1am

i was supposed to drink tea with my friend and neighbour. 9pm, as soon as the children sleep. everything was ready: an almost tidy kitchen, an easy knitting project, new loose-leaf tea and a freshly baked apple pie (we went apple-picking, we went apple-picking, we went apple-picking today) (to be sung at the top of your lungs).

she must have given up by now, the friend and neighbour. and gone to bed. and maybe even forgiven me (she knows it's dicey business, putting the children to bed).

and here i am, 1am. re-reading my blog. starting from all the way in 2007, and working my way slowly through the weeks, the months, the years. crying and laughing, catching a glimpse of a different self. where did she go, that funny, honest, raw, sensitive, beautiful woman? did i lose her along the way? i hope not, hope not, hope not.

looking for something else, too, in between the lines, the photographs. looking for what happened. the how, the why, the wherefore. there must have been signs, leading from there to here. warnings. whisperings.

i could not find any. no explanations. only an unfolding.

between september 2007 (new baby in the house, happily married people, joyful children, creativity and love gallore) and september 2011 (new baby in the belly, scared divorcing lonely people, sad lost children, grief, anger, excitement, and shame): what happened? what happened?

in september 2007 i knew so much. i know so little today. tomorrow, i will know less. but i know who i love. and i know how to hold grief (mine and yours). gently. i know where to put my foot down, for the next step. and if i don't know yet, i might know once i lift it.

maybe that's all you ever need to know. Sam's uncle Jim said: "When driving in the dark, you don't need to see further than your headlights see."

maybe. maybe. maybe.

her carriage

the crocodile he made himself

note the moving head and the little band-aid where a nail was inconveniently sticking out ("het maakt niet uit, mama, ik doe er gewoon een pleistel op")

her new pen