work after a seriously short holiday, with longing in my heart to stay home with Oliver. My heart breaks for the mothers who have to work, I know there are those you want to, but there are many more who have to. My heart breaks for myself. At this stage we have no idea what to do with our precious youngest child. At 14 months he is getting too big and busy to still come to work with me and we cannot afford to put him into a playschool. I am very grateful that he is able to be with Emiel. It works, for now, kinda. Beatrice started big school this week. It has been exhausting, even trying to type this is exhausting. She uses so much energy trying to be good, trying to listen, trying to concentrate, trying to sit still that the minute steps out of the school building she lets go. I am finding it harder to deal