Today was my birthday.
Last year it was on my birthday the grief broke through the numbness of getting things done for Dad’s funeral when I opened my birthday card from Mum and for the first time in 52 years it was only signed by her. Despite already having that “first” this year it still tr iggered that moment of wanting my Dad, intensified slightly by the first post I saw on my Facebook feed was that a friend in the States had lost her’s.
On the other side was the roll call of happy birthday’s sliding across my phone’s lock screen all day – twitter, Facebook, texts and even two phone calls (over lapping each other) from my eldest and my youngest son.
And as I walked home I was thinking how privileged I wa to have grown up knowing that despite the times of disagreement and disappointment, I have always known that I was loved deeply and unconditionally.
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