Rose’s nieces heard I am ‘sick’ and drew me some gifts. Another friend brought chocolates and took 2 loads of dirty washing home to clean. I got the great game Pandemic as an early birthday gift. I’m miserable, depressed, and in pain, but getting lots of love.

Yesterday was rough. The pre-meds made me pretty incredibly unwell, which I wasn’t expecting. The nurse in reception was nasty to Rose. The rest of the staff in the surgery were really kind to me, but I had to listen to them treating another woman really badly in recovery. I was crying and so badly wanted to go over there and give her a hug but couldn’t walk. I was glad to get home. The pain was pretty bad. I used a hot pack which helped a lot but I didn’t notice that I was burning my skin so I couldn’t use it again today. I had a brief but very upsetting argument with someone on facebook telling us to be positive and look forwards and treat Tamlorn’s death as a ‘trial pregnancy’. I’ve never actually shouted at anyone in caps online before. I’m depressed and exhausted. I feel like I’m in a desert, everything is dry and flat and empty and tasteless. My stomach is flatter and my breasts ache. My arms feel empty. My womb feels empty. I called the mortuary today and arranged for the ‘products’ to be kept safe so a funeral home can cremate them. I can’t get an appointment with my GP for a fortnight. It doesn’t feel like it matters anyway, nothing matters. Going through the motions and trying to be kind to those who are kind to me. I was mean to a friend who was only being kind and said sorry and gave her a hug but still feel bad. There’s burning anger sleeping just under the surface of all the grief and that familiar broken apathy I remember from the early days of PTSD, the wondering why something so ‘little’ can have such an impact. Life is restraint. Life is breathing through the next moment. Making the next phone call. Emptying the bin, feeding the cat, touching my love’s face, holding her hand.

That moment in bed, late at night, when all the lights are out and the house is silent and we lie facing each other, breathing out, breathing in, breathing each other’s air, heartbeats slowing down to sleep, the closest we get to death. And her skin feels like silk, feels like linen clean and hanging warm on a line in the sun, feels like a cat sleeping on warm clothes fresh from the dryer and I’m glad to hold her in my arms, silent and broken hearted because I can feel it, like the moment of joy from a gift, the recognition of kindness and love in other’s shared grief, the warmth from reaching out. For these very small moments the world makes sense, and they are precious moments.