As you may know, we have been in Greece for the past two weeks. We flew in the same Saturday the Greek government announced that they were unfortunately running out of cash(!!!), had imposed degrading capital controls on all its citizens, and into an atmosphere of tension and uncertainty. Alex and I have followed closely the whole thing, trying to get our heads around the  ramifications of the two possible outcomes to the issue: Eurozone leave or a possible “deal.” We naively cheered the bravery of the “OXI” just to wake up the following morning to the disappointing news of Varoufakis’ news of Minister No More. We understood, as a couple who had to deal with banks and debt and interest-only payments, that this was all a game, a dirty political and financial game, on a much larger scale. We hoped that, just like we did, a few years ago, the Greek government will SEE that the only way out of debt and stupid, generational, financial bondage was to call the IMF for their bluff …

My son has been dead for a year. How did we manage to survive the initial emotional Hiroshima? How did we remember to breathe when the pain was stronger than the desire to stay alive? How did we live beyond the very traumatic firsts: the first night without our boy, the first week, the first month? And now, the first year. I don’t know. I still don’t know. All I know is that even if it sounds like an eternity, this year has changed nothing when it comes to our longing for a different ending and to our emotional pain. We still think of Georgie every day. We still miss his presence. We still wonder how it would have been to be four, everywhere we go. For pizza, to the beach, on weekend trips. We still feel his physical absence, even now, after a year. We miss having another car seat at the back. We miss having another mouth to feed. We miss buying blue swimming trunks and shark t-shirts. We miss seeing Emma learning …