Keep Your Head Up, Keep Your Heart Strong

It is no secret to some people who know me that this last year has been very hard for me. This time a year ago, in the run up to Christmas, I could only feel dread at the thought of trimming up and getting into the Christmas spirit. I could only feel sadness at all the change that had come about in my life and the unknowns I had yet to face.  And worst of all, I felt insufferable guilt that came with not being able to cope. With the difficulties in holding my hands up and saying “I have made mistakes, I would like some help.”

Christmas is so joyous, you see, you forget that it’s still a very real day that can be infiltrated by your very real problems. Problems I saw reflected in every bauble and strewn along the floor with the left-over tinsel. For some people, Christmas is a time to forget and to forgive. For me it has always been a time of painful remembrance and evaluation. It always reinforced that my life had the propensity to be very different to other peoples.  What was even worse was that my confusion had gotten to a point where I knew that I needed to do something, and do it quickly, I just couldn’t see my way through the tack to evaluate exactly what. So I trooped on to January.

By this point I was plagued with anxiety. With that constant thick, churning feeling of dread. Racing heart, sweaty palms. Brain cycling so fast that it’s all you can do to focus on your mundane tasks and not freak out about things. Anyone who’s ever suffered with anxiety will relate perfectly to that crushing weight that you carry round all the time, like a sinister accessory. You’re almost convinced people can see it all over you, like a sickness. You have three moods; so low you think the world is ending, that mid-line of numb and nothingness and then, worst of all (for me), the mania. The days you’re overcompensating so hard for your confusion and depression that you’re talking to anyone who’ll listen about pretty much everything – and always at 90mph. The days you struggle to keep your dinner down and your tea in your cup because you’re vibrating faster than a guy with who’s just hopped on a road digger and you're popping Bach’s herbal remedies like Smarties.  It’s absolutely exhausting.

I think a very real turning point for me was helping a friend prepare for her beautiful wedding and being so overwrought with emotion that I had a breakdown sat on the edge of her bath. I’m sure she thoroughly enjoyed being soggy, and the bathroom was a good a place as any.  It wasn’t the fact that I cried that was the eye-opener (Crying wasn’t a particularly novel behaviour of mine). It was the fact that after she’d listened to me caterwaul for a good half an hour, lamenting about my life like an absolute drama queen, she breathed a sigh of relief and said “Well, that’s the first time I’ve seen Amy in a while.”

I think that was what broke the seal for me in the end. That even strung out and emotional I was better, healthier, facing my emotions head on than wandering round like an android nodding and saying “yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir.” So I decided, with the help and support of anyone I’d spoken to that I was going to take back control of my life. I would not let anxiety control me. I realised that there was no point waiting for some miraculous sign that was going to point me in the right direction. I had to sit down and listen to the little voice in my head almost smothered by my inherent ranting and take a breath. Start again.

So slowly – ever so slowly - I started to go about cleaning up my life. I was cruel to be kind to myself, and I had to uproot myself from situations I had run to as a false comfort. It was not plain sailing in any way shape or form. It was difficult to trust myself and my new found self-confidence. But my one powering thought was that I deserved to be happy.  At my lowest point, I felt incapable of love, undeserving of it almost. I was afraid of hurting others and afraid of hurting myself, because it was love that I had been wounded by and used to wound deeply. I learned, as I pieced myself back together, that in fact, it was quite the opposite. That for me, even if my life was falling apart around me, what I had always had was love. Numerous loves, in fact. A constant, supporting love that never wavered, only took a back seat. The love of good friends and family, who stood by and let me make my own mistakes and my decisions without judgement, only support.

So instead of focusing on the minuscule discrepancies in my life, and the unchangeable factors, I focused on my constant. And as soon as I accepted that I began to learn to love myself again, mistakes and all; forgiving myself was a major part in my road back to normality. Accepting that I could not change the past, but could look only toward the future.

