The Dog has Sh*t in my Dead Son’s Bedroom

Yep. In fact, he’d also nibbled his memory box, and had a wee too. And DD was opening and slamming his door whilst refusing to get dressed out of her pyjamas.

I stood there helpless in my towel post-shower, cold and fucking miserable. My husband was busy vacuuming downstairs as I’d already had a go at him about the state of our hovel this morning. You could say I was a victim of my own success.

At that moment a precipice opened up beneath my feet. Should I jump in and unleash ten shades of unholy hell at everyone, my face twisted, red and streaming snot and tears? Or should I decide that actually, this is pretty funny. The expression if you don’t laugh, you’ll cry (and probably never stop today) hit me square round the back of the head. I managed a hybrid, which was 70% snorting.

Yesterday, en route to Mumsnet Blogfest I phoned home, given I had abandoned wolf solo. He’d apparently ‘turned the house upside down’*- or man looked- for DD’s swimming costume that morning and in desperation had sent her off swimming with my mother in her dead brother’s swimming costume. 

*Given the hovelesque state of the house mentioned above, maybe there was an element of truth.

And that time I actually did laugh, loudly. And recanted the tale. Because there is a lot of light in this shade. 

Just as a ridiculous hunt for spray that might stop Eric pooping where I don’t want- an anti sh*tting spray if you will- and the confusion in the choice, had me sobbing in the aisle of Pets At Home. 

Obviously I forgot RD’s room.

Back to yesterday, and Blogfest. So, I didn’t win Best Campaigner. And whilst it would be a big fat lie to say I didn’t feel disappointed, it’s not because I expected to win. It’s because my emotions and nerves simmer so close to the surface right now, I’m surprised you can’t see the bubbles in my hair follicles. I didn’t expect not to win not through some false modesty, but because I’m not sure I believe in myself as a campaigner. Or know that I am. 

What I do believe is that the votes that made me a finalist show the importance of real life story telling. Of letting people in. Making connections and narcissistically feeling relatable when thankfully my circumstance is pretty rare.

There were some extraordinary and empowering speakers yesterday; authors, comedians, actors. Everyone with something to impart and share, and so much from personal experience. The best examples of light within shade

Grief is bonkers and nonsensical. It means that I can put on a nice frock and new boots, stand and chat and thoroughly enjoy myself yesterday, and today left me exhausted, flat and unwashed. 

But there was roast chicken at my mum’s.


8 thoughts on “The Dog has Sh*t in my Dead Son’s Bedroom

  1. Oh honey. I want to jump in my computer and give you a hug. I was at BlogFest Saturday, I am so bloody sorry I didn’t see you! Or if I did, that I’m sorry I didn’t recognise you and say hi. The day passed by in a blur! I cannot even begin to imagine how hard life is for you, I just want you to know I think you’re amazing, a wonderful mum and writer and that you should be very proud of yourself. I am sure your little chap would have found the dog doing a pee in his room very funny… xx
    Gem @ Life is Knutts.xx

  2. I laughed and cried while reading this, as always. Best Campaigner does no justice to your writing, sending much love, please keep writing as your blog has been important to me since my own (ex) swan was born x

  3. Your blog is heartwarming, heartbreaking and heartscorching, all at once. I can only imagine the faintest shade of what it is like to be on the inside of it. Still so very sorry for all you’ve been through. Thank you, for sharing even a fraction of it with us x

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