Being LB’s mum. I wanted to write this before ‘being LB’s mum’ changes into something unrecognisable. Which I’m sure it will. Because it already is in some ways.
Being LB’s mum. What a maelstrom. What an identity. What a full on, brilliant, intense, raging, frustrating, hilarious, difficult, intense, relentless, remarkable, time eating, pointless, rich, extraordinary, despairing, delightful, fearful, life changing experience.
I hope the pages on this blog (pre-2013 entries) capture some of this.
I think about LB all the time. Pretty much every waking moment. These thoughts jumble around in, as yet, uncategorised, spaces. I hope, as time passes, I might be able to tag them a bit and park em in a bit more of a coherent order. Maybe. Maybe I won’t.
Maybe the breathtaking pain will continue. Maybe it will become something different. No sign of that yet. But maybe. Maybe it will reduce.
At the moment, I just miss LB. My head spins out of control trying to understand why he’s dead.