The anniversary of my mum's death almost passed without me realizing it.  Both of my parents died in February and it seems to drag me down.  Mum was a beautiful woman but even more importantly she had a wonderful sense of humour, something she passed down to me.  I don't pretend to understand my parent's marriage but they stayed together through thick and thin; their ashes both sit together at the bottom of Ladysmith Harbour on Vancouver Island.  Or more likely, their ashes drifted off, spread wide and far in the Strait of Georgia.

I mostly feel like crying.  There's a long list of things wrong with the world and I drag all of those things together, pile them up around myself, stare at all the pain and hurt in the world and cry.  My heart hurts.  Death and destruction in Ukraine, the same in Turkey and Syria (mother nature and corrupt builders this time), babies who won't know their mama's, the United States seems to be sinking into a dictatorship with the rights of women and girls being smashed under the boots of the Republican party, mass shootings (in the US), climate change and fossil fuels.  Closer to home Lucy is doing worse on the Lasix, her cough and breathing have declined and I realize how much I'll miss her when we finally have to put her down, and how do we decide that time?  And Jack, caught in the world of adults, he doesn't get a say in his life and that breaks my heart too.  He fights for control, all the time, I recognize it and feel the same way myself but it's hard.  And the insurance company is telling me that I can't work.  I hate being told what to do.  I dig in my heels and it brings out the worst sort of bitch in me which makes me sad too.

I just get so tired of feeling depressed.  It comes and goes of it's own accord.  I try to feel better.  I write, I breathe, I walk, I practice gratitude every single night, I take my pills and still it hounds me.  Depression is a life long disease that robs me of good feelings on a regular basis.  It is a bastard.  

Lucy