Blog Post 1: Mother in Turmoil

I simply know not what to do, how to feel. Oh, where to begin? Perhaps with the wedding. No, no, maybe it's best to start with the funeral.
I'll start with the wedding. My wedding to the dear King Claudius, my late husband's brother, and a man so strong, humble, and caring you will not find anywhere else, was beautiful, exactly what I wanted; why, the entire Royal Court of Denmark was present to celebrate the joyous occasion with us. 
Also in attendance was, of course, my son, my dear Hamlet, whom I do treasure more than words can describe. He has been acting strange, of late. Even on the day of my wedding I had to tell him "Good Hamlet, cast thy nighted colour off" (1.2.69), for his "vailed lids" (1.2.71) were obvious to me even in my post-marital bliss. Now perhaps there was a time I would have chalked up his brooding nature to the inevitable storm that is the new-found independence of the young male, but "I doubt it is no other but the main; His father's death, and our o'erhasty marriage" (2.2.59). I certainly didn't mean any disrespect to my late husband, may he rest in peace, with my betrothal to his brother; the heart simply wants what it wants. Is it such a crime to love?