Mum: a year on.

Oh what a year it’s been. And yet it feels like yesterday. The phone call at work. The hushed meeting, the family room with the sign on the door, that tells the outside world in no uncertain words, this room contains bad news. All the texts and phone calls to get everyone here as soon as possible. They said it could take it a week, I never realised it would only be hours.

I can remember every second. All in slow motion. Telling my manager I wouldn’t be in for the next however long. Going home and packing an overnight kit so I could stay at your bedside. Nurses bringing me extra blankets and pillows so I could sleep on the floor next to you. But I was as wide awake as I’ve ever been. Every few minutes or so you’d wake up and sit on the edge of the bed, in so much pain all I could do was help you sit. And that one last hug. Your head, heavy on my shoulder, and your arms, too tired to move, I put my arm around yours and held you close, not knowing it would be the last hug I ever gave you.

4 years of cancer, raging through your strong body had led you here. From day 1 you knew the odds. You knew it wouldn’t be easy, that it would be a fight but you never shied away from it. Always asking questions that you perhaps you didn’t want to know the answer to, but always facing it with honesty. Because you knew more than me, that one day, you’d be ready to say ‘I’m done now’.

But it was always on your terms. Always when you were ready and not a moment before. August 2017 and you were at your poorliest. But still, you never complained. You always found something to laugh about. The blocked toilet, in your room, the callbell that didn’t work and the door that didn’t shut. None of it mattered to you, you made all the nurses and staff laugh with your light hearted humour. Because that’s what you did best, put other people at ease when they’re anxious.

Dad, close to tears most visiting days, saw a glimmer of hope when you decided, as I could tell much against your wishes, but because you couldn’t bear to see him so upset and lost, that you’d do another round of chemo. More long days and more sickness but the sadness in dads eyes when the doctor gave us the odds was enough to prompt you, selflessly to give it another go.

For so many weeks, you endured the day long trip out. And I’d walk from home after work to the house, borrow you car, come and wait till the late hours of the evening and sit and talk about anything and everything while your machine bleeped away and the drip feeding you a cocktail of poison and chemicals slowly ebbed into your veins, only for you to wake up in the early hours of the morning when I finally got you home, to cause the most horrendous sickness, that most people would question why they were still doing this, week in week out.

Cancer doesn’t ask if you’re enduring enough to keep going. It does what it wants. Year after year of ops, various trips to different hospitals, a busmans holiday for me on my leave, round in circles and more questions, answers, more ops. Some people would’ve given up. I would’ve given. But not you. You kept going, kept being your brightest and relentless self. Never giving up, never asking, ‘why me’. We met so many lovely people along the way, I’m sure your infectious positivity and your general happy lovely self warmed them and made them feel so much more at ease.

You were always so good at that, making people feel at ease. One the first day of chemo, back in 2014, we bonded with Sandra over a bag of mini cheddars and words with friends. That’s the thing about cancer, you never really know when your times up until it’s up. Say hi to Sandra for me, I hope you’re all sharing the mini cheddars. Tell her I miss her. Another crap point of last year.

I’ve lost count of many of our loved ones this fucking vile inhumane disease has taken from us. From our family. I don’t want to think anymore. Too many to comprehend. It just doesn’t bear thinking about. At least you’re all reunited.

From 2009, when your were first diagnosed, you always held yourself with such dignity. You were what made me want to be a nurse, and for everything that happened, I’m glad I learnt what it meant to really care for someone. I’m glad I could care for you for the last 6 months of your life. It made it all worth it.

The last 4 years, we shared more than most mother daughters ever will. I’d give up the next 4 years again if it meant you were still here. I still dream of you most nights. That you’re coming home. We’re going to Canada, or we’re on holiday, on the beach somewhere warm. You’re well and no one mentions the C word. It’s funny how you bond even more over 4 years when your leave is taken up, taking you to hospital appointments and ops. It’s strange, I have all the time in the world now, yet sometimes I’m completely lost.

I wish I could’ve told you more. Wish I could’ve been more honest. I always felt like I’d let you down if I told you. The real reason I was in hospital. I think it would’ve hurt you more than me. I know you only ever wanted the best for me. I’m sorry I let you down. But no one will ever hurt me again, you raised me stronger than that. It just took a bit longer to realise.

But the last night will always haunt me. My one fear, the only thing I’m afraid of now and that’s that I never got to say goodbye. I never got to tell you I love you. You never got the peaceful exit from life that you should’ve had and I know you’d tell me it’s ok, but I should’ve done better. I should’ve seen the signs before it was too late. I wish I could get the image of you out of my head but it will always be there. My counsellor says it will always be there. There is nothing I can do.

