no reason in particular

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.

family, 1991

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.

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11 thoughts on “no reason in particular”

  1. 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!

  2. 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….

  3. 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.

  4. 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.

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