As soon as I came to this conclusion, my life immediately began to look up, almost like someone was looking down on me and had set every traffic light to green. My university work fell together, I stopped worrying about what other people thought of me and focused on what I thought of myself and what I wanted other people to think of me. I could talk about my mother and my memories of her with a smile, instead of being racked by grief. I graduated with a first from my degree. I got into medicine at my first choice university. I moved away to embark on the career of my dreams. But most of all, I held steadfast to the thing that grounded me: love and support. I had  peace of mind, and better still, I was able to be calm and strong for other people again. Like the old me.  For the first time in an age the other night, I was laying in bed with my boyfriend and we joked about outer space and how if a meteor hit us right now there wasn’t a lot we could do. And I could cringe with the soppiness of it, and the cheese factor (This is a cheddar +5) but I honestly could have cried right there in the bed,  in my horrendously disorganised room (No-one said I had to spring clean that as well as my brain), because I was HAPPY. It was flashing in my brain like a neon sign with red fluffy edges and bows like a little trollop.  If I got hit by a freakish outer space rock of alarming proportions, I would have been the happiest little meteor squished human.

There are many tests for us all in this life, I believe that. But the greatest test is our loyalty to ourselves and the courage to say “I deserve happiness”.  No-one is going to hand it to you on a plate, but it is there for the taking, ripe for the picking with the right attitude. I will never forget the kindness and support I have been shown and I am grateful for the challenges I have come across that seek to make me a stronger person. A person better equipped to help others through. For those of you going through a difficult time, or battling with anxiety, please hang in there. Be the boss of your brain, and not the other way around :) You go Glen Coco! Kick life's ass. 

Musician Love

So recently, I moved to Swansea to start my career as a medical professional (God help you all). My blogs are usually quite serious and centred around me having the emotional equivalent of a bitch fit. The idea for this – more light hearted one – popped into my head this morning mid debate with the boyf. I’ve had an inkling for years that he’s a strange ol’ egg  (Let's face it, he's got to be mental to be going out with me), but he continuously confirms for me that his brain is wired so very differently to us normal folk. Specifically people like me; the academics. So here’s a heads up on what to expect if you ever find yourself going out with a musician.

1)      You will be ignored for their instrument of choice at some point.

We have all been there. When they walk through the door with that bright eyed, expectant look and you think DAYMN it is on, and then he walks towards you and…oh. Nope. That look was actually reserved for their Fender. Bugger.

2)      When he is in ‘the zone’ you’d best find yourself an interesting hobby

Never in my whole life have I ever given myself a better pedicure.

3)      If they’re a good musician, they will probably mock you incessantly for one of your music loves.

My other half is a punk at heart. I am a massive R&B/hip hop fan. It doesn’t matter how he tries to hide it, when he sees me singing along to Usher I know a bit of love for me dies. That’s okay though. Please notice how this ‘music snobbery’ mysteriously disagrees when the subject of interest is Katy Perry in a PVC suit. There’s an allegory there somewhere about a cat and a hot tin roof, and yet, despite this…it’s okay, because she’s ‘putting on a show’.  Riiight.

4)      They will make offhand comments about their musical talent because they don’t appreciate how much of a skill they actually have.

“Hey babe how did you learn to play a guitar?”

*Barely looks up from playstation*

“Bought a Nirvana album, bought a guitar.”

OH RIGHT SAME TBH.

5)      They are very passionate, opinionated people.

You will lose every intellectual argument. Even when you’re really clever yourself. And they have this, this way of making you think everything they say is a good idea. Which leads me to points 6) and 7)

6)      They are like, REALLY clever.

This may be a personal opinion of mine, but I personally think creativity is one of the highest forms of intelligence. Particularly with music. That someone can pull ideas out of their head and formulate them into an all singing, all dancing number is a bit brain boggling to me. They just know where it all fits and that’s the end of that. Seriously cool.

7)      They know exactly what they think and why they think it.

Think it comes from being very self aware. They aren’t ever afraid to stand up for their beliefs because usually, it’s not just words and opinions they’ve garnered from someone else. Just like their music, when they invest in something, they really invest in it wholeheartedly (See 10)

8)      You will have to deal with women/men acting very weirdly around them and occasionally trying to molest them.                

Yes, hello. I see you eye-raping him. He is very nice, I agree. That’s why you are not allowed. DESIST. This is particularly exacerbated if they also sing in addition to playing their musical instrument. In particular, their talent is a good opening point to conversations for all manner of sexual predators. My particular favourite is your 40 year old who thinks it is appropriate to giggle “Ooh, you could be my son!” whilst subtly dribbling over her Strongbow can.

9)      You will get embarrassingly proud.

