Upstairs in Rosie’s bedroom , there are 2 lovely big blue and white spotty boxes .
One contains all the photos people gave me after Rosie died ( the photos are ,of course ,of Rosie , not just some random holiday snaps ) , the other contains all the cards people sent us . Since I put those boxes up there , back in March (?) 2009, I have never looked in them .One day will .
Then yesterday I picked up the family section of the paper and the opening lines jumped out at me ”My daughter died at nine hours old. Three years on ,I stumble across a suitcase of condolence cards ”.What Krupa Padhy spoke volumes to me .
For me , I remember some cards stood out . The ones where people gave a bit of themselves, or said they didn’t know what to say , or that they would pray in their temple ,church or synagogue ( I always hope that if there is something up there it will get through to Rosie – I’m not bothered via which faith ) , The ones with ‘Best wishes’ went straight in the recycling box , and anything anonymous freaks me out .
If I sound hard , I don’t mean to be .I am just being honest .
And to those friends who continue to send love, postcards, invites , thoughts , comments and prayers , keep them coming , those acts of compassion help make my little world go round in a slightly sunnier way