It has been an incredibly tiring few weeks since I decided to move. I have settled in quite well, but there are still many jobs to do at the other house. The most noteable is the chickens. Somehow I have to make a place for them here in the cellar. When I can focus on what I'm doing, I'm happy to be here, and love the way things are shaping up.
Nevertheless, I am very distracted by Lytton, who is not recovering from whatever is wrong with him. By spells I am sure he is dying. The thought is unbearable and I lose myself to hysterical crying. Ann gave ne some pills to put under my tongue when this happens, and they do bring my emotions to a point where I can bear them. For a few hours I am able to go about the business of settling into the house. Soon enough, though, it begins again. We all live through a cliche in the face of great loss. It is more or less the same for everyone, I imagine.Why must we deal with inevitability with such pain? We ought to have learned how to accept what we can't change without the great gnashing of teeth, the screams of agony, the unending streams of tears that grip us and hold us prisoner.
I don't know if this is the time that Lytton will die. I do know that I live through that death every time he is sick. If the actual death proves to be worse than these practice runs, my mind can't comprehend what it will be like.