‘I also know that if we are to live ourselves, there comes a point at which we must relinquish the dead, let them go, keep them dead.’ (Didion, 2005, p131)
Early 2014
My nephew asks what happens if we move house. And Connor is in the cemetery.
What a question.
What a question.
Ain’t gonna happen.
Ever.
End of.
I walk to work from the bus stop in town. Wide open space. So much sky. St Giles. Quiet tears. Unspeakable pain.
2021
We move north. I ease into a ‘Connor is always in my heart’ groove. It kind of works. A lessening of pain and devastation. Of reminders.
I carry him in my heart.
Do you?
YES. No.
YES. [Howl]
Christmas. 2022.
I cry when Will pitches up. Sleeping in the back of the car. Four years in Japan. Bringing a sackful of fragmented childhood memories. A precious loop of disconnection. Of Christmas Past. Of so much passing. Time. Life. Change. Love.
So much so new. Connor is still dead.
My throat aches so, I can barely breathe.
mydaftlife 
Yes Sara, all that my friend. Here if you need I have no other words xxx
Hi Sara, with all my best wishes for a better 2023. My own blog is rather behind firstly owing to technical issues. Then I was demotivated by the farce that was the [not-so]-independent Pascoe Report. Latterly, I lost Rachel (my wife of 54 years standing) on 21 November so it’s still very raw – she passed away in Lymington Hospital (yes, Southern Health) following heart failure. As soon as she passed, the shutters went up!! They even refused me a copy of the death certificate! Plus ca change.