Grief you bastard - In the name of Thiago - Day 311

 

Today was a slightly better day. I'm not getting carried away because depression is frankly an awful disease that eats away at you and it's one sadly, that I've become all too familiar with over the years. But I am learning to manage it better these days. And it's a little like I said the other day, yesterday in fact, it's often a case of not fighting it so much but learning how to manage the big horrible bastard.

Speaking of big horrible bastards, I've just come off the phone to the old man for what is the third time today. 


He is exhausting bless him. He's been calling me to get phone numbers for people. People that he's had phone numbers for before. The plumber, the bloke who's fixing his computer, the GP. Every time he asks me for these numbers, I ask him to write them down somewhere as well as save them in his phone, and then every time he just ignores me. Because the lazy bastard can always just ask me to do it all for him. I think I might start asking for an allowance!

I can tell you now that when it comes to Sunday 28 November, the anniversary of the day we lost our little man, he'll be ringing me for some stupid fucking reason to pester me. I hope that when it rings it'll be to offer his support and show that he cares about me how I feel and what I'm going through. Well there's always hope. It springs eternal you know.


The anniversary of Thiago's passing has been on my mind as Angelica and I received this lovely handwritten card through the post today from the bereavement team at Birmingham Children's Hospital. While the communication from their colleagues on the cardiac side was always very poor, I can't speak highly enough of the support we've had over the last 12 months from the chaplaincy team, the charity. the bereavement team and all the wonderful nurses and medics on ward 12. There'll always be that sense of frustration at some things that happened at their hospital but this is always the case. Nothing is ever perfect. Certainly not when you're in the club I'm in that's for sure.

As a bit of a Brucie bonus today I discovered that there were two notes stuck together in the random act of kindness donation I received yesterday for the fundraiser, I just can't have checked properly. This brings the total amount of money raised to a truly phenomenal £22,790. That's pretty much it now save a few quid from the chippy, which I shall be visiting on Friday presuming they're still open. They were open all through the last lockdown so fingers crossed..


It's making me cry again putting that picture on there but what the fuck else am I to do? I remember speaking to Richard the doctor who stayed with us on the day that he died and saying that I wanted to swap places with Thiago. I'd had enough fucking chances frankly, why couldn't he have one? I know that I need to be strong and be around for the girls but let me tell you now, there's not a single fucking day where I wouldn't want to be buried in that grave in Keele just so that he could have another bash.

And the thing with the depression is that it's all the harder to accept right now at this very moment. I don't want to be feeling this shit when I should be honouring the little man's legacy, I should be continuing to do great things. That's what makes rejection feel that much more painful in whatever form it comes. I don't give too much of a shit about a lot of things now but I want to feel good, feel proud so that Thiago can be proud of me for being that way. Grief, you fucking bastard. 


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