Upstairs

Coming home after work is often a strange experience. Not sure how things are going to be. How is the boy? And the wife?

Yesterday, the wife looked frazzled, despite my mother being there. The boy had been both active and intermittently stroppy. Being a typical three year old I guess. So I looked after him until bedtime. Was quite fun. He was keen to show me the painting he'd done for me and granny. But he wouldn't let me talk to granny. Always dragging me here and there. Or coughing to make sure I suction him. Granny always looks a bit put out that about this. Then we played the bed game - he takes me upstairs, tucks me in and turns the lights out. And says "na na" (night night) before shutting the door. A role reversal of his bedtime.

Was helpful that he was fun. Helped to dispel some of the blackness that I've been feeling for the past few days. Death feels more present than usual. And more inescapable.