I’m not sure when I realized I stopped counting the seconds, the minutes, the hours… but I just realized I stopped counting the months at some point. I actually stopped counting the exact time since John left. One day it was the 8th day of a month, and I didn’t even notice the 5th skipped […]Read more "C"
They say it’s your birthday. John would have been 48 today. It’s odd to think that in two years, I’ll have been alive longer than he was. He was always supposed to be older than me. One day he won’t be. Quite a few people have checked in on me today, hoping I’m ok. I […]Read more "Birthday"
Happiness morphs between mildly content and ecstatic. Although I can say that I am happy today, I can also assure you that it is a different happy than what I had before John died. But it is still happy. There are many ways to look at the evolution of happy before and after you lose […]Read more "Same but different"
I’ve made it past the two year mark, and this time it wasn’t that traumatizing. The firsts are always the worst, it seems. The first anniversary, the first birthday, the first road trip, the first Christmas. The first September without John was terrible, leading to my escape to Spain. This one, I felt like i […]Read more "Changes"
I attended a gala for mental health a few months ago. I think I’d mentioned that in a previous entry. I had a wee bit of hope after that night. Hope that some suicides are preventable and permanently avoided. Well, another blow to hope came last week. One of the “successful” patients who was a […]Read more "Don’t ask Questions…"
That’s me. My father’s daughter. A pilot. Swearing is part of my vocabulary. I love history and hot mustard and i suck at hugging. His childhood was as fucked as it was for many in the 1940’s: A bit of violence, a bit of rage, lots of love and a new world to discover after […]Read more "my father’s daughter"
New subdivisions are taking over the forests and fields where I live. I don’t like it. It seems every time I drive or walk somewhere, there are more and more plywood frames, standing a mere 30 cm apart from each other, calling themselves homes. Every time I go to these new build areas, another farm […]Read more "The black and white house"