Another passing and another serious illness

On Thursday morning I got a call from Steep House Nursing Home to say that my aged uncle was experiencing breathing problems and refusing food. This had happened before and I asked the caller to let me know how he progressed. I did not phone the niece in Swansea who is his next of kin. I have been working extra hours at the charity shop again and have done four shifts this week. On Friday morning I put my mobile phone under the counter and around 10.30 I had a call from one of the carers or nurses. Bill had just died. I phoned Patricia, his niece, and she said that she would inform her family.  I sent my husband a text to tell him; he decided that he would go on the Walking for Health walk, which is what we do on most Friday mornings. He came to the charity shop later in the morning. 

It is hard to say what I feel. There is a degree of relief as well as the sadness that usually comes with a death. I looked after him, or at least was responsible for his welfare, for a little over nine years. I was fond of him but unreasonably felt resentful that he lived on after our darling daughter died.  There were problems in the early days at Steep House because of his officious, interfering God-bothering neighbours. Once his house was sold this changed and all was agreeable. I used to bring him chocolate, cream cakes and other goodies. When he finally took to his bed I went on bringing the goodies but last year he started refusing them. It was necessary to put a thickener in his drinks so that he could drink them without choking. 

Yesterday we went to the nursing home for the last time. We cleared out his possessions (not much; old, stained, worn-out clothes) and took them to the charity shop where I volunteer. Tomorrow we must see the funeral director, notify the bank and telephone the solicitor. I have decided on the music for his funeral. Perhaps one of his relatives could read a poem. 

I emailed my two surviving siblings to let them know of Bill's death. The older of the two lives in California and the news he sent was not good; he has melanoma, has had surgery and various treatments. He's now on immunotherapy. The younger one is well at present, despite problems with atrial fibrillation. His wife is not. She suffered kidney damage because of a mis-diagnosed skin rash. He does not know whether he can attend the funeral. Since he never once visited the old man while he was alive, there seems little point in coming to his funeral. I hope that some of the staff from Steep House will come, particularly Sandra Owen, who came to the home about the same time as Bill and was good to him. He liked her a lot. 

I miss my children. 

Spring, perhaps

I have thought about this blog a lot over the past two months. Easter has come and gone and we have spent two weeks in Vence. There has been snow and rain and last Saturday morning Judith's husband finally died at home. He had spent a week or two in a hospice but wanted to come home for the end of his life. I am working extra shifts, as are some of the other staff members. 

We left for France on April 6th, two years to the day after our daughter's funeral.  I took the little picture of her as a new-born, an original picture in a little frame. In the cold weather I kept this under my pillow, remembering how she hated to be cold. I have continued to do this. the weather was disappointing; it rained for four days in a row. We went to Antibes on Friday instead of Thursday and sat inside the restaurant. The journeys there and back were trouble-free. The weekend of April 27th to 29th we spent in Winchester. After our Friday morning walk we returned home, finished our packing and went to the Royal Hotel. This is in the centre of Winchester and was originally the bishop's house. Dan played bridge and on Saturday morning I went to see the Gerald Scarfe exhibition in The Gallery, which is in the public library in Jewry Street. I enjoyed it. He is undoubtedly very gifted, although I know nothing about art. I met Dan for lunch and then he want back for more bridge. I went to our room and read; I started using the e-reader again when we were in Vence. Dan is going to buy me a Kindle Paperwhite for my birthday. I have already got his birthday present. He found a new Stetson cap in the Chapellerie in Antibes. This replaces the one that he left on the train when we last went to the Albert Hall. 

We have bought our tickets for the events we want to see at the Hay festival. The How The Light Gets In festival will be back at Hay but we were disappointed last time and do not want any tickets this year. Afterwards we shall spend two nights at Pound Farm and meet the new canine additions to the family. I shall, of course, be glad to get home. Dan has booked our bed and breakfast accommodation. Our friends have bought a caravan which they will use. 

