I Know Nothing Stays The Same

I broke off from writing the last entry to write this. I'm sitting in the kitchen at the computer with the radio on at 7.45 in the morning, and Carly Simon's "Coming Around Again" has just come on the Johnny Walker Show.

Towards the end of her life this was my mam's favourite song, from one of her favourite films, "Heartburn".

It's brought all my grief rushing back up to the surface.

As Heather said about Geoff while we were walking along Liverpool Street last week, one isn't overcome by old grief when one is expecting it, but when one isn't.

To My Children

Yesterday evening I sat on a bus, side on to a young woman who was soothing her very young cying baby boy by holding him to her heavy breasts and gently and rythmically shushing and rocking him.

Every now and then he would fall to sleep until a bumping of the bus would wake him, and he would gurgle and cry a little again, and then reach out his little hand towards mine. I wanted very much to let him hold my finger, as I've not had a baby hold my finger since I was a child myself, but I remember what a lovely feeling it is.

At the end of the journey I did a little shopping in Eccles town centre, just before closing time, but was increasingly overcome by thoughts of the children I never had, the children I longed for so much. It was all I could do to contain my distress, with my face changing from frozen to a contortion of grief that I could see other shoppers were noticing.

I couldn't fight down the feeling of loss and despair, and I had to go home where I sobbed uncontrollably for about twenty minutes, starting as soon as I locked my front door.

So, to the children I never had, I am sorry I could not call you into the World. I lacked the words, I lacked the understanding, I lacked the wherewithal, most of all I lacked the strength.

I miss you.