There will be many times where you look up at them doing their thing and you just get this little niggle in your chest because they absolutely LOVE what they’re doing. And then that niggle turns into a bit of a chest puff and then you’re a bit close to crying because it’s all a bit much and NO THAT IS JUST SOMETHING IN MY EYE GOD I HATE IT WHEN THAT HAPPENS. You will also get a tad enthusiastic. You won’t like every piece of music they ever produce, that’s impossible. But you will find yourself unintentionally plugging them to, well. Everyone.  You’ll also really really get to like the “Oh, my other half’s a musician” card in a world full of nurse, teacher and business manager hubbies.  That card is pretty swaheeet.

And finally, the most important one.

10)   Musician love is good love.

The thing is, these bloody musicians, they’re really REALLY good at making you feel like you’re super important. And the best part is, they really think it. If they do love you it is an absolutely incredible and beautiful thing. Sometimes, it will be really difficult. Especially coming to terms with the fact that their work schedule is untraditional, that they could have to do the thing they love a hundred miles away from you for weeks or more. That aside, they are incredibly loyal, loving and beautiful creatures with very sensitive hearts. So if you got one, love them good, squeeze ‘em tight. And get some earplugs for the 2am sing-a-longs.

Where There is Light, There Must Always Be Shade

This last year has not been easy for me emotionally or mentally.  This is not a ‘silver-lining’ kind of blog. I admit that some situations for some people are genuinely too horrific to ever find justification in. Instead, it is a blog about the greatest balancing act of all.

I have always been a very optimistic person, even from a young age. I was always quick to see the good in people, or to seek explanation for bad behaviour in past occurrences and life experiences. Up to this point in life I had always been in a particularly positive place where it was very easy to brush aside those who appeared to destroy my happy go lucky attitude. I had never been bullied or made to feel littler than someone, because I was always in such a good place that I was able to avoid feelings of belittlement.  

Unfortunately, I became vulnerable. I allowed myself to enter a very, very sad mind state and I kept myself there with all my sad songs and my poor judgement and my bad decisions. Not deliberately, you understand, but an accidental sadness. You see, when you are in a position like I was in, sad is familiar. It is easier to keep yourself there than to entertain other emotions that you don’t understand, nor are you ready to process.  I was suddenly very, very influenced by what people thought of me. I could no longer validate myself, or support my own statements. Because I was such a shadow of myself that I didn’t even believe in me.  During this time period, I made some decisions that ended up hurting people I never set out to hurt at all. I also attracted some unsavoury attention which highlighted just how dangerous the wrong information and assumptions can be. This was particularly distressing for me, simply because I have never been a talked about commodity and I have never much cared for people’s thoughts on me. This awareness was new. I allowed these assumptions to shape my emotions, my feelings and - worst of all - my anxiety, because of this stage in my life that I was in. I sat down for hours, trying to work out why I was stuck here in this rut where I allowed people to keep me in the dark.  

It took me a very long time to come to the end of my proverbial tunnel. Whilst the negative influence did drive me back into the darkness momentarily, I realised I had to make a decision. It came to me very suddenly;  I could let life get the better of me, or I could get better at life. So I chose light. My light. I realised that my light in particular was surrounded by a whole lot of shade, and that I would have to fight to get to it.  Most of all, I realised to illuminate the darkness I had to burn brighter, not cower further into the corner.

When I did, I realised that my light had never really gone away at all. It had just been masked by a gigantic, multi-factorial rain cloud. And it was really as simple as making a decision and sticking with it. A friend of mine offered me some very basic, sound advice in a light hearted chat. “Protect your assets”, she said. “People should learn to protect their assets”.  I have already told her that I don’t think she’ll ever know exactly what chain of events this activated, but I adopted it as my motto; my mantra, even. I realised that my greatest asset was my piece of mind, and my well being.  Life does not exist as a series of positive events. Rather, it is a yin and yang existence that we require for balance. 

We all exist as individuals, but we make conscious choices to cast our shadows on others, or to shed light to help them find the way.  Along the way, learn that in order to forgive we must see both sides of the coin. For that, I am grateful for my own shadows. They have taught me to appreciate that the darkest of night gives rise to the day.

Accept your own darkness and your own light. Accept that you must find your own balance and your own understanding before you make choices that will influence other people, but know also that other people will seek to keep you in their shadow.  Never forget, but do not wallow.

