OK. Deep breath. It's been a busy few weeks. I finished the Noah book that I started in January. A Baby's Bones came out on May 1st. Older relatives came to the end of their independent lives and had to move into a care home. It was horribly stressful, especially for them, they were devastated at the initial idea and fought against it for a long time. Then they had to accept it. It made me think, how do I envisage old age? How long do I really have, how long do any of us have? It's been painful.
Honestly, the book's been well reviewed and is on its way in the world. I'm doing various book events including CrimeFest next week. I'm organised, I'm ready. But I'm sad, we're grieving for the past family life that we had when the kids were younger, when we would all meet up for days or meals or to play cricket or badminton in their garden. To help them settle in, I made a photo album of happier days for her, because her Alzheimer's gets in the way of her remembering good days. It was a sad process, and I find myself pushing my husband to be more involved, help him adjust, while trying to remember these are his parents, this is agony for him. So sad.
So, yes, the book came out and I'm happy and I'm pleased about it. But it will keep travelling and family will not be the same. Today, two of the boys come home for their birthdays and we'll celebrate, and they will visit their grandparents, but it won't be the same without them.
Sorry about the sad post. Writing is great but this is real life, you can't just change the ending.
