My best friend Sandra is a Christmas baby. Yesterday she had lunch with her family, then came to us for birthday dinner & wines and spent the night. Her dog Bruno and Faith sort of ignore each other in a friendly way – Faith isn’t well socialised to put it bluntly. Today Tony took her to Hawera to visit a few family graves. This journal page, using some of my more recent supplies, is about our friendship.
It’s a year next Sunday that Mum died and we’ll be putting her ashes in beside Dad at Patea cemetery. After Mum died I had bad dreams – okay, nightmares – for quite a while but gradually they eased. From time to time I still have bad dreams, but without the same intensity. In the worst dreams I drag Dad into it, and he’s been gone over 20 years.
But now the dreams are back, and getting worse. I have a real thing about bodies being in wet ground, which is why all our animals get cremated. I can tell you the logic; they’re dead, it doesn’t matter, it’s nature happening etc. My head knows that, but my heart panics about them being in wet ground. I get anxious and upset.
I totally get that Mum is dead, and her ashes are in a sealed and waterproof cremation box. The fact that the ground is wet for next Sunday’s interment doesn’t matter. Except that, for me, it does, it *really* does. I need it to stop raining. Please let it stop raining…