As reported below, I veritably breezed through Christmas with minimum snotty-faced Grief Explosions. I should have known that I was due one, and lo, on the bus this morning, listening to my new i-pod (love!) on shuffle, I was taken unawares by Here Comes The Sun, Helen’s funeral song . That, together with the mind-boggling tales of human awfulness on the front page of the Metro (“you’ve killed our children so we’re going to kill yours”; and so it continues) and general “missing Helen dreadfully” pangs,  left me with rivers of mascara and a particularly ugly crying-face. 

So that was embarassing.     

Lesson #534: I still don’t know how to do this, even after all these years.


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