Dunno why, maybe the anniversary of LB’s inquest, but I’ve been having a weep fest over the past few days. I think about LB all the time. He’s never more than seconds, occasionally minutes and very rarely an hour or so, from my waking mind. I’d got to a state (hate to stage this grief stuff) where I could think about him in different ways. With the occasional, typically left field, gut punching moment. Sparked by a word, a smell, a thought, sound or memory. Moments of near meltdown (I know, the irony), fright, (at the) sheer horror, brutality and worse.

This week I’m back to just crying. Or weeping. Or something else. I don’t know what to call this thing. Maybe weepage. A sheet of tears. There’s no movement. No sort of sobbing and dabbing with a tissue action. No drama. Just moving wetness.

I cried last night re-reading my older sister’s handwritten letter to each Sloven board member. In 2014. Two years ago. Can you imagine?

I cried looking through another pile of photos that have shifted to the surface of home clutter this morning.

I cried sitting at the back of the Oxford to Heathrow coach this afternoon. For pretty much the whole journey. Watching a stream of heavy haulage lorries and coaches. After receiving an update from the General Medical Council. The supplementary expert report is now with Dr M (again). She has two weeks to respond before it goes back to the Case Examiners. Another never ending story.

The Nursing and Midwifery Council investigations? Who knows. Tumbleweed.

We were told, months back, during a meeting with Norman Lamb and the Health and Safety Executive, that some report was with some panel and we would hear something in October. No doubt we will have to chase up any (non) news ourselves.

I think my new tear configuration has (re) emerged because of the utterly shameful banality  of the public sector response to what has happened. A year ago an inquest jury determined that LB died from neglect. He should not have died. He was effectively killed. And nothing has happened. And a recognition that this sustained cruelty can’t continue indefinitely. We (a collective #JusticeforLB we) could not have done more to counter the darkness of the #NHS and social care at its worse, with light. And brilliance. And there is still no accountability.

I wonder where, in the structure of the NHS, effective support and attention exists for brutalised families. Who should know the answer to this. And why the fuck I’m having to ask.