Do we ever really let go of the ones we love? Today is a day for memories. I am being assailed. I think I have got over them, the ones I loved, the ones I lost, but something rises up to remind me and the pain is sharp and deep.
Even if it was right for them to go and there is no way I would want them back in the condition they were in.
Even then, I miss them.
Because I am no longer sure I believe in an Afterlife. I am no longer sure that is not some comforting fairy tale we tell ourselves so we feel less desolate, less overtaken by loss.
Mum, where are you now?
Arnold, where are you now?
Do you know I love you? Do you know how much I still miss you? Do you know that I am still lost and I haven't been able to find my way? Do you know most days I am tired and disorganised and I wish so much, so much, that I could just go home and lay my head on a comfortable pillow and feel safe, secure and that all was right in the world?
When do we lose our certainties?
I am glad neither of you are still alive and suffering. But I am not so sure about me. Is there something else I am supposed to do? I can't think what.
I really can't.
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