We may be moving house.
When Bear first died, my Dad said he'd read that people who are grieving shouldn't make any big life changes. Stability is key, we all agreed, when everything else is falling down around you.
Except that in a moment of madness we decided to put our flat on the market. And of course, despite not thinking any of it through, we got an asking price offer and suddenly it's all solicitors and surveys.
That's how I felt.
But then we found a house that felt warm and cosy. I could imagine us there, in it's big rooms and mature garden. I actually went as far as working out paint colours. It was nice to have something to talk about with Toby that was positive and still very much about our family.
So we're playing the waiting game. Our offer has been accepted, but the deal is only done, when it's done.
How do I feel about potentially leaving the flat?
I feel as though I want to get a spade and dig all the air out of Bear's room and put it in a special box that will move with us.
But of course, there is no such thing as an air spade.
So I will have to be strong again. Like I am, on the outside, with so many things. And then deep down I'll try and work it out later.
I think new beginnings represent the end to old beginnings, and I don't like that one bit.
But maybe it will be good for the soul. Privacy, space, a palette of new paint colours. It might help me feel less blue.