Last night I dreamt father died. I visited him as he was dying and then he died and I organised his funeral.
He died July 28 2015.
Grief is a peculiar thing. I don't suppose anyone reading this is surprised that it has hit me again. The funeral directors thought I hadn't cried properly back in August and I don't suppose I have yet.
Today has been an epic fail on a heroic scale regarding anything except self pity. I'm posting this because I am sure I am not the first one to be unexpectedly ambushed by grief, and I'm sure I won't be the last. Sometimes it is good to see it in print, that you're not alone.
Really, I'm doing okay. More or less functioning, more or less ready for Christmas, more or less okay. I have a lot of good days, a lot of days with lots of fun. The world is still an amazing place. A lot of people are worse off, and I know that.
I am going off to read about predictions for the weather after Christmas. I won't desperately believe any of them, but it's fun to think about it. The berries think it's going to be a tough winter, but they've been wrong before.
That's the hawthorn a few yards down from the apple tree with two types of apple. I wish I could tell father.