Besides all the regular crap that life throws at one - a sick child, a broken car window, a dead car battery, and yet another rejection letter from another publisher; all the usual social engagements - a bachelorette, a book launch, two birthday parties, and a farewell; various parenting duties - attending Orientation Morning and going uniform shopping for Goran's start at 'big school' in the new year... I've also had to deal with the death anniversaries of two young and vibrant people who were very dear to me, the shock of the Paris attacks - fretting about what kind of angry, ugly world my little boy is going to grow up in, and the cherry on top - not being able to join my husband and my son on our annual family holiday to my parents' timeshare in the Berg - not for lack of want on my part, but because my mother is still not speaking to me, ever since I sent her a copy of my adoption memoir manuscript in March (8.5 months ago). Through many, many years of very, very expensive therapy, I have dealt with all (okay, most) of my demons; evidently she has a long way to go in dealing with hers.
Mom, if you happen to read this, please understand that the way I felt about you 25 years ago - when the book is set, is NOT how I feel about you now. I was a seriously messed-up teenager going through a major identity crisis, and battling the first frightening episodes of my as-yet-undiagnosed bipolar disorder; I am in my forties now, with my head screwed on right. You did a good job in raising me, Ma, and you are an amazing Gran to Goran - he just adores you. I wish we could get together, and talk things out, so we can all spend whatever precious time we have left on this wretched planet enjoying one another's company, rather than suffocating in this blanket of silence.
RIP Angela Jane Wheal, 9 September 1978 - 25 November 2005