My poor, sick old uncle lives on, although one could hardly call it living. I have a bottle of wine for Sandra but forgot to take it when she was actually working a shift. This week or perhaps next week we shall see her. Yesterday, when I was working in the charity shop, a woman came in who used to work at Steep House. She was surprised that he is still alive. He does not answer when we speak to him. He is like a little husk.  

There is no news of our son. I doubt that we shall ever see or hear from him again. A man at the Probus Club, who is Dan's vice-chairman, is estranged from his daughter. He thinks that in four or five years Neil will return and want to be our son again. I do not agree. He is gone for ever. Dan will not have him back. 

I have been in a lot of pain recently. I am trying not to take Co-codamol. I have run out of the Voltarol patches that we buy in France. My neck is sore and I have been taking Ibuprofen; that is really cheap. My doctor prescribes strong Co-codamol but I do not like to ask for too much. There is a little arthritis in my left ankle and foot and that is the side where the sciatica strikes. Old age ain't no place for sissies. 

Two years on

So long since I last posted. A lot has happened. I am still working at the charity shop and Judith's husband is still alive. It is not easy for her. He is refusing to have carers because of his privacy and dignity. She is going to explore the possibility of engaging a Rosemary Foundation nurse or a bed in The Rowans Hospice. He is increasingly disabled and is at times not altogether compos mentis. So hard; they do not deserve this. 

Last weekend we went to the Isle of Wight to stay with our daughter's godmother and her husband. It was Mothering Sunday on our last day there. I had forgotten this. Of course, there was no card from my son. Anne did not get any cards either, but two of her daughters and her elder son phoned her and her younger son sent a text message. The night before we went to the theatre in Shanklin to see Russell Watson. It was enjoyable but there was too much amplification for a relatively small theatre. We lunched out on Saturday at a pleasant pub in Brading. We walked on Sunday morning to Sandown Bay and got the bus back. It was a very pleasant break. 

It has been milder after what was called The Beast from the East. It was not as beastly as forecast but was pretty bad. There was snow and sub-zero temperatures. We are fortunate that we live so centrally. We stocked up with food and stayed in, not walking on Friday morning as usual. We managed our Sunday visit to the nursing home. He has shrunk; he seldom acknowledges us. We sit and drink tea and eat the chocolate éclairs that I like so much.  How much longer can this go on? I have paid for his funeral and decided on the music. When we go into the chapel it will be the Morriston Orpheus Choir singing Swansea Town. During the slideshow we shall have Cleo Laine singing Bill. As we leave the chapel at the end of the service it will be Glenn Miller playing Moonlight Serenade. 

In an hour or so it will be two years since I last spoke to my daughter. I wish, I so wish, that we had gone to her that night. I wish I had phoned her first thing in the morning. I miss her every day. I have her baby picture in a little frame; during the intensely cold spell and more recent cold nights I have taken this into bed with me, tucking it under the pillow. She hated being cold. 

Tomorrow we are going to London. We shall take the train there and back (and pray that the snow that is forecast will not be sufficiently heavy to cause delays) and visit Churchill's wartime cabinet rooms. Then we shall go to a concert at the Albert Hall with our friend Jim and his sister and brother-in-law. If there is time we shall go to the V&A before the concert. We have a box with some women from Dan's bridge club.  Afterwards we shall dine at the Union Jack Club, which is conveniently near Waterloo station. I think it will be a good idea to check that trains are running before we dine. 

The Laying Away of the Dead

We have just visited my aged uncle in the nursing home. At first he was completely unresponsive but did finally say that he would like chocolate and a cup of tea. He ate a very little chocolate. We stayed a little longer than usual in the hope that he would wake up and drink some tea and eat more chocolate.  I wonder if he will ever do that again; it seems so sad that he just lives on and has so little pleasure in life. I did not manage a word with Sandra but when I do I shall ask if she can still talk to him.

