28th February 2020
April is the cruellest month. Because TS Eliot said so. And because Mike died in April. And our wedding anniversary is in April. And his funeral date (the same date as our wedding anniversary).
No – September is the cruellest month because I no longer have the back to school routine for a child I should have a back to school routine for.
No – June is the cruellest month because I no longer schlep around the country for concerts and competitions and festivals and shows for kids who required me & Mike to be triple booked.
No – June is the cruellest month because Julia died in it. Unless you believe her death certificate, which suggests that it was July. It was not.
No – March is the cruellest month, because of Julia’s birthday in it. And mine. And because it was when we took Mike to La Maison de Tara.
No – December is the cruellest month, because of the inane festivities.
All wrong.
No – February is the cruellest month. Because it doesn’t have a 30th in it. Because it’s been a heavy month. Because I am at a Child bereavement workshop. Because bereavement is so hard. Because multiple bereavement is so hard. Because Brexit-land feels weird. Because I hardly identify with 60 people who have also lost a child. Because I hardly identify with people who have lost a spouse.
It’s all just off. Like February with 29 days in it.
