Out of bed, actually remembering my own name.

Unfortunately, managing to get out of bed to remember my own name is cause for congratulatory pats on the back at the moment. A friend once likened grief to skipping double-dutch; constantly jumping to avoid being tripped by the quick succession of ropes. This week I've had to agree

The primal wail has not happened. Silent tears, yes. Most times I'm just getting on with it; doing all the things as it were. However, this old bod' is letting me know its under some duress. I've lost a kilo I possibly couldn't have afforded, the flip flops in my chest have been uncomfortable and the dizziness annoying. Please don't worry though. This is all very normal for me and everything will find some kind of equilibrium eventually. A very dear psychologist said to me once, "For a person who feels things very deeply you are actually quite out of touch with your own emotions." I didn't really understand what he was trying to say at the time. I do now.

Despite wanting to hold every single one of my loved ones close over the past week I have watched them all embracing their own independence and autonomy. Grabbing life and opportunities with both hands has been the order of the week and I've watched them connect with others, form new bonds and become more sure of themselves  I wish I hadn't been so frightened and protective when they were younger. I wish I had've let them fly sooner.

Over this week I've become connected with so many other people that I knew by name simply because we were mutual friends with Stella but hadn't really taken the opportunity to connect with. It seems that my world has expanded in some way, and again, I am embracing and being embraced by a whole community of people I am proud and privileged to be counted amongst, simply because I occupy a non-normative form. How lucky am I? Never before have I been so thankful to be different.

And that statement would've prompted Ms Young's face to crinkle up, give a squeal of glee and earn me a high five. But it's totally true. It's honestly how I feel.

Finally, after 47 years.

That, Nanna, is your miracle.