Tonight

Tonight, 27th May: seven months since Keith died.

This is the saddest night ever says five year old Florence.

My seven year old: Before when Daddy was alive I was normal good Darcey but then Daddy died and it turned me into bad Darcey. 

It's not an excuse, it's heartfelt self awareness, I see it in her tears.
Maybe if tomorrow I believe in God I could ask him to bring Daddy back. I want him here now I want him to give me a bedtime kiss - she is sobbing.

I tell them that the feelings in their heads are like clouds, and there’s all sorts of different types of clouds, sad ones, angry ones, bad ones, naughty ones, but above the clouds there is still blue sky, like when you go in an aeroplane and climb up high. I say imagine Daddy is there in that blue sky and he is smiling at you and waving. Imagine the blue sky is in your heart too.

Florence says again this is the saddest night ever.

They consume every joule of energy, I am left with almost none for myself. I often find myself stranded, bereft, lacking the ability to do anything well. The things I need to do are overwhelming to the point of smothering so I step away and don't do them at all. Communication is my current downfall. I have not the drive to respond to emails, phone calls, messages, conversations in the playground. As I result I isolate myself further, I see interaction and correspondence like a bright point of salvation, fading farther out of reach with every dismissed reply. This blog, it is a helpful connection, but there is irony in not knowing if it will be read. I am no longer on Facebook, it was darkening my time not enlightening it, so I closed it down - a selfish act, yes, but my mental health demanded it.

I know the support is there, I haven't the power to reach out and take it. 

Summer doesn't look like happening here in Edinburgh, spring is cold and sad faced. School finishes in four weeks and we hit the promise of holidays. There are long evenings, there is lot of light, there is that wonderful Northern feeling I get when I stare out of my window: there are long days, there are long shadows.

The girls have gone to sleep with their silver hearts on their chests, crying. And people are still surprised when I tell them truly how I'm feeling.