On Thursday it was my father-in-law's funeral. Although he was Irish and a cradle Catholic, the service was held in the Anglican church where he worshipped with his second wife. We collected my old aunt, who knew Elizabeth and her first husband. She came to Elizabeth's church service. She used to talk to Paddy and Elizabeth in church most Sundays. Aunt Ruby is ninety-one and getting frail after a fall when a bus started jerkily and sent her sprawling. We took her back to her home after the service. Anne, Dan's cousin Philip's wife came for Oxford for the church service and the committal at the crematorium.

It was a good service; the vicar delivered a touching eulogy. One of Paddy's granddaughters who is a musician played You'll Never Walk Alone and the Londonderry Air on the piano. Her mother, who was married to the second eldest son, read a poem by Robert Service. Her second husband was not there; perhaps he did not think it appropriate.  I wonder if the hymn Hail, Glorious Saint Patrick was ever sung in an Anglican church before. The wake was pleasant, although we did not stay long.  Some of the family spoke to me, some did not. I shall never have to see them again; the family entity is broken now that both parents are dead; we were never included in family occasions because of the petty, spiteful grudges borne by my late mother-in-law, her favourite son and his wife.

I am so, so glad that my Aunt Marjorie persuaded Paddy to join the over-sixties club. He met Elizabeth there and that was a wonderful thing. I have happy memories of Christmases at our house in Clanfield and here in Petersfield. They would go to the morning service at the local church and after our Christmas dinner I would light the fire in the living room and we would watch television and snooze. Katy loved having her grandparents to stay at Christmas. She used to tell darling Elizabeth that she loved her like a real grandma. Neil was fond of her too. He does not yet know that his grandfather is dead.

I must shower and put on fresh clothes soon. I wonder when the phone will ring and it will be someone at Steep House to tell me that old Bill is dead.

I saw the optometrist today and took a pair of old glasses with me; at least, I have had them for a few years but have never been able to wear them. He gave me a very low prescription which I hope will help my poor  brain cope with the new clarity of vision; Andrew M told me that I now have a perfect camera. He has not yet heard from Optegra about the second vitrectomy because the surgeon's secretaries have been ill and on holiday. We shall see.

Tonight we are going out with our friends to a local restaurant to celebrate our birthdays. Dan will be seventy tomorrow and I shall attain that age the following Sunday. I bought Dan three polo shirts in Crew Clothing for his present; I am having extra audible.co.uk credits. Next Saturday Dan and I will have been together for fifty years. He came to my twentieth birthday party, walking back into my life with a bus ticket in his mouth and a crate of brown ale in his hands. We have been together ever since and will have been married forty-nine years in October.

Preparing for Hay-on-Wye

The eyestrain is still a problem but I am coping. I have an appointment with my optician for Saturday June 10th. We shall see.

After the suicide bomber in Manchester security has been stepped up at the Hay Festival.  We cannot take my little pink rucksack to carry our waterproof trousers and hats and other things we may need. The weather forecast is good on the whole with only a little rain on Saturday. It will be hot for a few days, cooling down on Monday when we go to Pound Farm.

Yesterday I did my morning shift at the charity shop and then we went to Gunwharf Quays. We had a very pleasant lunch outside the Old Customs House and then went looking for wide-fit sandals. We did not find these so went to Whiteley. No luck there either, so we came home and  ordered them online. Dan went to take eggs to Sabine and to discuss our plans for meeting up at Hay. They did not know of his father's death. The funeral is set for June 8th. It will be simple, I hope. Two granddaughters who are close in age will contribute. Lucy will read a poem and Hannah will play the piano; I wonder if they mean play the organ. Neither of my children will be there, of course; our darling Katy is dead and we have not tried to find Neil to tell him of his grandfather's death. He mentioned once that he had "messaged Dad's family". I wonder if they will inform him; perhaps he was telling the truth when he wrote that, perhaps not.

I visited the nursing home on Tuesday afternoon. He had fallen asleep holding his beaker of tea. It had soaked into his shirt and a young female carer said that she would get a colleague and change it for him after I had gone. She would have done it right away but I mopped him up and waited for him to wake up. He did not, so I drank a cup of tea and went on my way. Dan had gone for his Tuesday petanque game.  I walked home via the Lidl supermarket but could not find frikadeller. One day, perhaps.