I hope you know you were an amazing mum. I wish I could’ve told you at your funeral but I couldn’t think about anything other than how I was going to get through the next day. I wish I could have told you how you always put me and Paul first. You always went without for us. We never had much but you always made us feel like we were loved. You used to come and watch me swim in my events, ferry me around the country to my county cricket matches. You never complained. All you ever wanted was to give us what you never had.

You never wrapped me in cotton wool either. From the day I was born, which I know was hard for you. I didn’t look like any of the other babies. This bundle of flesh and red. But I knew you loved me. I knew no matter what colour my skin was, or how much I was different I was your daughter. You never excluded me from anything, always encouraged me to go out and join in. You never made me shy away from anything. The confidence I have, I owe to you.

My counsellor told me I should write all this to you. To tell you everything that I’ve wanted to say and I hope I’ve covered some of it. There will be a million other things that I wish I could’ve said. And a million other things I wish I could’ve done to be a better daughter. I know how heartbroken you were when me and Jim split up and I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve given you a grandchild. But the truth is, it just didn’t happen. And now the thought of having a baby on my own, especially without you terrifies me. You’re not here to help me and guide me. Help me be the mum your were. But wishing won’t bring you back. It’s been a year to the day, almost to the hour. And it still hurts. I still can’t bring myself to clear any of your clothes out. But I know it’s time to carry on now. It’s what you would want. For me to go out and live the life that you wanted for me. So I hope I do my best for you. You know I’ll never forget you. Love you always Mum x

Sharon

Happy on the outside, numb on the inside

I thought I was coming to the end of my counselling. What started in September has gradually gone on to now. I thought I was done. I thought wrong. Still another 12 weeks to go. My counsellor says I’ve bottled up the rubbish from the last 30 years of my life and I need to let it go. I wish I could just forget it all. I feel like I’m taking 2 steps back and Stumbling. All these feelings coming back are making me even more anxious.

I never used to be this complicated. I have to remind myself I was happy. And one day, if I let go, I will be happy again. But happy on my own. Because I know I shouldn’t rely on someone else to make me smile. Even though the last 9 months, someone has. But not in a way I ever thought. And I know I’m lucky. I’ve pushed my luck so many times and now I realise why. Not that it excuses anything.

I wish I could not be a shitty person that does shitty things because of past history. All the shit things that someone did. All the lies they told, the promises they made. You think everyone is telling you lies because you’re so used to being lied to. The truth is, cuts and bruises heal eventually. So do broken bones. Broken noses especially. But when someone’s done all that then ripped your heart from you, and torn it up in your face, it takes longer to move on and even longer to trust someone. Especially when you never really dealt with it at the time.

I couldn’t. I should of, 3 years ago, when I wast sectioned. I never told anyone why I did what I did. Shame is a powerful emotion. It makes you feel like you’ve gotten what you deserved because you dared to imagine for a moment that you deserved anything good. You can’t talk about what happened because not only does it hurt, it makes you realise how stupid you were to think that you of all people deserved a happy ending. I should’ve realised at the time, if someone seems to good to be true, they probably are.

And he was. Whether or not I deserved what I got, I don’t know. But I’m working on it. Slowly. It’s taken years to talk about it so maybe one day I’ll forgive myself for being so naive. For just wanting to love someone. Wanting to be loved back without any conditions. Maybe one day I’ll forgive him too. My body may have healed but my heart is still a gaping wound just waiting for someone to reach in, tear it into bits and hurt me all over again. I might have healed from the outside but inside my mind is still battered.

Somedays its unbelievably tiring putting on a happy face when inside you can feel your soul dying. Because one small insignificant thing can make all that self worth you built up come crashing down around you. And no amount of exercise, or doing what you love can actually really build it back up in a hurry. All the endorphins that got you pumped up and energised disappear and all you’re left with is this feeling that you’re really not getting anywhere. Deflated and exhausted. You start to tell yourself that you’re really not worth anything at all, and the sooner you realise that, the sooner you can move on.

The battered part of your mind telling you, you’re worthless. Just like that time when your world came crashing down around you. And you came back down to earth with a punch. You’re nothing. You start to believe it and all your hard work, your building up and self worth turns to shit and you really don’t know how to convince yourself otherwise. All it takes is one thing. One comment, one action from someone and it all turns to shit. Heartbreak after heartbreak, one thing after another takes its toll and then you start to lose the will to keeping going. What’s the point if it’s just going to get worse? How do you believe it will get better?

And here I am, staring 2016 in the face, looking back at the demons that I’ve tried so hard to move on from. But no amount of running will ever put them behind me until I confront them. But I don’t want to deal with the raw emotion. Don’t want to let my guard down again. Don’t want to admit that I’m human, that I hurt. Because the last time I hurt, I hurt my body so badly I almost never woke up. And I can’t go through that again.

