Winter Magic.

This years winter magical festival came and went. Colour and dress ups and freaks and hippies and GOZLEMES and lots and lots of music.

On a whim we decided to come. Found a park and made the parade just as it was starting. It was easier back in the day when it was just Dave and me with no kids, but we all enjoyed it anyway.

 

 Cam wasn't there. I know, right? Can you believe it? I looked for him like I look for him everywhere. At the moment I am on fire with grief. Or I am drowning in grief, one or the other. A few years ago, when Cam lived with us, he came to winter magic to watch Max in a hip-hop performance. Cam hated the festival, called it the festy-val. Check out a tiny Rocco in a stroller ... Cam was on the phone to his friend Ryan organising a night out in Newtown:

His panache and style and smile and beautiful, beautiful heart. His pain and his love and his dreams. All gone. I love him. I have been through some shit but nothing like this, nothing.

I search for him everywhere I go. Sometimes I think I see him and for a second it's all, THERE you are sweetheart! I've got so much to tell you! We need to debrief his suicide. Analyse, talk to him of the fallout and the grief and how so, so many people have been affected by his departure.

It is all quite unbearable, threatens to bring me undone at any moment. But we went to the festival anyway.

                                Even guardian angels need to eat.

              This lady won my best-dressed. THE TURNKEY!

                          Standing where Uncle Cam stood.

                              He did not share his chip stick, not one bit :(

Me and Miss Phoebe Rose. Her excitement was infectious. She is back living with us and I don't want her to leave. I love her. Told her Roccos bottom bunk is hers FOREVER.

This guy. It was our fourteenth winter magic together ... sometimes we haven't come, like when he was on chemo or when we had that huge fight that time. But we made it to another one yesterday, so that's something. The colour and the buskers and the dancing and the gozlemes. It was good. It was sad, and when you cry in a mask nobody notices. But it was good.