I meant to take a set of keys to Flat 18 so that the friends who live there can collect our post and put it on the dining table. I shall do that first thing in the morning. I have had my meal and want to go to bed soon. Most things are packed; just the bag that contains my skin care products has to go in my overnight bag. I am vain, I know, but Dan likes me to look smart and cared for. I have always taken care of my complexion.

We have an event to see tomorrow afternoon so must not leave later than 11 am. I have an alarm set because we usually walk on Friday mornings.  I have decided to get out one of my late aunt's rings for my great-niece. I think she will have to have the size altered, but I hope she will like it. We shall meet her new rescue dog and the six guinea pigs. We must find the pet shop in Hay and buy dog chews; we usually do this.

I am listening to an old favourite by Mary Higgins Clark. I have some new books from the Hampshire digital library to listen to. Extra books next month because it is my birthday.

Saying "Good-bye" again.

I am tired and have had no lunch, just a cup of coffee at the Southampton General Hospital. We intended to visit my father-in-law after the follow-up visit to the eye surgeon. Dan let his sister know and she told us that he had been moved to another ward. While on the M27 a call came in from her; his condition had deteriorated and he had been moved to a side ward. It was just a matter of time. Two of Dan's sisters, Jacqui who is the eldest and Teresa who is the second, were already there. He died about an hour after we got there, slipping peacefully away.   I think that this is the most merciful way; he might have hated a residential home.  I am glad, so glad that Dan had a good relationship with him since 1991, when his mother died. The wonderful Elizabeth contributed greatly to that, of course. She was a wonderful woman.

Dan has let some of his father's relatives know. Veronica, a niece whom I particularly dislike, may be too infirm to come to the funeral. Her brother Joe, a man I like and who has a particularly nice wife, is also in a rather frail state. We shall see. Their sister Maureen and brother Gerard might come, I suppose, although I doubt it in Maureen's case. She distanced herself from her family long ago. Pauline, the other sister, died of cancer many years ago. I never met her and have never met Maureen.

My son said that he had "messaged" his father's family when he learned of Elizabeth's death and his grandfather's illness. The two sisters were phoning their two other siblings and their children whilst at the hospital. Perhaps they will let Neil know. I could send a message on Facebook but he would probably not see it. I have sent a message to Dan's brother Sean's ex-wife; I sent emails but they bounced back. I did not know that she had changed her email address. Perhaps her server is down.  She spends a lot of time on Facebook so I hope she will soon see my message. There have been many kind messages from my Facebook friends; people laugh at such things but these same people were very supportive and generous when my darling Katy died.

I do not know whether to visit my aged uncle-in-law tomorrow or Wednesday. I must go before we leave for Hay-on-Wye on Friday. One of the two sisters will collect the death certificate and arrange all with the funeral director. Paddy paid in advance for his funeral; all is arranged, even the wake. I have suggested that his death is announced in the local paper. There are still people about who would like to attend the funeral as he was a popular man. Although he was a cradle Catholic, his funeral service will be at St Marks, the Anglican church he attended for so many years with Elizabeth.

Home again

We arrived home last night, a little before 9.30 pm. On the outward and return journeys we got the ferry before the one we had booked. I have done most of the unpacking and some of the laundry. We visited the old man in the nursing home; he ate most of a chocolate iced doughnut and drank some tea. I shall not see him again until next Saturday as I have my second vitrectomy tomorrow.

Friends invited us for supper, which was eaten in their garden. We brought back cigarettes and Armagnac for them. One of them has given up smoking. His wife is resolved to do so but their business is so busy at present that she is smoking to help deal with the stress. I sympathise but I am fond of her and would like her to give up that habit because of the long-term health risks. While we were there her neighbour dropped in with invitations for all four of us to her fiftieth birthday party in September. It will be in the upstairs room of a local restaurant. We shall go if at all possible. If our daughter had been still with us, I think that she would have invited her as well. Katy loved a party.

