Glitter

As I begin another week of lockdown, I find myself being sucked down the plughole of grief. The anniversary of Tall's death in May is already dragging me back. The lockdown has left me feeling very alone. I know there are other people cut off from family and friends, front-line workers who have made a conscious decision to move out of their homes so that they don't make their family ill should they become infected, I know there are people who like me will never see their loved ones again, people who cannot even give their loved ones a proper funeral, but although my head tells me to be sympathetic, my heart is breaking for Tall. Having never been in this situation before I don't know if what I am experiencing is "normal", whether next year will be the same. My world is full of reminders of "this time last year". The seeds germinating, my granddaughter's birthday tomorrow, the garden springing to life, they are all reminding me of "this time last year" and I know that May will probably be full of tears. 

I have tried to occupy myself. I take Toni for a walk every morning, but the days then seem to drag. There is so much housework I could be doing, and yet I simply cannot motivate myself to do it. The only thing I have done is make my granddaughter a card and a cake. Last year Tall bought her a cuddly unicorn, her wanted to give her one last present. She probably won't remember where it came from in the years to come, but I will know and I will always remember. 

 If my granddaughter had her way it would be covered in glitter, personally I hate the stuff. 

"Grief is like glitter. You can throw a handful of glitter into the air, but when you try to clean it up. you'll never get it all. Even long after the event, you will still find some, tucked into corners, it will always be there..... somewhere."