882 days

I almost drove past the accident site yesterday.

I haven’t even been to that side of town since The Accident.

But yesterday, the freeway was closed and so I went the old way we used to go to work.

I had thought there would be more distance between The Bad Place and the turn-off.

I didn’t realise I could see The Bad Place from the traffic lights.

I didn’t realised I could see the black mark on the wall.  Still.

….and I am right back in the hell of feeling your loss in everything, every minute, every day.


I don’t want to live for much longer.

I am not suicidal, I just don’t want a long life.

I can only stand this one for as long as it takes the kids to grow up.

After that, all bets are off.

Work gives me some relief – I am so much better for working every day, doing something I am good at.
But work for next year is so uncertain due to the new Queensland Government’s job cuts. (On a side note – I wonder how many suicides those job cuts are responsible for??)

People don’t get the difference between feeling suicidal and just not wanting to live a long life – it is different.

I remember feeling angry at your mother for not getting a lump on her breast checked until after it had metastasised and abscessed.

But now I get it – your father  had died and this was her “out”.

She wasn’t suicidal, but she was done with life.

It makes so much sense now….

I miss you,

I love you.