Treacle toes.

Just call me Treacle Toes. As the weather turns and the days get shorter I look back at summer and realise I missed it. I have no memory of sunny days, of barbecues or days at the seaside. My summer was very much doom and gloom, not surprising given the circumstances. I try and work out what I have been doing the last six months and I realise my feet have been in treacle. I might have bought and wrapped all my Christmas presents, but I haven't dealt with the things that are related to Tall. It is only today that I contacted the Baggies to find out where the photographs taken on his last visit might be found. I should have contacted them straight away, but the mere mention of the name had me in tears. It still makes me cry, but I am at least able to function through those tears now.  

There are still so many things that I need to sort out, everyone says to take my time, and in some ways they are right, I have to be careful I don't throw the baby out with the bath water. There are things around me that at the moment upset me greatly, opening the wardrobe to his football shirts and aftershave being just some of them. I am considering getting a special memory box, something I know others have used for their loved one. I can fill it will all the things that mean so much, the things I cannot bring myself to throw away like a scrap of paper with his handwriting on or the card wallet he used. When it is my children's turn to clear away my things they can simply take it straight to the tip. 

Alas even getting a box seems to be something I keep putting off. I guess that sums up why I am Treacle Toes, I am still trying to put off accepting, truly deep down accepting, that Tall will never, ever, be around to wear his Baggies top or spray himself in Joop.