What a week.

I seem to be falling into a pattern of blogging weekly now the dust is starting to settle. What a week it has been. I have had my garden dug up front and back by men looking for a gas pipe. I have caused mayhem, albeit unintentionally, and had to be an A&E nurse as a consequence. On Wednesday I started my This Girl Runs 0 to 5km course. It went really well, possibly because the run leaders were taking it easy with us for the first session. I did complain to my friend afterwards that their idea of a brisk walk was a snail's pace. I have now completed the two homework sessions. 5 minutes BRISK walk, 6 x 90 seconds jog (run) and 5 minutes BRISK walk. The Couch to 5K app that we use for homework asks for goals before embarking on the course. They are as follows:

• get fit and feel healthier
• lose weight
• prepare for a race or charity event
• challenge myself and run regularly
• improve my health condition
• another reason 

Obviously I could have chosen several of the above, but I decided to tick the "another reason" box and have "Improve my mental health" as my goal. Having seen and read that running can help people get off anti-depressants (not that I am on them) I decided within days of Tall leaving me, that running was the way forward. I would love to add in other things like weight training, swimming, cycling, but for now running is enough. It takes me 30 minutes and from what I can gather even when I am running 5km it shouldn't be much more than 40 minutes. 

Friday 13th started out so well. Despite it being the four month-versary I started the day positively. Mid morning I had a message from my son's girlfriend saying my son had decided to drive straight up here after his night shift Christmas Day and they would be having dinner with me. I was so excited and pleased that I started to sort out the cabinets in the dining room, they are stuffed with things, some of which need to go. The table was soon full so I decided to empty one of the crates that Tall had brought with him fourteen years ago. At the bottom was a photograph in a frame. The glass had broken and underneath was Tall, him in his suit at his first wedding, forty-four years ago. My heart broke. Grief for his loss four months ago and grief for the years I never had. Grief that our paths hadn't crossed years ago. I quickly realised that I cannot change the past and mourning for what I never had is pointless. Still I cried the rest of the day, just writing about it now has tears rolling down my face. 

Then there are days like Saturday. I was walking the dog when a message came through on FB. It was from someone who I know, who was friends with Tall when he was in hospital back in 2010. "Is he still with us?" Tears from me, then anger, then the sarcastic reply. "No. I'd have imagined you'd have known that if you had looked at his FB page!"
Enough said?

Good days, bad days. Days when his name and his photograph make me smile. Days when if I so much as catch a glimpse of his photo on the fridge I'm done for. There is comfort in the tears, for I fear when I don't cry that people will think I didn't care.