We could dress it up in fancy words, employ pretty euphemisms, rail against the universe in Shakespearean inspired iambic pentameter but that wouldn’t change anything.
We’re just really, really sad.
Last Wednesday, 17 June, The Bean Counter’s Mum, the lady we call Nana, died.
Alzheimers is horrific. The Mum who was always there when you needed her (usually just before), who unquestioningly loved those you chose to love (and conversely loathed and oh-so-politely chilled those who hurt you); the Nana who heckled The five year old Farmer as he showed her “just one more trick” on the trampoline, who altered The Goat Herd’s year 8 formal dress to fit her specific instructions (“grown up but not skanky”), and could fold her ex-dancers body into all manner of secret places for Farm Girl’s hide-and-seek marathons – she had slowly but surely disappeared. Visiting her became ashamedly hard, anger jostling with guilt when she glanced blankly (dismissively??) at her great grandchild only to bestow the most radiant, warmth-filled, loving beam on an offered spoonful of ice cream.
We know it’s selfish and contrary to be so miserable when she is finally at peace.
But we are.
We know it will pass – weave its way into the fabric of Homestead highs and lows – but right now…
Oh, we are sad.