What’s wrong with me! I can’t help it - I pick up the album where I’ve collected all the photos of Bridget when normal and with dementia and when she was content in the care home and it’s upsets me so much but I can’t help but look.
It’s like a drug that I know will upset me but I still do it. It’s like there a very thin veil that separates me from her. If only I could get behind it she’d be real again. This grief really messes with your mind.
I miss her then I’m fairly ok then I’m not and I’m a mess of tears again. It’s not fair is it.