I realised that I have just spent the last 90 minutes sitting staring at a) 2 pictures of my beautiful Valen b) the turned off t.v screen and c) one of those Chinese arm waving cats that we called The Happy Cat.
I had a lovely day yesterday and this morning with my sister. It was her village show.
Her husband encouraged me to enter a couple of my pictures - 2 watercolours and a collage.
Very much out my comfort zone, never done anything like that before.
I only started doing “art” a few months after Valen was ripped from me.
I find it mindful and engrossing and takes me away from the horror that is now.
Much to my, and to be truthful I think their, surprise I got a first and a highly recommended.
I was so amazed and excited and proud.
And I spun round with my certificates and called out “Look Buba, look!”.
And so the darkness pulled me back to reality and sucked all the joy out again with a punch to the gut.
My sister saw immediately and got me out the marquee while I was still in that moment of stunned before the tears.
Every damn time. Every time something good, or joyful and happy happens the guilt, which I know it is, at least for me, drags me back into this nightmare.
Can I not have at least a few hours without feeling the guilt.
I know he would be quietly but immensely chuffed, so why am I feeling so damned by it,
I literally pinch myself to see if I’m awake. Which horrifically I am.
Sorry, I know most of us feel this way.
That we are in a living nightmare.
