My blog rule is to tell the truth. Although I might misremember details, or omit items, for discretion, the aim is to complete number 365 in September with the thought that, yes, this is how it was for me. No embellishments.
Revisiting the story of the hair transplant on Sunday drained me. The day felt grey, morbid, depressing. Some of that was due to driving to Cheltenham and back the previous day.
However I did enjoy lighting the birthday candles for my mum, who died in 2006, and the offerings. I have no experience of how to communicate with the dead, and of course no certainty that such a feat is possible. Nonetheless I said a few words to her picture. Something like: “Sorry that we’ve been ignoring you for so long mum. That stops now. If there is anything you can do in return, to make our lives a little easier, we would be grateful. Will always love you.”
Might offer her a slice of chocolate cake next time. And perhaps a book of crossword puzzles. Things that made her purr with pleasure.
Yesterday, Monday 14th January, the feel of spring came through to me. Walking through the Langleys, just before noon, it felt like a sixth sense suddenly kicked in. I couldn’t say that there was a different smell, or that the light was tangibly brighter, or that sound travelled differently to my ears. Maybe tiny elements of each of those impressions? But the overall effect was a surge of joy, that near-walking on air feel that a late March day can stir in the soul.
The flood of happiness was immense. And has stayed with me. I awoke at six this morning, made a strong cup of coffee, and sat with the lights off in the lounge. Until the winter day began to struggle from the gloom. Our male cat Bob nestled on my lap.
And I realised that the Pink Floyd song ‘Wish you were here’ was playing around on a loop in my head. All sorts of ways to interpret that, but I was glad.