R's rue

I snipped this picture from Google Streetview. It is the home of one of Shirley's remaining aunties, located in a small village on The Isle of Axholme in north Lincolnshire. In fact, it is the former vicarage and probably for that reason it stands right next to the village church. Aunt Marion has lived there for over thirty years. She divorced her husband twenty five years ago and later he died. She lives there with her fifty year old son John who never left home. And that's another story. Aunt Marion will be eighty in October and she has no intention of having a funeral or traditional wake. Instead she wanted a summer party with friends and family. An event  for the living with chatter and laughter and good food. We were there with Ian, Frances, Stewart and Little Phoebe. There were perhaps sixty other members of Aunt Marion and therefore Shirley's wider family. I have met all of them before but there are such large time-gaps between family events that I tend to forget...

 Yesterday I was looking back over old posts. Some thoughts came to me. Disability never leaves you as much as you wish it would. It’s the leech that won’t let you be. I went through the last two years, and I can say this with certainty:  Therapy is essential.  Learning to cope is a daily battle. A battle I’m learning to fight with love not abject hate. I didn’t not like looking back because it reminds me that so much work is left to do. I’m then prodded to remember that work is not bad or an indictment of failure. Work means I spend time with myself understanding the progress is a process. A process in understanding. An understanding that brutal honesty is not always the best policy. Kindness towards self should be my focus. How can I expect kindness from others when I’m unwilling to give it to myself. Mind and body must undergo routine examination to maximize optimal utilization.  Grant me courage To love oneself Enough To answer questions I’ve always avoided ...