392 days…

I took the kids shopping for Dad’s birthday present this afternoon.

We chose from the $2 shop – why break with tradition.

I also know that Mum is planning on taking them to this shop on Wednesday afternoon to buy *my* birthday present.

So I was able to warn Mum NOT to let K but the waving,  solar-powered  golden cat for me.  The same one K wanted to buy Poppy, but which I managed to talk into some stickers and some chocolates.

Mum knows that I saved her from that golden bullet that would sit proudly amongst the 20-year-old dancing sunflowers that wiggle when you clap.

Oh wait…. they aren’t at Mum and Dad’s place… they are here.

They are YOUR god-damned dancing sunflowers that keep reappearing despite being hidden countless times.  The sunflowers that I hate, yet cannot bear to throw away because they were YOUR god-damned dancing sunflowers.  With sunglasses.

They don’t need to be joined by a kitchy cat.



I don’t really want my birthday this year.

In lots of ways, it will be harder than my birthday last year when I was still in such a fog of grief  that I liked the surprise party my friends organised.

The party to replace the actual, swanky, grown-up party that I had planned.

The swanky, grown-up party I had to cancel.

I’m not in that fog anymore … but the thought of time marching on without you is unbearable.

Yet I can’t wait to be as old as my 94-year-old Nana who is now so weak that we expect her to leave any day now.


In her sleep.

Not ripped violently in half (if my nightmares are to be believed).

…and when she goes, I want butterflies and rainbows.

I want *something* that says that she is at peace and wants us to know it.

…and please can she NOT die on my birthday.

I miss you.

I love you.