Shocked today (probably a mark of my naiveté) by an old lady at the bust stop. She had threatened suicide to a gp as a method of getting further treatment for a minor (her words) heart condition and is attending the funeral of a close family friend (aged 74) tomorrow. He had committed suicide after a hip operation had gone wrong, and whilst waiting for further treatment his dog had died which was too much for him to bear. Just seems so incredibly sad, to reach such an age and to have such violence as the end pages. This is not suicide as in mercy killing, but suicide in response to depression, which links to me because of my mum's suicide attempts in the year after Deborah was born. There were lots before that of course, but it was these ones that have stuck with me. At the time, it seemed awful and as if some part of her was choosing depression over Deborah, now I see I shouldn't take it so personally, but it's just awful how fragile life is. For these people too, awful that that is it for them.
Brrrr, we are our own cold wind, unsettling ourselves.
Today I managed not to shout and even to listen and reflect Deborah's feelings which helped stall a tantrum. Then we realised she is pushing M when our backs are turned (he has some big bruises from yesterday when his trajectory included the door frame). I was shouty yesterday so the guilt is there for all that. I was thirsty today and asked D to move off my lap so I could get a drink. She ignored me, but M went to the dining room table and brought me a drink. Gosh.
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