The playground

 Nothing screams widowhood more, than going to the playground over the weekend. The dads take over the place so frazzled mums can have a break, which of course for me never happens now.

The playground works like a magnifying glass, you are forever reminded that you are now solo, your unit of 4 has been sadly and abruptly downgraded to 3.

You see the children squealing happily daddy, daddy, daddy, they run freely, secure in the knowledge that daddy will pick them up if they fall, scoop them up if they are cold or muddy. I watch from the sidelines, my heart sinks and I am painfully aware that Julien is gone and my children are fatherless. Do they notice that other children have a dad and they don't?  What do they feel when they see the other dads with their children? They play happily and I can't tell, I don't ask either, perhaps I am too scared of the answer.

I am now both parents merged into one, I am unsure that I can do both but of course I have no choice, bravery to me is the lack of choice. I have no choice but to move onwards. 

My son is almost my height now, he is always been tall like his dad, and I struggle to carry him or pick him up, but of course I try. My daughter is lighter so I carry her with more ease. I can't help but wonder that if Julien was here, he could scoop us all in his arms. 

Another downside to the playground is football which is now my domain, mind you despite being Brazilian I am a hopeless footballer . Another dad's sport which I try to keep up when I can't even understand what the offside rule is. Julien explained the rule to me using handbags as an analogy, cheeky man, I wasn't impressed, but anyway he had a good laugh. I guess it doesn't matter if I know the rules or not or that I am filling the holes. I am here and for now that is all that matter.