As hard as it feels, it's true. As much as I've wanted time to stand still, to sit with my grief, to take time to remember and honour my boy's memory.
In spite of all that, time kept going. We moved house. I went back to work. I unpacked boxes, made lunches and dinners, did washing.
And part of me knows that this is a good thing. That I need to keep moving, even though the urge to lie very, very still seems so compelling.
One foot in front of the other. Life goes on. Yes it does.