Received: from nobody by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with local (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cWVCF-00081t-Iw for lojban-newreal@lojban.org; Wed, 25 Jan 2017 13:33:39 -0800 Received: from [108.61.34.52] (port=39509 helo=toolsonhd.com) by stodi.digitalkingdom.org with esmtp (Exim 4.87) (envelope-from ) id 1cWVCB-000813-6W for lojban@lojban.org; Wed, 25 Jan 2017 13:33:39 -0800 Date: Wed, 25 Jan 2017 14:33:19 -0700 Content-Type: text/html; charset=us-ascii Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit To: Subject: Our highest rated gadget is now here: For everyone with a mobile-phone From: "Consumer Reports Guide" Mime-Version: 1 Message-ID: X-Spam-Score: -0.4 (/) X-Spam_score: -0.4 X-Spam_score_int: -3 X-Spam_bar: / solid good stuffs
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    11 pm Cannot get to sleep 1115 pm Oh, Mark Mark I know I did all this Will he call, wont he call? when we were going out, before we were married But even then it was different I knew him so well, Id known him since I was running round his parents lawn with no clothes on He used to have conversations with me when he was sleeping Thats when I could find out what he was really feeling inside Mark? That dark, handsome face, sleeping on the pillow Are you lovely? Sighing in his sleep, looking sad, ashamed, shaking his head Does your mummy love you? Very sad, now, trying to say no through his sleep Mark Darcy, the big powerful human rights lawyer, and inside, the little damaged , sent away to boarding school at seven Do I love you? Id say And then he would smile in his sleep, happy, proud, nod his head, pull me to him, snuggle me under his arm We knew each other inside out, back to front Mark was a gentleman and I trusted him completely in everything and I went out from that safe place into the world It was like exploring the scary underwater ocean from our safe little submarine And now everything is scary and nothing will be safe again 1155 pm What am I doing? What am I doing? Why did I start all this? Why didnt I just stay as I was? Sad, lonely, workless, less, but at least a mother and faithful to their faithful to their father DARK NIGHT OF THE SOUL Friday 19 April 2013 (continued) Five years Has it really been five years? To start with it was just a question of getting through the day Thankfully, Mabel was too little to know anything about it, but, oh, the flashbacks to Billy, running all through the house saying, I lost Dada Jeremy and Magda at the door, a policeman behind them, the look on their faces Running instinctively to the ren, holding them both to me in terror: Whats wrong, Mummy? Whats wrong? Government people in the living room, someone accidentally turning on the news, Marks face on the television with a caption: Mark Darcy 19562008 The memories are a blur Friends, family, surrounding me like a womb, Marks lawyer friends sorting everything, the will, the death duties, unbelievable, like a film that was going to stop The dreams, with Mark still in them The mornings, waking at 5 am, washed clean by sleep for a split second, thinking everything was the same, then remembering: poleaxed by pain, as though a great stake was ramming me to the bed, straight through the heart, unable to move in case I disturbed the pain and it spread, knowing that in half an hour the ren would be awake and Id be on: nappies, bottles, trying to pretend it was OK, or at least keep things together till help arrived and I could go off and howl in the bathroom, then put some mascara on and brace up again But the thing about having s is: you cant go to pieces; you just have to keep going KBO: Keep Buggering On The army of bereavement counsellors and therapists helped with Billy and later Mabel: manageable versions of the truth, honesty, talking, no secrets, a secure base from which to deal with it But for the soidisant secure base ie (try not to laugh) me it was different The main thing I remember from those sessions was, bottom line: Can you survive? There wasnt any choice All those thoughts that crowded in our last moment together, the feel of Marks suit against my skin, me in my nightie, the unknowing last kiss goodbye, trying to recapture the look in his eye, the ring at the doorbell, the faces on the doorstep, the thoughts, I never If only , they had to be blocked out The carefully orchestrated grieving process, watched over by experts with soft voices, and caring upsidedown smiles, was less helpful than figuring out how to change a nappy whilst simultaneously microwaving a fish finger Just keeping the ship afloat, if not exactly upright, was, I thought, 90 per cent of the battle Mark had everything arranged: financial details, insurance policies We got out of the big house full of memories in Holland Park, and into our little house in Chalk Farm School fees, home, bills, income, all practical matters perfectly taken care of: no need to work now, just Mabel and Billy my miniature Mark all I had left of him to keep alive, and to keep me alive A mother, a widow, putting one foot in front of the other But inside I was an empty shell, devastated, no longer me By the time four years had gone by, however, the friends were not having it PART ONE ONE YEAR AGO These are the extracts from last years diary, starting exactly one year ago,
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