I’m feeling very emotional tonight. Dido left this afternoon and although I’ll see her and the children again this weekend, she won’t be in my house again this trip. Knowing that soon she’ll be flying back to the States and I probably won’t see her until the next time she’s over (two years) is horrible. I know the feeling scrapes against those illogical emotional reactions I’ve had since Juliette died, where every meaningful goodbye feels like a death.
I don’t want people to go. I didn’t want Juliette to go, but she went. This time nine years ago we were enjoying heavenly holiday days in Southwold, innocent and blissfully unaware of what was about to happen. Then a chain of medical events took our little bronzed girl with sand between her toes and pink nail varnish on her fingers and killed her without ceremony.
I’m feeling sorry for myself and ashamed for doing so. I’ve got so much to be grateful for, but right now I’m angry at the unfairness of what’s gone on and what’s going on now. I can’t even talk about what’s really happening, but I’m sick and tired of it. I want the family life we should have had, not this one of grief – each one of us with visible, and not so visible wounds from our war.
A better day tomorrow. Please.