The "eighth of the eighth"... my Mum's birthday, and exactly three months (to the day rather than the date, which is tomorrow) since she died. Sometimes being a person who is wired to 'do' dates is a bane rather than a blessing!

It has felt strange not choosing a card, not ordering flowers, not booking somewhere to take her for lunch (which I would have done on Monday, as the scored through note on my calendar reminds me).

And it has felt deeply sad not being able to do those things.  The strange tension of not missing getting up at 4 a.m. to catch the train with the empty place that is left behind.  The gladness that she is free from all the frustrations and limitations and the regret that she never did get the party she wanted, because she had no recollection of the one we did for her 80th (at which this photo was taken).  The certainty that we parted well and the ongoing 'I must tell Mum' moments.

I'm not sure how I feel today - or how I am 'meant' to feel (so often I tell other people that however they feel is right, but even so...)

So for now, I share this photo of a happy day, and which, for me at least, has good associations, and I remind myself that she is at rest, held safe in the love of God... as, indeed, am I.

A week ago, as I was making my way to the station, to come home from Edinburgh, I found - or perhaps was found by - this toy cat, who was at a bus stop.  I thought someone had dropped him, so I called after them - no.  I quickly got on the bus at the stop to see if someone had dropped him getting on - no.  I did my best via social media and hashtags and stuff to find his owner - he's brand new, still got his tags, and maybe some child was weeping for him.  No joy.

So, today I named him Leith, because that's where I found him - or he found me.  He's now on top of a bookcase full of hymnbooks.  He is a cute reminder of a fun weekend, and of the special friends with whom I spent it.