The seasons are a body clock, through them your body ebbs and flows. For most the summer is about warm (well ish!) evenings and holidays in the sun. It’s about long days with windows opened wide. It’s about flowers coming into bloom and grass needing cutting it’s about being able to get out and about, do more, see more.
Not for me.
For me July is like a big huge juggernaut careering towards me. It is completely unstoppable and I hate it. Summer now has such sad memories associated with it, as do holidays. It starts somewhere deep down in the pit of my stomach, usually around the middle of June. I’m left with a continuous dull pain. The crescendo builds and builds. Memories return, not just of what happened to Toby but of the feelings that came with it. It is emotionally paralysing and at times debilitating. Just getting up some days is like swimming through mud.
I know some people think I should remember the lovely times that we had over the near 17 years but that is very hard. Memories are a very mixed blessing. They are a very treasured possession but also a heart stabbing curse. There is nothing worse than knowing you can never create new ones, all you can do is recreate past ones in your mind.
I wish I could put the year on fast forward or pause it, about March time I think. Nothing happens then, it is a kind month