Monday
Grief is an unnerving companion. Continually nudging me off centre. Even though the world appears much as it did before my mum, Rosemary, died, everything feels slightly out of kilter. Not quite right. Not as I remembered it. Sometimes, I even have to double-check the chair is where I thought it was. The physical merges into the metaphysical. Most of the time I feel OK. Tell myself that it was the right time for her time to die and that no one can feel cheated at 101. That it is a blessing she is no longer subject to the terrors of her dementia. That she is at peace. I just get on with my work and spend time with family and friends.