For you see, without the lows, how would we ever know when we hit the highs?

My Other Mothers

Mothers day 2014 is approaching. My first ever mothers day without my mam. A lot of people may think I would be incredibly sad around this time, and in some ways I am. But it is a different kind of sadness to what I have been through in the last year. It is not a crippling, disabling sadness but an appreciative sadness.  This blog post is less about remembering my own mother, and more about other people’s mams. The mams that have helped me through.

I can say with resounding faith that this mothers day will undoubtedly be better than last year. Mothers day 2013 was when it all really sunk in for me, and I think for my mam too. Mothers day 2013 was the first time I saw my mother sedated. That in itself was terrifying. I spent the day alternating between pleadingly circling the bed, throwing up in the toilet and crying my eyes out begging her “Please not on mother’s day mam, please don’t go today”. It was a selfish association of course, and I can almost laugh now that looking back I was so fraught that my biggest concern was that if she died on mothers day, it would be ruined forever.  Whilst that was understandably a devastating time for me, it was also a complete eye-opener. Because I began to take notice of the tribe of wonderful women that I like to call my ‘other mothers’.

These same women who stood around my mother’s bedside, and indeed, around me, formed a strange sort of shield during my most difficult times. They held me up when I could no longer hold myself, and they stepped in when I was just too tired to be positive for my own mam anymore. Together, we mothered each other, and I learned so much more about my mam in her final months from precious stories and memories of her. Memories I would never have. First came the ‘officials’. Sisters of my mother who were always there for every visit, who lumped my washing back and forth their houses, ironed bedding upon bedding, and did the simple things like forcibly restraining me to shove sandwiches or some form of sustenance into my mouth.  They held strong even though it was their baby sister, a sister they’d nursed in her earlier life and ironically had to learn to care for again. Now, after her death, “the professional” or, Auntie Kath continues to be one of my main supporters.  In my mother’s absence, she has become my confidant. If I have a decision to be made, I can always go to her. I know she will listen to me with respect and give me the best guidance she can with no judgement. I am never afraid to be myself or to tell her my feelings, because she has never shown anything other than 100% faith in me. We limp along, she and I, and we lift each other on the days we’re not quite ourselves.

Then there’s “the crazy”.  Not meant in any way offensively, but anyone who knows my Auntie Chris knows I speak the truth. Auntie Kath is a bit more reserved than her, and if there’s one thing my mother wasn’t, it’s reserved (Ha!). And so, on the days when I need a crazy flavour, that wonderfully wild streak that my mother had, I go to Auntie Chris, and her daughter,  Joanna. I may not see them as much, but I do not need to live in their pockets to know that I always have a welcome and a best friend in both of them.  Wherever my officials are, I have a home, and I don’t feel quite so much like an orphan anymore.

 And then of course, there were the “unofficials”, who may as well have moved in with me. My mother’s closest and most treasured friends; Anne, Debbie and Wendy, Auntie Jan and Auntie Adele.  These women showed me the strength of female friendship. When I consider now, what I would do if I were to see one of my closest and most treasured friends terminally ill, I don’t know how any of them ever came to my house or the hospital with a smile. But they always did. They showed me that my mother must have been a great friend in her time, because their dedication to her care was boundless. They always brought the sunshine into her little hospital rooms, and the sweets and the magazines (Integral to visits, of course). They had no obligation to my mother, or to her family, but they came anyway.  It would have been very easy for them to say “thanks very much, but I would rather keep the memories of your mam as I knew her when she was fit and well”.  My mother often spoke so fondly about her best friends, and even when she was very low she still had room to worry about them. “Something’s wrong with our Debbie”, she’d say, and do the ominous peer over her glasses which told everyone Anny-O was on the case, and don’t you forget it! And I see now that it was just one giant circle, and that when I was born, and my sister too, I was introduced into that circle. They loved me and supported me because I was a part of her.  So thank you ladies, for bringing the light.

Then of course, there are the people who I never expected to be my other mothers. Those who were not friends of my mothers from birth, but who came to know me and came to love me and think of me as their own.  There are two distinct women in this category for me, and both women have helped me in ways that they will never realise. Lynette, thank you for being everything a mammy should be.  Thank you for always checking that I was okay, for holding my hand and for always having that inner radar good mammies have for when I wasn’t exactly telling the truth about how I felt. You opened your home and your family to me, and you gave me stability in a time when I didn’t feel all that put together at all.

