All day today I was stuck in a malaise. A fog of black dog. A couple of glasses of pinot noir at lunch time gave some marginal help. So did some caravan scraping. I began cooking potato and leek soup for dinner. Which is when M came home and told me that his mum passed away today (‘passed away’ is such an odd term, but easier to type at the moment than the d-word). I am very sad. Very. Very. Sad. She is my very good friend.
She had a very good innings – about 85 years, I think, which doesn’t help anything at the moment. She hadn’t been in very good health, but that was pretty much a constant thing. I thought she’d trundle on forever. I called her this morning and left a message on her answering machine saying I’d try her again tonight. And now I feel useless.
M is being very brave and true. He spoke to his sister up in Hervey Bay a few times today. There may be a funeral on the weekend that we’ll fly up for.
“Don’t worry,” I said, last time I spoke to her, “We’ll be up in September, and we’ll sort it out then. I don’t have to bring anything to wear, all my dresses are in your cupboard.”
“Wear that brown lacy dress,” she said, “I’ve got some gold shoes you can borrow.”