I’m feeling angry today that Kristy is dead. “It’s a bit shit” is all I can hear her voice say today. I just told Calum, my 15yr old son who has always had Kristy in his life, that after the funeral is the worst, you go home and the doingness recedes, and you are alone with the wound in your constellation of people. it’s more than a bit shit. I do not let people in close often, Kristy kinda grew into me over the years until we were at that place where there is no striving, or shame, or fear of rejection, just connection. looking around my kitchen at the small things touched by Kristy, the heart she crocheted while chatting, the willow garland that was for ‘Christmas all year’, the herbal tea she grew herself, the big tub of maple syrup gift that suddenly feels more precious than its nature can accommodate. I won’t be investing too much in these small things but today they are a comfort to reflect that we shared life together