Preparing for my nest to be empty

I think, perhaps, the whole thing has been worthy of a David Attenborough documentary; a sad old bird picking over the few eggs left in her nest; hopelessly trying to keep them warm while she muses over her little chick who fell out of the nest and her beautiful fledgling, now ready to fly.

I am no longer a mummy with a child at school; I am soon to be an empty nester. And while I always knew it wouldn't be easy, I never quite expected it to be this hard.

Dead crows and unforgiven sins

I was raised by a mother I adore and she was raised by a mother who knew that God was omnipotent and omnipresent. I understood from a very early age that he saw everything I did and would, therefore, punish me for at least half of it.

And then, when I was about six, I pretended that I had cut my right temple; put a plaster on it and went running, screaming to my mother. Ripping off the plaster, she reminded me that it was a wicked thing to do and that God had seen me and would punish me.

A few days later, I got knocked unconscious playing 'British Bulldog' in the playground. I still have the scar on my left temple to remind me of my original sin.