The day that Mick died was a day like today.

Sunny. Bright clear blue sky. A few autumn leaves still holding on.

He died in the morning.

That afternoon I took my children to the park.

They played on the swings and climbed up and down the slide.

Families gathering and chatting. Kids laughing and running.

The sun felt good. A gentle warmth.

Our neighbours from a few doors up arrived.

I could not avoid saying hello and answering “how are you?”

I had sad news to share.

News that was expected but heavy nonetheless.

This was how life was going to be and feel for a long time.

Perhaps always.

Incongruous moments of light and joy. Weight and grief.

Life goes on.

Nine Years On

It will be 9 years this week.

My daughter has been living without her dad for three quarters of her life.

The percentage will increase as each year passes.

She and her brother are both fully engaged with life.

I am proud of them.

They live with a keen awareness that life can be sad and unfair.

That others live with loss too.

They are grateful for all that we have and all that is light.

Me too!

Mick would be pleased with how we are doing.

I am practicing being content.

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