Small Things.

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Before I write a post about all the sadness and anger in my world at the moment, I want to record the small things. The small, fragmented but beautiful pieces of joy. Of love. Of a sign of a life better than this.

My GP. He saw me yesterday, squeezed me in at the end of his surgery, because of the crisis at the weekend. I told him about the crisis team, how they didn’t support me, and he was visibly angry. Shoulders broadened, fist clenched, raised voice angry. Not angry at me – though I did worry, for a nano second. Not angry at me. Angry for me. Angry because I was hurting. Angry because they hurt me. He was angry for me, because he cares about me. He went on to tell me I should have rung him, texted him. That 3am wouldn’t have been too late – he turns his phone off at night, but he would have got back to me. I should have rung the next day. He got angry – he broadened his shoulders, clenched his fists, and built more barriers around me. I will not let another weekend like that happen again. You can ring. You will not have to face the next time alone. You are not alone.

Costa Coffee. Before I saw my GP yesterday, I walked up to buy a work colleague a present, and because I was early, I sat in Costa. I had a sandwich, and a hot chocolate with cream, and I watched a beautiful family. Their two young boys, one only just walking and one maybe two or three, were playing together and with the cups the barista gave them. They were so lovely, and so happy in their world, and their parents were so very clearly doting parents. My hot chocolate was warm and sweet, and so were they. They both warmed me.

Artwork. Not mine. Designed by Belle&Boo. I wasn’t looking for it, but it leapt out at me. A girl with fire in her hair, a need for comfort, and a bird, a need for flight, always somewhere close by.
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My Best Friend. On Sunday, she cancelled her plans, drove to me, drove with me to work, sorted me out for Monday, and drove home. She is exceptional, and I would have gone under without her.

Children. Today, at work, my children made masks of their favourite characters. One of the children chose the ugly duckling. He ran around, quacking and shaking his bottom so as to flap his wings, and when I asked him why the duckling was his favourite, he told me “because I couldn’t fly before, but now I have wings”. The lump in my throat was huge. The rest of my kids were having so much fun. It was just pretty beautiful.

Life is pretty beautiful. It is just so hard to see.

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5 responses »

  1. Pingback: Routines, Boundaries, and ‘Simply’ | Understanding Me and Her

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