My Blog Bubble

  I can’t stop hearing those words “Gulliver is dead”. Out of the blue, completely unexpected, most certainly unwelcome.   I didn’t want them to be real. I wanted to un-hear them. I wanted that phone to be as far from my ear as possible. I threw it onto the bed and just kept on murmuring those horrid words. I got up and walked into the hotel bathroom.  The grief swamped me abs pulled me to the floor. How was this possible. My boy. My beautiful boy. Dead. Give. Forever. And me - so far away. The grief wracked my body and overwhelmed me.  Pull yourself together. Stand up. Open the door. Get dressed. Go down to breakfast. One step at a time.    I walked barefooted to the restaurant. I stared blankly. Confused and struck dumb.  Trying to be strong but crying all the time. Red eyes we finally made it back to the yard. Deep breath. I opened your stable door. There lay my big handsome giraffe. Tongue out (as always). First time I saw you laid down. Last time I would see you.  I cried and crie

Sometimes I think I have got it all together and that I am going to be OK.  Other times I find myself crying as I am driving along.  And there are times like now I can feel my stomach churning and my entire body shouting "I'm not ready yet". I have had the pragmatic conversations.  We have spoken wills and funeral services.  I have even looked at coffins and scatter tubes.  I know where Mum wants her ashes to be scattered and the type of hymns she likes.  I have asked if I could read a poem and if my daughter can attend.  I can do all of this but I cannot accept that it is going to happen. I can say that Mum has had a good life and had the opportunity to travel.  That we, as a family, have had more years than we thought we would be graced with.  Never did we imagine Mum could fight off the MS as she has done. Never in a million years did we see this happening and am I ready for it?  Am I heck as like.  I feel like I have to keep on reminding Mum how much I lo