Subsidence

I suppose it was inevitable that I would encounter a pot hole or two somewhere on this journey, I just wasn’t expecting so much subsidence afterwards. After 11 months of widowhood, I thought I had this coping thing down to a fine art but life has a habit of testing you apparently.

Like most of us Britons, the prospect of an Easter weekend bathed in warm sunshine was enough to bring on a happy dance. I am definitely a sun bunny. I dug out the factor 50, cleared the work decks, charged the kindle and decamped to the front garden with equally joyous dogs. I also had an invitation to Sunday dinner with close friends which of course, I accepted.

I wonder if my sub conscious knew something I didn’t because unusually for an evening with friends, I decided to drive over and forgo the drink. It was halfway through the meal when I had what could only be described as a minor panic attack. I don’t know why but knew I had to go so made my excuses (can’t leave the woofers too long) and came home. I felt like I felt the day after he died, disengaged from life and numb again. What the hell happened?

It’s taken a few days for me to defog the brain and bring some clarity to the hiccup. I think the looming first anniversary is a psychological niggle but the complete family sitting round the table was probably the proverbial straw. I will never have that again and that’s tough on the mentals. But I’ll dust myself off, bandage the bruises and get back up the hill. I just have to watch my step a little more carefully…

“You know, a dog can snap you out of any kind of bad mood that you’re in faster than you can think of.” (Jill Abramson)