Dear Alex, Head in My Hands.

Dear Alex,

Monday morning, time to rise at 6.30am again. Kids bounce around, school uniforms donned, porridge, weetabix, dog and cats fed. Bags packed, fruit and water in each. Washing up done, clearing up as I try and chivvy four excitable kids out of the door. Last minute signing forms, shoes found, coats on.


I sit, I watch, I see a flicker from the corner of my eye. Butterfly beats its wings, flittering up and resting near me, near enough for me to touch it, would it let me. Resting just by me, flying around me and landing again. It made me wonder that it was the first Butterfly of Spring, the first I have seen in months and a deep bluey-purply colour setting it out from the frequent Cabbage-White Butterfly we see regularly. As I wonder whether it is significant, it takes off.

"Butterfly is so elegant and beautiful, she is the essence and embodiment, the spiritual symbol of the divine feminine. She teaches grace and tenderness and the awareness and energy of another way of being.

The purpose of the life of every Butterfly is to set aside everything that was once known aside and to embrace an entirely new way of being."

This was the spiritual meaning of a Butterfly, as I discovered when I researched its meaning.

I have certainly had to do that, set aside everything that I once knew, and embrace an entirely new way of being. Although I certainly feel like no Butterfly!

You ring me, as usual, several times today, seeming flat. Tonight our last call sees you sad, 'I miss you so so so so so much' you repeat. The kids start to get out of the car to go to Gymnastics, I say I will follow. Head in my hands, I tell you how much I miss you too. Not knowing how to comfort you from such distance. I try and involve you by telling you about the kids, that Mitzi and Esmie have just got out to go to Gymnastics, that Monty and Lola and I would watch them from the Balcony.

Lola sleeps beside me, it is her turn tonight. Esmie wakes like clock-work at 11 pm and gets into my bed each night with whoever else is in there. Betsie our puppy sleeps on the end of the bed. As full as my bed is, it is now mine, not ours.

How I wish our bed was ours.


Me xxxxxxxxxx