But, in truth, I’ve felt lousy much of the day. I’m absolutely not ungrateful. Instead, I feel unworthy, guilty. People have taken the time and effort to make it as simple, as low-key, as much of a non-event, as possible. So I should feel happy, right? I should be in amongst my family, laughing and carrying on. But I’m in my bedroom, with the door closed and curtains closed, writing this. I’m wishing the night away, desperate for bed time to come around so that this day can be done. And I’m also dreading waking up tomorrow, because we’re having a (larger) get-together from my Gran’s 80th birthday and I expect that to be even tougher than today has been.