Hahaha (nervous laughter). Today I had my first session with the counsellor who reported me about the Suicide Project t’ing that I described in my last post. Well. It could have been a lot worse, though it was never going to be a comfortable session, especially as she isn’t one for brushing uncomfortable things under the carpet. I can’t help warming to her, despite this unfortunate incident. She’s young, optimistic and sparky. You can be upfront with her. She at no point murmured in ‘concerned’ tones, ‘I see you’re very angry’!! Nothing could be calculated to make me angrier than that. And in any case, she could see I wasn’t. Just a bit peed off.
The most she would say is ‘it was inappropriate’. When I observed that ‘inappropriateness’ is in the eye of the beholder, she didn’t even disagree. There didn’t seem to be any real suggestion that I had consciously or unconsciously wanted to encourage my son to commit suicide. I gave her the story I’d written (of how my son J came to be) to which I posted the link in my email to J (which he of course, never received).
Bottom line is this. The social workers can’t, any more, stop me seeing my son or stop him from seeing me. He’s 16 now. So I very much doubt whether this incident will have any serious repercussions for him or me. That’s why I wasn’t angry, just a bit peed off, and left wondering whether I actually wanted to continue with counselling. After today’s frank and open discussion I think on balance that I will. The worst thing about the counselling is that I have to travel (on two buses, one from the ghastly Wood Green) to a particularly unpleasant area of Tottenham. But today my Baby gave me a lift.
Not content with that, he insisted on picking me up after counselling despite my protest, and we drove to the Whittington Hospital for an abdominal scan my GP referred me for, after I had a bloated, sore stomach for five days. The medic who did the scan found ‘lots of little gallstones’ (yuck!) but not much else of concern.
We picked up a sandwich and tea at the Archway Caf and then we drove up to our favourite Trent Park. It was such a beautiful summer’s day today, not too hot, a refreshing breeze but plenty of warm sunshine. M and I found our usual spot and sat by the lake for about an hour, chatting and chewing the fat. Then we walked back to the car. He cooked this evening. His usual speciality of rice and peas, braised veggies (done in his own unique way) and potatoes, and some fried plantain. I have to admit to being bored rigid of rice and peas (which he makes pretty much daily). But hey I should be grateful someone else cooked, right?
He also did a lot of very focused and energetic cleaning this morning. The house is immaculate.
C’mon folks, is he not just a tiny little bit of a star?
I don’t mention all the love, affection and cuddles he lavishes on me. The way he tucks me in when I’m taking a nap and calls me his baby. Brings me coffee in the morning. His sweetness and the things he says. His vulnerability and neediness (he needs plenty reassuring hugs and cuddles!) I have never felt so loved, needed and appreciated, gentle reader.
Hope you’re not reaching for the sick bowl. I’ll leave it right there. A slightly embarrassed