There’s nothing special about today.
It’s a wet Friday.
I have a list of things to be doing.
Busy things.
Oh, very important things.
Boring things.
All the things.
Then I read Isobel’s beautiful post. As I reread it, I heard the song playing on the radio.
I had a little wallow, a wee drip and a sniffle. It happens when I least expect it. When I have other plans.
I thought about Herself, and the woman I spoke to last night whose husband was recently diagnosed with PSP. I thought about those more recently bereaved than I, and those dealing with the ongoing chaos and firefighting that accompanies a parent’s decline.
In my middle age, I want to still be able to do something with my late parents. I’d love to hold them, tease them, walk on the beach with them.
Instead, I miss them. I blog about them. I volunteer because of our experiences.
I’m a 47 year old woman, still holding hands with the grown ups.
me, mine, and other bits 
Sometimes the ‘no reason’ days bring back the best memories. As I lift something in or out of the oven, the hands I see are mammy’s. There goes the timer… another dish is ready!
That’ll be why you’re such a good cook!
Having read Isobel’s thoughtful essay, I feel for the moment you had….
In my case, my grief happens at *not* being able to be with my hospice-bound mother because of my own illness. All screwed up and very sad…. Yesterday she had her 88th birthday….
Illness has so many unexpected effects; I’m sorry your health precludes you from being with your mum. I hope you sang down the phone at her?
You got some nerve. I was knee deep in writing about greasy grotesque shtufffs and the beauty of it all. Decided some distance was required for a moment, so I opened the inbox and read this. Now am all touchy feely. Thank you. It seems the streams we float, follow, think and dream upon is the intravenous that self-medicates. Maybe ‘nothing special days’ are cause for celebration if this is the result, as Grannymar’s comment gently punctuates.
Whereas I was feeling a touch emotional, read your comment and began to giggle… 🙂
I, too, am smiling at the thought of us making Hudson all touchy feely 🙂
It’s a great photo, Fiona. xo
I wonder if we ever let go really, Fiona? We are who we are because of them, to an extent. I agree with Andra – that photograph is a golden moment. So hard to have a vaccuum which aches.
I think nothing special days should be special, Fiona.
why &how does the brain work, dredging up wonderful memories we want to repeat & suddenly realize we can’t