If only for my dad, because he’s the only person who needs me. I can’t let him down. I let my mum down. The guilt kills me over and over again enough to inflict the same damage as before. But this time I’m still alive. Still breathing. Not living. Just existing. When the highs are high, they’re great, but when the lows are really low, they’re rock bottom.

@specsygurl

Dave

I’m 2 thirds through my counselling. I waited nearly 7 months for it and I still wonder now if it’s the right thing. Don’t get me wrong, my counsellor is a wonderful amazing lady but she manages to pull things from my head that I long hoped would stay at the bottom, never resurface and tear my heart to shreds again.

For a long time I put off thinking and dealing with lots of things that have happened in my life. I’m slowly working my way through them. Probably the one thing I never dealt with when I should’ve of was losing someone who meant the world the to me.

My best friend

His name was Dave. We met when I started working at a well known organisation, one famous for delivering mail shall we say. We hit it off straight away. I’ve written about Dave before but not so much detail. We never had a huge deal in common. He loved his beetroot sandwiches, and I hated them. He liked Elvis Presley, I liked Elvis Costello. He was a fair few years older than me. But it felt like I’d met a best friend. We bonded over our obvious aesthetical differences; my birthmark, his alopecia. He always wore a black baseball cap to hide it, always self conscious to take it off but when we were alone on our tea break he’d lean forward, lift his cap off, point at his hair and say ‘look, it’s growing a bit!’ all excited and hopeful. He never ever showed anyone else. We could always talk about what made us stand out, because only we knew what it was like.

We used to joke that we should get married. I was only 21 at the time but the idea appealed to me. Marry my best friend and I’ll be happy forever. I was a naive 20 something, but I loved him and I thought he’d protect me forever. It’s different when you’re younger. Your heart isn’t quite battered so you don’t see how people can hurt you, because if you were like me, you never got the chance to be someone’s girlfriend because you were different. You were the one in the corner at parties, while your pretty mates all pulled fit boys.

And here I was with a man who was not only fit (in my eyes) but he actually liked me too. We could sit and talk about anything, and tell the world to fuck off because we both knew what it felt like to not belong, yet we belonged together. In a world full of superficiality, we had our individuality and I wasn’t alone anymore.

I didn’t fit in anywhere in society. I was the girl with the birthmark. The one that stood out for all the wrong reasons. I had the most amazing friends, who I still have today. But no one could ever relate to how I felt growing up being stared at, pointed at, ridiculed for looking different. But Dave did. He had alopecia since he was teenager, with his patchy thick black hair, he stood out, even when he shaved it off. He was used to covering up his head. Here we were, 2 outsiders, on the nightshift.

I don’t like saying fate. Because fate is a way of explaining some things that can’t be explained. Ok for good things, like it was fate that we met. But not when bad, unexplainable things happen.

And the latter happened.

It was July 2000. I was learning to drive. Dave used to joke that when I passed, I’d be his personal chauffeur and drive him to the pub at a moments notice. After 2 failed attempts, he told me to keep going. I had to, he wasn’t taking a bus or a taxi to the pub. It was me and my crappy little car or nothing.

I had my test booked for 2 weeks time when I went into work on the Monday. No Dave. Tuesday, no Dave. No mention either as to where he was either. By Wednesday, I was worried. I hadn’t heard from him. I asked his friend what he’d done with him as they’d planned to go out the previous weekend. He turned his back on and said in the gloomiest voice ‘you’ll fine out soon’.

And I did. By the Friday shift, everyone was asking where Hattie (we called him Hattie because he was Dave the hat. Always, Dave the hat) was and concern was growing as to where was. Our section was called to gather round and we were told the news: Dave got into an argument with someone in Saturday night. It was over a stupid comment to do with someone else’s girlfriend. They didn’t like what he said and threw a punch at him. It knocked him the ground and caused a massive bleed to the back of his head. He would never wake up again.

I don’t know all the minute details. I never wanted to know. I couldn’t beat to think that someone could have the power to take anyone’s life. Let alone someone who was so kind and compassionate. But I guess they couldn’t see that. When they threw that punch, did they know that person would never get up again? Did they know that person was loved? They were someone’s brother. Someone’s friend. My missing piece.

I don’t remember much of that shift on Friday. I’d never lost anyone in such a way before. I felt numb for days. Weeks. I’d go into work, looking for him. My heart felt like someone had replaced it with a lead weight. Hoping he’d come round the corner, into our section, peak of his cap first. Always with a smile on his face with his toothy grin. I’d lost my best friend. The world had lost an amazing man. I can’t remember how long it took to feel normal again. I don’t think I’ll feel normal.

