This morning I woke up crying: that child I'll never have.

All week I've been getting angry at my mother-in-law. I interpret her unkindness toward the dog as a sign of antipathy toward me. So often I feel like an interloper in this house. A stranger, ever so. She has no interest in anything I have to say, but I have no interest in the list of things she must do.

So I have to remember: she's a recent widow, acclimatising to a colder realm, and the storms that have beset us must pass.

"Without tenderness, we are all in hell."—Adrienne Rich.

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