I miss my Mum

I can sort of see the way forward now, but it involves shrugging off a very strong sense of betraying the righteous injustice that has happened to my Mum.

The way forward involves changing my thinking. So that the sentence above becomes:

"a very strong sense of betraying the righteous injustice that has happened to the memory of my Mum.

And, thinking about things such as "Our time together in this world was very good.".

And other such positive things.

But yes, I don't feel that I can quite overcome the sense that by accepting these sorts of logical and healthy minded attitudes I am somehow saying 'it's ok that she died.'

Because it really isn't.

And I also fear, much as Stephen Fry says he did when he was a teen, that future me won't remember this feeling. That he will be different and will forget this feeling of utter unfairness, and be at peace. A blind peace that smacks of uncaring.

I think you could bundle all these thoughts up into a ball and label them stupid. But whatever. This ball sits in my head now, taking up all the room.