I think this is a poignant question, and one I think about often; especially as a young person being without their Mum. I think a question that is good to ask ourselves when we are trying to work out whether we have done the right thing, is how do we know when we have done the wrong thing?
I lay in the sun, and saw a spider. It was a tiny smudge against the blue. Long, desperate webs trailed from its body like a single stitch that bore witness to the little life hurtling through the sky. Rather than fix him in a physical place, this web stitched the spider into my mind. I often come back to him.
Now is the season, the time of the year towards the end of January and the beginning of February, that I get catapulted from a time of bith celebrations, into the furnace of grief – to go back through the smithing process again, for refinement.
