How are we doing?

A very good question, and one I was asked this morning (sorry not to answer very well, Emma).

It's difficult to answer adequately.

Some of the time things feel great - we have talked about how it doesn't feel right - like we should be mourning and grieving still, but are almost normal. Yet sometimes sadness settles like a mist falling: lightly enough that you don't notice it coming, but it's hard to see once it arrives.

Yesterday we spent the time with my mother, brother and his Family. They have been incredibly kind and driven hundreds of miles for us, yet the sadness seemed to be there waiting for me, and lightened after we'd left. Actually that wasn't their fault. Before I went to breakfast yesterday I'd spent 20 mins in Sarah's room, remembering stuff. The Sarah-shaped hole in our lives is still there, as it should be. Guess it's re-assuring that we're sensitive and still able to weep a little, rather than calloused and 'business as usual'.

I'm going to get the 'order of service' printed in Bicester shortly, then back to work. Hope I can concentrate a bit. I've had one work conversation this morning, and I *seemed* to know what I was talking about, so there's hope.

This evening I've got Anna (from our church) and Joe (one of Sarah's school friends) coming over. They're going to help with the music for the celebration, and we're going to run through the songs. I apologise to our neighbours in advance for the racket. Well, shouldn't be too bad really - Joe normally plays through a Marshall stack, but he's been talked down to something a little quieter for this ;-)