Wednesday, 30 October 2013


                                      Two-week-old grief hair.

The love for my boys is shining super-bright. Yin and yang and all that. Rocco is being extra clingy, extra cuddly .... and seriously obsessed with why Uncle Cam did what he did. Can't wrap his little head around it.

"But, like, just ... WHY mum?"

It's a hard thing to explain properly to a five-year old so I haven't fully, yet. One day I will.

He still gives me heart attacks like it's his job.

                                           "GET. DOWN. NOW."

I'm finding it really hard at the time between school and bed, he suddenly needs to be entertained all the time and I'm busting my arse to even stay upright .... any suggestions? What do your kids do? Yesterday I took him to the bank just so he could write "A cheque mum."

I can't wait until I get into bed at night so I can be rid of the day. Another stupid, ridiculous day that makes no sense at all.

Earlier this morning:

Friendly shopkeeper: "Oh, you're pregnant!"
Me: "Um, no."
Friendly shopkeeper: "OH! But I looked the other day and I was like, is she pregnant?"
Me: "No. My brother killed himself so I'm stress eating and look like a fat shit."
Everybody else in the shop: Complete silence.

The shopkeeper felt SO bad. I felt SO fat. Seriously, you shouldn't ask a woman if she's pregnant until you see a baby half-hanging out of her vagina.

Guess I better go brush my hair. Try find something mildly constructive to do. Until it's dark and I can hop into bed next to Cams ashes and watch mindless television then sleep then get up and do another day all over again. Thank you, for your love and support. Thank you so much.

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Write to be understood, speak to be heard. - Lawrence Powell

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