Emmanuel Macron has been elected President of the Republic of France. We watched very little television last week because of the coverage of the presidential elections. Marine le Pen makes the dreadful Theresa May look almost human. Macron is, I suppose, the lesser of the two evils. We shall see. Our car was searched at Calais last night, by young French soldiers with formidable guns. One traveller, obviously annoyed at having his car searched, asked the young man if he was old enough to carry a gun. The soldier replied "I do not speak English". He was quite dead-pan. I admire his panache.

I shopped for clothes for my new great-nephew when we were in Vence. I bought a little two-piece outfit of denim trousers and top and a little blue-striped T-shirt. They are bigger sizes than the baby needs now.  My niece is going to visit her cousin and his family later in the year and will take the gifts with them. I have a silver articulated fish that belonged to my late aunt and shall send that to the new baby's sister.

We shall return to Vence towards the end of June. Before that we shall go to Hay-on-Wye and to visit my niece.

I am tired; time for bed. First I must lay the table for breakfast.

Memories and preparations

It is a week since I made an entry in this blog. It has been a fairly busy time. Both mornings in the charity shop there were few staff members. I have not phoned the dentist but I did make a hair appointment with the agreeable looking blonde woman in the downstairs hair salon. We shopped in Havant again and on Good Friday morning we walked with our WFH group. It was good to see the bluebells and wild garlic on the other side of the A272. The weather was pleasant although there was a cold edge to the wind.

I miss my daughter so much at Easter. Three years ago she stayed with us for the Easter weekend because she was so ill. We went to her flat on Maundy Thursday and called the paramedics; Katy was in bed and could not eat or easily walk. On the following Tuesday we took her to her doctor who telephoned the Queen Alexandra hospital and arranged for her to be admitted. She did not want to go; she burst into tears and cried that she hated going to hospital. We took her to medical assessment and they put her on oxygen straight away. The following day she was transferred to the respiratory ward where she stayed for three weeks. At one point it was feared that she had lymphoma. She came to stay with us for the weekend after she was discharged from hospital. Fortunately the lymphoma tests came back negative; it was just a particularly severe infection that sent her lymph system into overdrive.

Tomorrow I shall start getting things ready for our holiday. I want to change the bed linen before we leave and have as much done as possible. I shall not feel like housework for a day or two after my eye operation and shall not visit my aged uncle on the Tuesday afternoon.  We saw him yesterday and he ate a cream slice and some chocolate buttons. I have got over the resentment I felt over his niece telephoning the manager of the home about a television set that would be no use to him. I am sure that she and her daughter meant well and were just thoughtless. She would not remember the article from the Daily Mail that she sent me. It was about surgery for age-related macular degeneration. Mr McLean, consultant ophthalmologist, opined that it would not be suitable for him, partly because of his age and because it would probably not be successful anyway. The manager of the home wants me to see her about a "care plan". I am mystified about this; the residents' needs are obvious and the fees are steep. Surely no planning should be necessary over and above the routine organisation of such an establishment. The present manager is not too bad. The excellent Marion Flett left a few years ago. Her successor, one Tracy Katterns, was not up to the job and I made many complaints to the head office because of problems. It is so tiring, forever complaining. The present receptionist is sour-faced and unhelpful, although not as obnoxious as the person who worked for the dreadful Katterns.

I am still taking Co-codamol to help me sleep. I still do not want to get up in the mornings but I always do. I keep going. I have been alone behind the till at the charity shop the last two mornings I was there; Ethel was not well again. On Wednesday there were few members of staff there again. I coped; I enjoy the work. I suppose that it is necessary for me to do this or I shall become a complete recluse. I am rather relieved that my intolerance of spectacle correction does not allow me to play bridge now; I doubt that I could put up with the politics of the bridge club and I could not  meet the exacting standards of some of the people we know. It was my idea to learn and the benefits for Dan have been immense. He has made many friends and has new activities. It was because of the people we met playing bridge that he joined the Probus Club. His chairmanship of the residents' association her in our block of flats led to his playing petanque twice a week. I am glad for him; I am not much company some times. I enjoy the walks but I am being excluded now from the tougher ones with our friends. I cannot  manage the hills so easily.  I spend those Sundays alone unless someone is free to collect me and take me to lunch at whatever pub they have decided to visit for lunch. I do not mind this. I can catch up on domestic chores and listen to my IPod or watch an old film on television. The Sunday walks will begin again in June.