A few days after he died, I had my driving test. I didn’t care if I passed or not. I was so consumed with grief, all I could think about was how to get through one day to the next without falling apart. I’d come home from a night shift and cry myself to sleep because my best friend wasn’t there. Someone had taken him, in the cruelest way. A lesson that horrible things happen to good people. Life was tainted from that moment and I learnt just how unfair life is.

When I passed my test that day, I got out the car and looked up at the sky. He was looking over me, making sure I’d pass my test. He always said to me, that when he’d gone, no one would ever remember him. But I think of him nearly every day. His smile, his beetroot sandwiches, his ability to make me laugh at the most ridiculous things. He wasn’t like anyone else. We worked in a building full of men, and I was one of a few women that worked in a environment where we were the lesser equal. But he always made me feel like I had a place. Like I belonged anywhere I wanted to be.

I was lucky I got to be Dave’s friend for 2 and half wonderful years. I promised him I’d never forget him. I hope by writing this, I’ve lived up to that promise.

@specsygurl

New year, same ish crap blog

It’s strange what goes through your mind at 2:45 in the morning when you can’t sleep and your hands are cradled around a mug of Lemsip. Plus you’ve waited 5 or so hours for the power to come back on so you can boil some water for said Lemsip. Ample time to over think things. Pointlessly analyse all the mistakes from last year and the things I didn’t achieve.

I know I’m crap at being in a relationship. I’m the worst version of myself when I know someone doesn’t feel the same way about me as I do them. I fuck things up. I try and walk away but I’m too powerless because I know how hard it is to give up someone you care about. Common theme. Mr Businessman was just meant to be a bit of fun. But then grief got in the way. My feelings got in the way and I ruined it. He was still kind enough to message me over Christmas but there’s no going back, what’s ruined is ruined. I fucked up and I can’t take that back.

They say to get over someone, you should get under someone. So I did. And again how spectacularly wrong that went. Guilt plays a big part in this. I should never have gone that first night. But I did and I’ll never get that time back. The things you do to make you feel better when you’re losing all control in this world. When things are being taken from you and you can’t do anything to stop it. So you appease the part of your mind that only some things can soothe. You know it’s wrong but you don’t care. You need what your body needs. And then he begs you to change your plans time after time and you do. Then he lets you down. Time after time.

4 months pass and suddenly there he is, asking you to change your plans again. So you do, because you’re an idiot. And when you finally see him, you realise your heart really isn’t in it anymore, and it never should’ve been.

You realise that the men you chose don’t want you, but they know they can have you when they come calling. Because you fall for them far too easily. You chose them because they know they can have what they want regardless of the fact they have absolutely no feelings for you whatsoever. It’s so alarming obvious. And deep down you’ve known it all along. Biggest lesson of 2018 learnt in a swift kick to the heart.

Then the person who probably kept you going without you even knowing. The person who put the light back into your dying soul. The one you could tell anything to. Then slowly without even noticing, you can’t. You try. But being articulate is not really your quality. Where do you begin?

Write it in a shitty little blog that no one ever reads. Or try to anyway. Where do I start? How do I tell them everything I fear? When you get so close to someone, then they disappear. There just aren’t any words. I loved someone. Then he just left. No goodbyes, no sorry I can’t do this anymore. Just gone. I can’t rest sometimes because I don’t know why he left. Or even if he’s still alive. It scares me everyday that I’ll lose someone who I get too close to. I know it’s life, but sometimes life is shit.

There are so many other things I wish I could say. When it comes down to it, I’m just a another human in this persons life. I’m know I’m not special, I’m not important and I’m not naive enough to think I’m ever going to be. I’m just happy that I’m lucky to be in this persons life. But ignorance is bliss sometimes. It doesn’t stop me caring. Hasn’t stopped me from falling hard. Even though it should, and I know it. Can’t say I wasn’t warned.

So, 2018. Same shit, as always. Who knows what 2019 will bring. Hopefully I’ll make more of an effort to change my life. Only I can do it. And it’s for me, not anyone else. Because anyone can promise that one day we can do this, or we can do that. As much as I want to believe it, after so many let downs in the past, I know that one day probably won’t materialise, as much as I wish it would.

I may not have achieved anything last thing year. Might not have accomplished anything or done anything useful. But I learnt. I realised that no one can ever really love me how I love them, and that’s fine. Sex and love are incompatible. Sex is fun until you fall in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. But you’ll still go back for me more because you can’t help how you feel.

Maybe the one thing you did achieve was that you actually survived. That you’re still here. Who knows. You’ll still make mistakes and you’ll still fuck up. You’ll still love someone who doesn’t love you back. New year, same lessons. Hopefully with a smaller arse though.