I have been severely under the weather with flu, manflu, swine flu, or God knows what, since last Friday. I’m sure I’ll survive, but my creative side is definitely not functioning. So instead, for anyone who wishes, I will repost an old post which made me laugh when I first wrote it. I hope you enjoy it. For those of you who read it before I apologise. Hopefully I’ll be back soon.
Anyone who read yesterdays blog,
will know we had a very sad day.
Our dog has gone to chase rabbits,
on that farm in the sky.
After all the upset and drama,
we are now left quiet and a bit empty.
My youngest daughter is devastated,
my husband marginally upset.
But it has got me thinking.
In our family we have six personalities.
Each one of us deals with upset and sadness differently.
From my youngest who wears her heart on her sleeve,
and is not afraid to cry (loudly),
a lot like her mum!
to my husband of over twenty years,
who I saw shed a few tears for the first time last year.
These differences in our reactions to life’s issues,
were made evident to me many years ago when I miscarried.
Of course I was very upset and so was my husband.
Time went by and he recovered,
quite quickly if I am to be honest.
I took longer but as I have said before,
time is a great healer,
and soon I too began to feel better.
One evening our local priest called.
My husband has a huge interest in GAA,
which is our national sports of hurling and gaelic football.
This priest was hoping to recruit him,
to help teach the local youths.
A cup of tea was offered and they were off,
talking in great detail about matches played back who knows when,
and amazing goals scored and poor refereeing decisions etc.
GAA is not a passion I share and it was barely noticed when I left.
After a while I returned to remove the cups etc.
They stopped talking and the priest said,
” I believe you had your own loss recently, I’m very sorry.”
Before I could say a word my husband replied,
“I know Father, it was terrible, we were beaten in the first round of the championships!”
The priest looked at my husband,
and then at me.
No one spoke for a moment, then I said to my husband,
“Actually I think he was referring to the miscarriage!”
My husband was mortified.
“Oh thank you Father, that was terrible too” he said.
So by this and many other examples,
I have learned over the years,
that whilst we all have good and bad days,
different events mean more to some of us than others.
Of course my husband is aware of our grief today,
but may not really share its depth with us.
Equally, if Cork do not make it to the All Ireland Final in September,
I must be honest,
I may not share his grief either!
To each their own.