Bearable Probus Club Meeting

I went to bed early last night but did not sleep until after midnight. Dan went to his Monday night bridge session and I took my small Bose device and iPod to bed. I am listening to Jodi Picoult's Salem Falls. It's a good novel, about an attractive teacher who has been falsely accused by a teenage girl of statutory rape. After a short spell in jail he happens upon a small town where he gets a menial job, working for a woman who blames herself for her daughter's death from meningitis and behaves as if the child is still alive. That strikes a chord. I hope it all ends happily for both protagonists.

The matter of false accusations is a serious one. The most notable one recently was that of Mark Pearson, a commuter who possibly bushed against an actress in Waterloo Station. She made the most preposterous allegation against him and the Crown Prosecution Service decided that it was "in the public interest" to prosecute him. It has been suggested that this was because of the soap-opera cast member's "high profile". Does this mean that the same allegation brought by a factory worker would have been ignored? I firmly believe that there should be absolute anonymity for both sides in cases of sexual assault until a safe conviction is reached.  The accuser in the Pearson case was named on the Internet and had to close her Twitter account down. What a horrible woman she must be, to lie another human being into the dock. It could have resulted in a prison sentence and his having to be on the sex offenders' list for a number of years. I wonder if, had her victim been convicted, she would have waived her anonymity and presented herself as a "brave survivor of sexual assault".

I did not visit the nursing home because Dan was not able to come to the Half Moon with me. He was delayed showing a double glazing fitter around some other flats, so I got a lift with the chairperson. I always take cake and sweets and would have had to take these into the pub. I shall buy cream slices and go tomorrow afternoon when I finish at the charity shop. I hope that whomever I work with tomorrow is congenial and that Judith is in a good mood. I shall buy the little tea light lamp and take it to Vence together with the umbrella stand. I shall bring the tall bread basket back for the charity shop, unless our friends want it for their kitchen showroom.  I am looking forward to going to Vence, although I know that I shall start fretting to come home when I have been there a few days. I am always relieved when the Wednesday before our Friday departure comes. I start tidying and ironing and on Thursday morning I put the suitcase on our bed and start to pack. I am happiest of all here, in our flat in the little town in Hampshire. I am not a very sociable person.

When we are in Vence we have to entertain our neighbours from the top floor. She is a very talented artist and he is good company. They have invited us to Sunday lunch and we had a drink in their flat at Christmas. We must return their hospitality this time. They spend time in Brisbane as well; I think that is their main home. I have cousins in that area and one day we plan to visit them again. But for our son and his troubles, we would have spent our wedding anniversary there in 2013. We shall give Nessie and Jeremy good food and wine and provide Nessie with an ashtray. I wonder if Yvonne and Ron will be upstairs too. Yvonne was suffering from a sarcoma on one arm the year before last and Ron had gone through heart bypass surgery. We are lucky to be so fit and well. I was a sickly child but a healthy adult. My daughter's death was because she inherited genes from my father's family; my poor baby suffered from respiratory infections from very early childhood. She died of chronic interstitiary pneumonia, which caused cardiac arrest. I love her and I always shall. I hope that there is a safe, warm heaven where she is with her step-grandmother, Elizabeth. I have no religious faith but I so want to believe that is possible. She deserves heaven and Elizabeth was an angel in human form.

Missing my only daughter

The shops are full of gifts for mothers whose children care about them. I have kept all of Katy's Mothering Sunday cards; mostly what she made herself when she did her courses at the local further education college. The little flower, possibly a gerbera, is her last present to me. It lives on in our garden in Vence. Pink was her favourite colour. We took her to an amateur production at the Festival Hall and one of her further education teachers was selling programmes. She told us that Katy was very bright; she stood out among her classmates. Once, when asked what her favourite colour was, she said "Is it all right if I say cerise?" I wore a scarf of that colour to her funeral. I miss her; the gap she has left is still there and there will never be anyone to fill it.

