Day Nine: The funeral

We buried my Husband's dad today. It was harrowing as I thought. A beautiful service actually, but god I found it so hard not to entirely break down. Exhausting...And very sad. Sad to see my Husband hold it all in (I suppose that's what he's always done about emotions and feelings) -looking like he was attending some else's father's funeral (in his own words..) Sad also to see how much care he took not to come anywhere near me -sat with the choir at church, stood with his siblings by the grave, avoided me for the whole wake. It was so sad... but my boys were there so I focused on them, ensuring they were fine, speaking with them and going along with the pretence of looking so heartbroken because Grandfather had just died...And I can't even get a bloody drink because I m driving everyone back (and H's clearly had a few already). Thankfully it's all over by 5 and I drive us back, in silence. H sleeps all the way back. In the darkness of the evening and the eery quiet of the car engine humming and the children's music thud thudding gently out of their earphones, I finally acknowledge to myself: this is all the more painful since I didn't just attend my father in law's funeral. I have just attended my Marriage's burial too. I turn the radio on to try and stop me from thinking -and feeling- too much or I fear my head will explode and my heart actually tear before I get us there. In that moment, I have a brief vision of us all crashed against the central reservation of the M6. But no, I quickly argue with myself, that is not the best way to end this nightmare -however tempting it fleetingly appeared. So it is with great relief (tinged with crushing shame) that I realise the love for my children is stronger than anything else I can ever experience and decide that I will fight this and that somehow, as unbelievable as it seems now, I will re-build a good and happy life for me and my boys. One day. I turn the radio up focusing on my driving