Dear Alex, Crying over spilt milk...

Our Mitzi-moo

January 14^th 2013

Dear Alex,

Crying over spilt milk is silly, but sometimes it is that last straw. That final thing. The tiny thing that explodes BANG! Before your sore, tired eyes. Monty was being really helpful, bless him,  but decided throwing 4 pints of milk into the hallway would be a good idea…it explodes, over carpet, wall, boots, door, dog. Drenched, everything, saturated in milk. There’s muddy shoes chucked at the bottom of the stairs and coats under them. Four children, tired from only just getting in at 7.30 after a long day and after school clubs, grizzling, wanting whatever they are asking for-four different voices all chorusing at once.

So many things to address and no time. Documents to find, where did I put them?? And no time, and no time, and no time...

Because I have to be with you. driving to and from you arms aching from lifting and pushing you all day yesterday. You were in tears most of the day,  asking for Lola today a lot, not remembering 10 minutes apart my previous answer ‘she’s at school honey’. 

A letter, well, several; bills, they’ve messed up the Council tax charges, AGAIN! And a form to fill out, for a house, an hour away, an hour further from you whilst they adapt it. Meaning I’d be 2 hours commute from you! The kids would have to start everything again, will they have the strength to do that again?? New friends, the heartache of missing their old ones. I have strived to stabilise their environment. I am involved now in their lives at school (I go in a few times a week to help out in between visiting you) so they know I am around, involved in their lives, present and around for them.

And that’s just it, I have to be so strong for all of you, when my knees are buckling under the weight today.

So do I sign, fill out that form? The kids blaming me, they will, kids do! For uprooting them again…

And can you help me with the decision? No.

Will you ever help in that ‘you and me against the world, baby’ again? Probably not…

And the dog food falls out of the cupboard on the floor, a cupboard door falls off. I burn the tea.

I’ve lost the keys. I don’t mind, but what I am broken hearted over is the fact that on it, there was a key-ring you gave me, you found a stone with a hole in it, shaped like a love heart on the beach, you put it on a key-ring for me…

The hard-drive has ten years worth of videos and photos on it, it’s dead. Ten years, the first ten years of our lives, gone.

The T-shirt I kept, it was from the night before you never came back to me, it smelled of you, I have slept with it every night since, smelling your smell. I found it clean in the tumble drier- it’d got caught up in the bed sheets…

I feel every trace of you is being taken away, and I’m not ready for that, and I am panicking as tangible memories are snatched, and I try to deal with the so many things going on at the moment.

That’s why, that’s why I cried over the spilt milk.

And so did Monty, so now I feel just bloody rotten! A rubbish mother who flipped when I shouldn’t have done.

Well, tomorrow is a new day and all that.

Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx