May and September are my favourite months. I had my first intimation that the whole earth was meant to be a paradise in a soot blackened Sheffield garden - many many years ago - in her early 1950s. I was playing with a little friend and watching the white May blossom sparkle on the black stones in her paved garden.
It gave me a sudden feeling of joy I have never forgotten. However, in this Spring, the poet Karen Volkman seems to speak for me in her poem May, which begins:
In May’s gaud gown and ruby reckoning
the old saw wind repeats a colder thing.
The Spring is fresh and new and full of life. The Captain and I are not.
We sat out on the balcony on Sunday afternoon - it was a grey Bank Holiday, but a lot of people were out on beach and Green. I felt very sad, an Autumnal sadness, not a Springlike feeling at all. But it is sadness with hope, hope for that time on the earth when "No resident will say "I am sick"". The time when there will be no nasty surprises, only wonderful ones.
Monday morning we zoomed with the family, which included two of the littlest great grandchildren and their parents, so that was really nice and cheered us up. They are such fun.
It has been hard to get Col to eat anything. The only thing that has been a success are the grapes we ordered from Abel & Cole, his eyes lit up at the sight of them, and he has been slowly eating them. However, Tuesday morning, he asked me to make him porridge for breakfast. And ate it all! Has a corner been turned?
I hope so, but the Sword of Damocles hangs over us until the day surgery procedure has been done. Within eight weeks they say - and he is on the emergency cancellation list, so it is possible to be called in sooner.
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