On Saturday, it was six months to the day since Mum passed away.
I can't begin to comprehend how that is even possible.
Grief is peculiar.
Grief moves at its own pace. It won't be dictated to.
Six months has passed quickly.
Six months has passed slowly.
There are days when I can't remember the sound of her voice.
There are days, almost every day, where I look for her handwriting in amongst the post.
There are days, almost every day, where I expect that ping of a text message to be her.
There are days where I can feel a physical pain in my heart.
There are days where I've survived a first: a birthday, a holiday postcard not written,
an end-of-year school report not shared.
There are days where the unexpected stops me in my tracks.
There are days where I know that without The Brainy One and The Boy Child,
I would have gone under.
There are days where I know that "this too shall pass".
There are days.