Be Gentle As You Walk With Grief

No internet last night so no blog. No phone or email. Disconnected,  I have become a communication addict. I borrow a phone to send a text.

We leave in torrential rain before sunrise. But it's warm - 21degrees. We walk off the plane in Bristol into 5 degrees chill. Overcast, small skies, with a weak sun filtering through.

The house is freezing. It takes hours for  the any warmth to filter through the two week long deserted rooms.

I light tall candles, gas fires, and smokey insence sticks. Make a pot of tea.

Any small thing can reduce me to a crouched, keening wreck on the kitchen floor. In the post I open cheque books, one after the other, all with his name removed - all our joint accounts, those long numbers I have  known off by heart for 30 years, now just belong to me.  My name looks small and lost. Bank statements for the Late Robin Currie.

And some kind messages of comfort, reaching out to me in my "crucible of grief".

Do not hurry as you walk with grief;

it does not help the journey.

Be gentle with the one

 who walks with grief. 

If it's you

be gentle with yourself.

Swiftly forgive,

walk slowly, 

pausing often.

Take time, be gentle

as you walk with grief.

By George MacDonald.

Thank you, cousin. Thank you, friend.