We must visit the nursing home this afternoon. Dan has bought a bag of doughnuts. The old man asked me to bring one when I visit today. I hope that I see Sandra, the head of activities, as I want to have a word about the carers. She was one of that team for six years. I want her to reassure them that I do not think badly of them; I have had run-ins but I know that they work hard for their measly pay. I am very annoyed that they have been blamed for the magnetic catch coming away from the wall. It was not installed properly in the first place and the handyman's dilatory tactics made it worse. I have reassured one young man but I want it emphasised. The handyman has not been well recently and I suppose will milk that to the limit.

There has been much in the press about a pensioner called John Place. He was seventy-two when his optometrist told him that he must no longer drive because of his deteriorating eyesight. Even with glasses, his vision did not come up to the standard required. He ignored this advice and went out in his car without his glasses. He killed a little girl of three and seriously injured her mother when he ran a red light.  It was reported that he did not stop at the scene until another car flagged him down but the police subsequently denied that this was true. He has been sent to prison and a five-year ban will begin when he comes out; rather absurd not to ban him for life, for he will never get another licence. I am wondering about taking up driving again after the next vitrectomy. I have never been a very happy driver, although I used to drive many miles because of my daughter's needs. We shall see. My night vision is not great but I hope that this will improve when the floaters are gone.

There have been no more anonymous calls on my mobile phone. I wonder if there will be more in a few months' time. I do not know where my son is; I believed he was in Portsmouth but now I wonder if he is in Havant. We seldom go there now. It was where Katy lived and we used to see her most Saturdays. I know that Neil was working (probably unpaid) as a disc jockey in a pub in Havant. He had to leave his flat in Petersfield and we did not hear from him again. It was only when I discovered some vitriolic messages in my message requests folder on Facebook shortly after Katy's funeral that I knew of his new profile. I do not even know if he is working; I hope he is. He paid so dearly for that one bad mistake and deserves another chance.

Tomorrow Dan is going to walk with a friend. I shall stay at home and do more ironing; I am not feeling sociable and shall do the chores instead. I have a charity shop sack that needs to be filled and must sort through some clothes. If I am going to have a dining room at long last, we shall lose clothes storage space. I cannot face parting with my shawls and scarves; I always buy natural fibres and they keep my arthritic neck warm. Some T-shirts must go and there are some miniature tea sets that may please a collector. Katy's doll house and the furniture and family went two years ago, to an old school friend. She has little grandchildren and it has already been played with. I kept it for the granddaughter I shall never have.

We have to go to buy eggs at Charity Farm before we visit the nursing home. I shall put my iPod in my handbag. One or both iPods go with me when I go out. I cannot manage print books or my e-reader any more. Audiobooks are wonderful; well, most of them anyway.

A Chance Meeting and More Memories

Today was shopping day. Dan did not play petanque as he usually does on Thursday morning as he has recently been appointed vice-chairman of the Probus Club. He went to his first committee meeting instead. I did a little ironing and one or two other chores. The young woman who has bought the flat next door and round the corner called and I told her that Dan would knock on her door when he returned home. Her father is helping her renovate the kitchen of her flat and they needed Dan's advice on the water supply.

Thursdays are poignant for me; we found our daughter dead on a Thursday afternoon. We went today to the supermarket in Havant where she would shop every other week and where we went the day she died. Dan had his car cleaned and filled up on petrol. When all of this was achieved, we went into the centre of Havant and parked at the Meridian Centre. I saw an old workmate from my days at the Portsmouth News. We chatted for a while and she told me that another former colleague recovered from cancer and is now well. I told her of Katy's death and how nothing is personal at The News any more; when I placed Katy's death announcement I wished that dear Arthur, who was front office manager for so many years, had been there to talk to. It was good to see her and catch up a little.

