It’s kittens, or a nervous breakdown.

The grief comes in waves, and it’s always triggered by the small stuff – the things that ought to not be upsetting – not in the wake of something as enormous as this. But there it is. Today I am missing a potato peeler, as I struggled to peel potatoes and it took me 10 minutes longer than it normally would to peel potatoes for dinner.

Amidst everything, it’s that stupid white potato peeler which was consistently good and sharp for more than ten years. It’s my knives, some of which I’d had for more than twenty years, my hands worn into their handles. My space, my life, my rhythms.

I organised two new foster kittens last week, and they arrived yesterday. My husband worries I am doing too much, have too much on my plate, that I’m not resting enough. And he’s right, of course (don’t tell him) but it’s kittens or a nervous breakdown, and at least now I have hissy babies to kiss on their little heads, and something else to keep my hands and brain busy.

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I can feel the seasons changing, in the bite of the wind despite the sunshine. Autumn is here, and Winter is coming and I still don’t have mains electricity. It’s been twenty one days since insurance rang and said “we will probably have an answer for you early next week”. More days than it probably should have been since TasNetworks said “within five business days”. But hey, people are BUSY you know.

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We spent last week moving my mother in law into her dementia unit – early onset dementia is a bitch of a thing, and it’s breaking my husband’s heart. The transition went relatively well, considering, and some judicial application of sedatives helped a lot, but it meant no one else saw her at worst. That was a special kind of hell, saved for Nathan and I, as she begged not to be left, demanded to be taken home, told us she wasn’t staying, no thank you she was done now. And our hearts broke, but we did it anyway, because sometimes life is a bitter pill to swallow.

Sometimes you just have to do the shit things, even when you don’t want to.

But no, “she’s settled so well!” and “she’s so calm and relaxed” is all anyone else saw (not the nurses, never the nurses and doctors and the helpers and hand holders, not them). Thank god for transitional medications.

And we’re not dead yet, no one is dead yet, so onwards we go.

Edited to add: I’ve just mashed potatoes with the worst potato masher ever and now I’m mad about my burned potato masher too.