Ruminations on dealing with the big D.

Hi there. Long time no see. Sorry about that, but been kinda busy, you know? Lots of writing on at the minute. Took a special project that was close to my heart and most of my screen time was devoted to that. What else have I been up to? Well, I went to visit my Mum. She’s doing OK, although she has her down days.

I read a very interesting article in the paper at the weekend, though, which put forward the idea that we no longer know how to deal with grief. Once upon a time, there was a period of mourning, and you wore black or a black armband. Everyone could see that you felt like shit and that you were miserable. You were allowed a decent period of time to wallow in it and then you moved on. It’s been nearly six months since Dad died. I still miss him terribly, and I’m going through a bad patch right now. It’ll pass, I know, but how much am I allowed to let it affect me now? How much can I talk about it at the moment? The rules have gone. I’m confused.

And now we hand you over to our Strangely Appropriate department for this brief public message:

I could tell you why this was appropriate, but then I’d have to smite you.