There have been more calls from a withheld number on my mobile phone. I blocked my son some time ago. I went to the O2 shop and the technician there activated the facility to block anonymous calls. Then my son phoned and did not withhold his number so I blocked that. Sometimes there will be calls on my blacklist log that follow the same pattern; two calls, quite close together. This has not happened since November but there were two calls today. It will be his  birthday soon. When we arrived home there was a message showing but no one had spoken; that, too was from a withheld number. Is he lonely? Is he ill? I worry that he has been smoking pot or skunk and that this has caused the change in personality. I still love my son and I always shall but I cannot see that there will ever be a reconciliation. I hope that he will one day find happiness.

Dan has gone to his bridge club. I am going to have a light tea with a glass of Prosecco and then go to bed with my iPod. I have to phone the charity shop first thing to see if I am needed. If not, we shall walk as usual.

The daffodils from Marks and Spencer are beautiful; creamy white, the sort with layers of petals and a little yellow in the centre. They give me hope and lift my spirits. The fine white orchid that our friend Sabine gave us a few years ago is blooming again; only two stalks this time but the stalks have extra branches. The bulbs from the market have been disappointing this year but we shall take them to Vence and plant them in the garden as usual.  Spring flowers are the daintiest. Katy loved primroses.

Mothering Sunday and British Summer Time.

Years ago I worked on the Phonads section of the Portsmouth daily paper. Part of my job was booking family announcements; births, marriages, deaths and all of that. It was not the easiest of jobs at times because people can be so difficult. It was a personal affront if their advertisement was got no response. Customers would never admit to  making a mistake; they would waste time by telephoning to complain that their advert was not in the paper. Very often their mothers would also have scoured the paper and not found the relevant ad.

There was often real distress to deal with; a stillbirth or the untimely and unexpected death of a young and apparently healthy adult. A year later there would be an In Memoriam notice. I used to talk to the customers and tell them that they needed a year to adjust; they must live through all the landmarks of the year before they would fully accept their loved one's death.  I believed what I was saying. My daughter died one year and five days ago. I still miss her just as much and I still carry the same guilt that I did not go to her the night before she died. I shall always regret that I did not phone her earlier on the day she died. I have to live with the thought that I might have got to her earlier, phoned an ambulance and she might still be alive. I think of her every day. She has left an enormous gap in my life. There is so much that I regret; I was not the best of mothers. I love my children but did not know how to mother them. I could not give them what I did not get from my own parents. I wanted to explain things to my son but he would have none of it. I doubt that I shall ever see him again. It will be his birthday soon. I wonder if it will hurt that there is no message or present from his parents; I know that it hurts me not to give, but I do not know where he is.

It is a slight benefit that the charity shop where I help out does not sell Mothers' Day cards. There are Easter Eggs and sweets for sale but I can bear that. It was not too busy this morning and I was relieved to find that the man I expected to work with was not there. I do not think that I shall get on too well with him; he is full of his own importance and I am a mickey-taker. My Monday morning co-worker phoned to say she is ill and I shall probably do her Friday morning shift as a man is coming to our flat about window repairs and we shall not be walking. If I find myself working with the ultracrepidarian bletherskite, so be it. I can cope and Fridays are very busy. Why, oh why must people observe a meaningless pecking order in voluntary work? It can be so enjoyable if one's co-workers are congenial. There is no pay or promotion to be gained so there is no point in jockeying for favour.

The tree outside our living room window is white with blossom. On Sunday morning the clocks go forward an hour; we shall lose an hour's sleep but it will not get dark so early. The shops are full of summer clothes. In Vence, where our flat is, the temperature is 15° and there is heavy rain, thunder and lightning. We shall go there soon; the plan is to leave here on Friday April 21st and take the ferry from Dover to Calais or Dunkirk; probably Calais. We shall overnight at Besancon and arrive in Vence on Saturday afternoon. Last year we left on our son's 40th birthday, which was two days after Katy's funeral. It's a good thing, perhaps, that Easter is a moveable feast.