I didn’t get much time crafting last week, aside from the crochet squares I was working hard at finishing. I’m down to the last 25 or so and then the blanket just needs putting together. But in one quiet moment, I did make these, 1 for my little momentary nod towards Freddie, 2 to send to bereaved mothers, 1 as a cheerful turning my face to joy. It’s an awful effort, joy, but I’m getting better at manufacturing it.
It’s so hard, approaching Christmas. We are busy at work -thank you retail spirits for that – and busy with the kids and Bene never sleeps. It leaves so little time to prepare for grief and all its tentacles. Yesterday morning the macabre irony of festive shop music wound in and stole the little happiness I had found. It feels as if the cogs of life are slowly gritting up again, I can feel the wheels coming off, I can feel the empty hole beginning to howl again. It’s such an effort, to look away.
And when I do – and mostly, I manage it these days – I’m looking away from my son. And that is a hollow victory.
Another Christmas, another New Year, another year to get through. And honestly, I can think of a single thing that makes the thought of the next 3 weeks bearable. It’s just onward, through… And then the run up to another April.
It’s a life sentence, this. Sand in the gears, scrapings down the blackboard, manufactured joy. Doing better, hating that. Nothing changes.