Maybe it was the softly falling snow outside the windows, or the culmination of seventeen years of suppressed grief. Maybe it was maturity. Whatever the reason or combination of reasons, I answered her, straight-out, and then started to cry. I remember thinking: Oh, I’m crying. And saying to her: This is the first time I’ve … Cressida leaned towards me: What do you mean … first time? This is the first time I’ve been able to cry about my mum since the burial. Wiping my eyes, I thanked her. She was the first person to help me across that barrier, to help me unleash the tears. It was cathartic,
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