Nevermind, she said...

and then the flood came. It comes sometimes, just like that, out of the blue, from nowhere. A tidal wave of sadness that overwhelms me, floors me, makes me understand the true meaning of 'drowning in sorrow. It was a sad programme on TV about the decline of a once great Dutch singer that opened the flood gates for me. (And I don't cry easily, you understand; we Brits don't go in for emotions). Bud had wanted me to see it because we sometimes see the guy, sitting alone in a white-walled room at the old people's home where he now lives. We pass there on our way to our favourite cafe. He was handsome, when young, the TV programme showed, and his voice was rich and full of life.

Anyway, when I dried my eyes and tried to blow my nose so the air would still get through, I had to acknowledge that this sadness had been lurking there quite some time. It popped up now and again while I was doing my assignment. Suddenly, I'd pause, realise I was exhausted and ask myself whether all this effort was worth it for just another piece of paper. Is a piece of paper ever worth it? Isn't it people that matter? And shouldn't I be putting my energy into, well, some little people around me? I don't have any little people around me. I don't have children. Not even a child.

Tonight, I can write this without reaching for the box of paper handkerchiefs. But yesterday was a different time. It just happens sometimes. Something wells up from nowhere and before you know it, the spring bursts out you have water flowing down your face. How do you deal with this? Well, I go and stand in the bathroom and bawl my eyes out and then address the frog face that's looking out at me from the glass and try and talk some sense into the girl. I mean, you're LUCKY, don't forget that. You've ESCAPED without having children. You have FREE time (what the hell am I doing with it) and MONEY to go out and do things with. You don't have to give all of it to some demanding little person who will drive you mad by asking you questions when you're trying to read a book. You wouldn't have TIME to read a book....

I know. But I know, too, that I've missed so much and will miss so much. I would have made a great Gran. I could have told them so many things, so many stories of the places I've been. Could have this, could have that; all not to be. Woe is me.

When this tidal wave comes, all I can do is let it. Let it flow over me, soak into me, wash through me. Maybe a little bit of sorrow rolls out with it - like a pebble down a beach - as the tide goes out. Maybe.