Waiting for the funeral

Although I feel less tense, and even managed to get some sleep last night, I am still more upset than I expected. My mother caused me so much pain and distress while she was alive, I expected to feel relieved, even glad, when she was gone. It’s made me realise one shocking fact, I really did care about her. Now I see that, it explains the lengths I went to to try and please her. I’ll never do that now of course.

I was on the phone for ages last night. The minister, I think she’s a humanist, who’s speaking at the funeral wanted to know about Mum and asked me for some happy memories. I couldn’t’ think of any. In the end, we spoke about Mum’s dogs, her work with children, her brothers and how she liked the garden. She’s going to sound like a dear sweet little old lady, and why not. A funeral isn’t the time for the absolute truth. I remember sitting at my father’s funeral as the eulogy made him out to be a good husband and family man, but I didn’t say anything. There was no point. The same applies to my mother. After speaking to the minister, I managed to get hold of Denis only to find he’d been busy mending things at the house, and deadheading daffs, so didn’t hear the phone.  

Like him, I’m filling my days with activities like going to the shops, pottering in the garden, stripping wallpaper and baking. I can’t bear the thought of actual writing at the moment. I’ve just made my favourite gluten free lemon polenta cake which doubles as a pudding. For some reason, I’ve been craving sweet things, far more than I normally do. I hope that wears off soon, or by the time the funeral comes along, I’ll be huge.