Ghosts

I am surprised to find that it's February . Since my sons death in October last year the months plus Christmas have all clumped together in my mind with no real significances in any of them, the dull acceptance of loss has taken over many of my more spontaneous qualities I think...I am sorry if the blog has been dull, I have been writing through a glass darkly, a miasma of doubt, guilt and anxiety is slowly giving way to good humour and even some laughter...

My garden is now showing every sign of life, daffodils are out, Camelias and even roses are adding colour and great fat buds are on everything.....the fact that some small trees are pushed over is because the ground is so sodden there is nothing to hold them upright.

Our gardener has been struggling but at the far end of the garden it is now hard to walk. The moles have discovered no dog! Crispin used to dig out the odd mole hill which must have been very disturbing for them.....but where just one or two piles of soil existed we now have so many that walking is difficult....I may end up like Alice.....in a deep dark place....Underground.

A poem that I found on a bench close by says a great deal for me.

Her memory dreams on here

Her smile rests easy in the ripple of the wave

And if you listen and if you know serenity

You will hear her soul

On the breath of the daffodils

It was written by Abbi Searle Jones for her mother...but I'm adapting it for my son...The ghosts of Crispin and Ady walk with me as I go...

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