I came back to the Smoke tonight. MasterB is delighted. He travelled well, only a few cries as we left a sunny marina. I had been considering staying until tomorrow. Then I had an anxiety attack and could not get off das Boot. The water could not have been calmer, but committing myself to the pontoon seemed like jumping off a mountain. Eventually I managed it and the kind person who had done my washing helped me pack my stuff and leave. It was a slow journey home. I came via the back roads. Fields of Rape are ready to spring their acidic yellow across the landscape. Late lambs surprised and pleased me.
I was on my guard. I knew that my mind wanted to be elsewhere. I forced myself to concentrate. The petrol gauge looked low. I felt a few minutes of panic wondering where I could fill up. I remembered a station, and it worked. Crossing London was easier and quicker than I could have hoped. Home. A pile of post. I have opened some. A pile of birthday cards wishing me a happy day. Equally dislocating messages on the answer phone. Dead flowers.
I wanted to stay on das Boot. Felt I could stay there forever. A happy bubble where I would not have to accept the reality of Mother’s death. I think the anxiety was my conflict between wanting to stay there in the sunshine and the knowledge that I needed to face up to my responsibilities at home.
Like Mother I am independent. Asking for help is difficult. I should rather the whole marina does not know that I could not step onto the pontoon for a couple of hours. However, I suspect it will be common knowledge soon. Maybe that is not such a bad thing. I could probably learn a thing or three from Mother.