Last Friday when I went up to the hospital to collect my son it was quite quiet. Being Good Friday there weren't a lot of people around. In fact it was so quiet that I was able to park my car in the public car park about 200 yards away and was completely spoiled for choice when it came to which parking bay to use. Something that wouldn't have happened any other week day.
As I was waiting for the lift a man and his daughter, who must have been about 2 or 3 years of age, joined me. The lift arrived and we got in. The guy called his daughter to him and told her he had to sort out her hair. Kneeling down he started rearranging her hair, removing and then replacing the hair clips she was wearing.
Quite quickly we arrived at their floor and they got out. I'd made eye contact with the little girl as she'd been getting in the lift and had watched briefly as her Dad tidied her hair.
As she was getting out of the lift she turned and looked back at me and waved goodbye. It was the sweetest of things and I waved by to her as she left.
Easter Sunday saw me attending church for the first time in a few weeks and the first since my son was diagnosed with the tumour. The rest of the family weren't with me. My other half having to go to work and my son not feeling up to walking back from church (its about half a mile and he'd walked further than that the previous day).
I'd expected to have to tell everyone how he was and that did end up being the case but the thing that caught me out was while we were sitting in the pews waiting for the service to begin.
We've been attending the church for about 14 years. For most of that time we've sat in the same pew every Sunday we've been there. The same couple of people sit in the pew behind us. They know us and one of the old ladies always asks after my son.
Last Sunday I was sat in the usual place, something that I've not done since I transitioned, I usually sit further back. There was a bit of conversation going on about a christening because one of the other members of the congregation was there with her baby son. There was nothing on the service sheet to hint at a christening so I was a bit puzzled why they though that.
As I was sitting the old lady that asks after my son spoke to me and said that she didn't recognise me and was I the godmother. For the life of me I couldn't figure out whether she was being serious or not. As she didn't ask how my son was I have to conclude that she was being serious and genuinely hadn't recognised me. Have I really changed that much in two years? I can't believe that.
What really tickles me about the suggestion that I might be godmother to the little chap though is that I've known his mum for a number of years and when she got married it was just after I'd transitioned and I wasn't invited to the wedding, although both my other half and son were. To be asked to be godmother to her son would involve some major miracle happening.
It may be that I end up being a godmother at some point, my sister's daughters have yet to be christened so she might ask me to be their godmother if and when they finally get around to having them done.
And to finish, something by Sister Rosetta Tharpe.