Mummy at the School Gate

Many of my draft posts in the last 15 months have been desperate, sad, depressing and full of self pity. In essence, all about me. A outpouring of all my grief. I haven’t posted them because I guess they’re like a diary of my sadness. Yes, I’m sad. Yes, I’m grieving but really no one wants to read a post that’s so self absorbed, yet sometimes I feel it’s the need to know that others are going through the same.  I joined a few online groups in the early days and in all honesty, I find them hard to read. I don’t join in because it’s much of the same. People post because they’re feeling at their lowest ebb. That’s not to say that tomorrow they’ll feel ok or slightly different. It makes me feel better knowing that others are in the same boat as me. Not that I want anyone to feel how I feel, but I know I’m not alone in my desperation. Every day is a different day. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s not.  In the very, very early days, someone sent me a poem. It was about how grief is like b