Happy Father’s Day

For the last two Junes I have wanted to scream very loudly, ‘hello world, not everyone has a bloody daddy anymore’, at every Father’s Day display I saw in shops. I wanted to shout at the tv ads, ‘don’t forget him this Father’s Day…ha fat chance’. More extreme though I wanted to go mad on Facebook with nasty ‘poor me’ comments on everyone’s lovely posts about days spent doing special things and pics of daddies and daughters and even daddies and sons. I was being a bereaved cow. I couldn’t really see beyond my own loss. I wanted the world to feel the same miserable way I was – a widow weeping over my babies’ efforts of Father’s Day cards made at nursery which were never going to go the real recipient but were made for me or grandad instead.
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Our Ballerina Girl

 

It was Evie’s first ballet show this week. She was a bunny. She was cute. She was sooooo happy. That night after the show in her bed though she told me she felt sad on the inside. She’s said that a lot recently. She’s feels all cryie is how she also puts it. Once again I feel helpless as she tries to express what she is feeling or why. The audience that evening of the show of course was filled with proud parents. Mums and dads. The one person I wished were there couldn’t make it but his mum took the honour of the second tickets Evie¬†was allocated for her debut performance. Cameron wanted to come but he had duties to put my other daughter to bed. And bless him for that.

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