I lost a draft, mama. It reminds me of that file I lost back home, on Dichi’s laptop, when I started writing about your plan of care thinking we were going to go home that day. It’s my fault. I didn’t save it. I don’t know why. I started writing about what’s happened since I last wrote. I didn’t finish it, and when I tried to see if it was still here, it’s gone, and now I don’t feel like I can write about it again. So I’m just going to write about this weekend, June 8-9.

I went out this weekend with Tom. We went to Bateman’s, a National Trust and where Rudyard Kipling and his family used to live. He was the write of the Jungle Book and he was acclaimed and had lots of money and success when he was alive. He lost his son at the war, at 18 years of age. So young. To lose a son. How terrible.

Tom brought some picnic food- he had made focaccia and had put some ham, cheese and Branston pickle on them, wrapped them in foil, put them in a bag with a pack of crisps and a couple of Tangos/Pepsi Max. He’s always been diligent like this, he likes homemade stuff. We are trying to save up money and go to Phils/Japan next year. We have so many financial goals this year and it seems like we have so little money to spend on shopping/eating out. But hopefully we will see the fruit of our savings in a year’s time.

Anyway, we walked quite far in the woods, and there was this beautiful wildflower field– it was glorious and when we were walking there it was just the two of us and it felt magical. We also came upon 2 beautiful horses and some sheep grazing on a field! And these two horses came up to me while I was trying to cross the stile and I had to wait for them to stop feeding before I could climb over. I was awed of being so close to such beautiful and majestic creatures but I was also scared that they might get scared of us and the worst thing was we get attacked by the horses. (Haha, is that even a thing? But I was scared of their strenght and their strong legs and hooves). I touched one tentatively and it let me and looking back, it was a beautiful moment but when I was there I was just doing the motions.

I bought a Macmillan small book edition of The Best of Sherlock Holmes (for some reason I know I will never read the Jungle Book), a “book hog”, which is a folded up book page with buttos for the hog’s nose and eyes and wool soap- soap covered in wool. I love buying these things and knick knacks. They bring me so much joy and probably the second biggest things that I buy often.

I miss you so so much. I dreamt about you two days in a row. The first one, I had to wake myself up because I knew it was a dream. But I wish I hadn’t– I wish I had run up to you and hugged you. You were seated at the living room sofa, back when it was still facing the big telly, and I knew you were there so I ran down the stairs and you were smiling at me– but before I could touch you I woke myself up because I knew it was a dream. The second was was a bit more confusing- you were in hospital and you weren’t very well but then you were, and then you were giving me a baguette ring and I asked you for some pearls, but also there were some black discharges from your nose and mouth that I was suctioning when you weren’t well. I dont like to think too much about the dreams. Nelia said that I should send some prayers for you when I dream of you. and I wanted to go to church today but didn’t get out of bed in time for it, so I’m sorry ma.

I cried on the way to Bateman’s, on the car. I missed you so so much and I kept thinking about the time I left the house in anger (after what happened with Achi) and how when you asked me to come back during your chemo I didn’t. Guilt. so much Guilt mama. and I guess I am looking for redemption, or a sign of forgiveness from you, for letting you go like that. I blamed myself and I think I will always do. I know there was beauty in the way you died and the timing of your death, but the primary feeling I have now is the guilt and the pain and the despair and I can’t appreciate it yet. Like, I had my open heart surgery before you died. I was able to fly home to be with you. That time that was given to us, it was nothing short of miraculous. And I know that there is something bigger here, bigger than my emotions. If I could see the bigger picture, our story was beautiful. But I need to let go of this self-blame first. This feeling that I killed you/let you go when I just didn’t want you to suffer. It pierces me from time to time. When you put your hands on my face and said, “I’ll leave it up to you” How can I ever, ever forgive myself?