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I’ve written several blogs over the last day or so, none of which I can put up. A little too personal. It’s only the second Christmas since my grandmother, who raised me, died. I’m one of those people that doesn’t mourn at the beginning of things much. I don’t do it on purpose, but I tend to be fine during the initial catastrophe. I’m a pillar of strength, then a year, or more later, when everyone else has pretty much moved on, grieved, it’ll hit me. I know why I do it, I guess. Because my birth family were all so caught up in their own grief that there was no room for mine, or that’s how it felt, so I didn’t grieve. I don’t mean about my grandmother, I’m pretty much thinking of my mother. It would be the defining moment of my childhood and many lessons were learned during that time. Lessons both good and bad. It would take me about twenty years to truly grieve for my mother, I guess a year and some change for my grandmother is actually an improvement. Let’s hear it for therapy.