Tag Archives: sunshine

What we can learn from flowers

1 Jul

photo

It has been rainy here in London.

And I’ve been working my paws off on several big projects.

Yesterday I planned to get out of work on time and go to yoga. Then I was going to make a delicious dinner. And watch Catfish.

In reality this is how things played out: I got stuck in a (very boring) meeting until 7.30pm. I left work while it was raining cats and dogs and what definitely felt like elephants. When I got home there was no food in the fridge. I fell asleep trying to watch Catfish.

But, on the way home I did stop to buy myself flowers. Beautiful pink gerberas to be precise. There’s a photo above. Just look at the gorgeous little poppets.

Today, I think work was even more stressful than yesterday. I got home exhausted (having missed yoga again) and saw my flowers on the windowsill which cheered me up immensely. And then I noticed that while I was at work and the sun had been shining in on them, each flower had turned to face the direction of the light.

Let this be a lesson to us all, my lovely blogger buddies.

Even on rainy days, turn towards the sunshine.

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Grief loves sunshine

7 May

Buddies.

Apologies for not writing for a few days. I’ve been terribly busy lying on the beach, walking on the beach, reading on the beach, drinking Sam Adams and frozen cocktails, eating lobster, and generally having such a nice time.

This is so different from my trip in November. I’m so much happier. So much calmer. So much more connected to the world. When I look back, geeez, in November we’d only been broken up three months. I don’t know how I was still breathing, to be perfectly honest.

Well, Saturday (as I was flying across The Atlantic) was nine months since the pizza of doom. Nine. Fricking. Months. How the hell did that happen?

He’s further from me than he’s ever been. And, yes, that makes me sad. But it also makes me breathe a sigh of relief and get excited about the future.

I’ve been reading a book about a woman grieving her husband’s death. I won’t tell you the name of the book because I’d already have ruined the story for you. But I am so surprised by how similar her feelings and symptoms are to mine. The physical side, too. The pain which comes from nowhere. The crying that starts when you least expect it. And the kidding herself that he’ll come back.

In those first two months after the pizza of doom I used to seriously think he would be there when I got home at night. That he’d realise it was a mistake and let himself in and surprise me when I got back from another day crying at work. And every day I cried for hours when I was so disappointed that it didn’t happen.

Grief is a funny thing. And nine months isn’t that long in the grand scheme of things. But I’m getting there.

And sunshine definitely helps.