Secondly, Viv. I don’t know if you ever knew how much of a support you were to me, through my mother’s illness or through her death. I cannot count on one hand the times we sat in your kitchen, you supplied me with a glass of wine and let me rant about god knows what, just to get it all out.  You were there through it all, and your lovely house was my escape. It was always a haven of calm and comfort in my otherwise bonkers life.  I think my mam was even a bit jealous of you in the beginning, but in the end she was as endeared to you as I was, and she often said how grateful she was that she knew when I was out of my house and in someone else’s, I had a mammy number 2 who would make sure I was on the straight and narrow – without any messing! Sometimes I think we are a lot alike, you and I, and you have been a massive inspiration to me and an even bigger comfort. You are a brilliant example of how sometimes, life does not deal you the best cards, but that with the right attitude and the right support, you can come through something that really is very ugly. You gave me my ‘go get ‘em’ attitude. You never pressurised me to talk about my feelings but I always knew and still know now that you would be there in a shot if I had a problem. You showed me what it was to be a truly good person.

Last but not least, the person I never thought would have to be a mother to me: my lovely papa. Dad, when I think of how far you’ve come in the last year I could cry my eyes out. If anyone has had the most change thrust upon them, it has been you. When you married my mam, you married for life. You never expected to be on your own again mid 50s, and a single parent.  We’ve become so close you and I, and things that I once would never have dreamed about telling you about, now become so easy to talk about. We’re a team hen we get along. In the game of “parent a 15 year old”, we’ve become a bit of a duo. I hope when you look at me you’re really proud, because that’s all you ever make me want to do is show you how well you did and what a brilliant parent you are. Thank you for always being honest with me, even when it hurt, but for never really saying I told you so.  For just being there and knowing that I’m still not too old for a hug off my daddy.  Yes, I do still sit on your lap and I will continue to do so until my arse is too fat or your knees give way. Whichever comes first, really.  We’re only going to get closer Dad, and I can’t wait for you to get even grouchier as the years go on so I can antagonise you a bit more and we can laugh after we’ve had our 5 minute screaming argument and realised how similar we are.

And one more. Ellie. Ellie?! How can my little sister be a mother to me. Well, kiddo, I think it’s safe to say we mother each other, don’t we? Thank you mostly for being a precocious little bugger, because I don’t think anyone makes me laugh as much as you (Or cry with frustration, actually).  You make me laugh the most when you come home from school to find me sniffling in your bed, or when I creep into your room and you just roll your eyes and lift up the quilt in a way that says “get in loser”.  You’re my bestest friend in the whole wide world, you are. And I’m so proud of you every day.  Even when you leave my washing in the machine so it smells damp, and when you leave your glasses on the side and not in the…sorry. Got carried away.

Whoever you are and however you’ve mothered me. Thank you for showing me what it is to be a wonderful woman, friend, or parent.

You’re all wonderful creatures J

"To be happy, we must not be too concerned with others" - Albert Camus

As soon as we are born the importance of honesty and openness is thrust upon us. Don’t tell lies, they say. Share your toys. Don’t be selfish. We are encouraged to share all of ourselves routinely. Whilst doing all of this we are expected to find who we are as a person. At no point are we encouraged to take time out for ourselves, until it is too late and we are so over run and over stressed that we simply don’t have the time to regroup.

I used to be a ‘people person’. I used to believe strongly in needing other people to help you get through things and to make your life easier. Until I had to go through something that was entirely personal and that no-one in the world could ever get me through, even with the best of intentions. And I realised, that in that period of time, I was completely alone, and that factoring other people into my decisions during that time frame just made me more confused and lost. It got me thinking about the rest of my life, and how, in a depressing but somehow liberating way, no-one will actually ever know you at all. You can get really sad about that; incredibly sad, actually. That for all the effort you put into maintaining friendships, forging relationships, it's all for naught, because no-one will ever know the real you.

Now that seems a grand statement I’m sure, but when you actually think of your day-to-day life, the different people you encounter, the different social circumstances, the human being is never one distinct personality. We are incredibly three dimensional characters, social chameleons. We always change ourselves for other people, no matter how minute the change. The way we act in front of one particular friend - the things we’d say, the things we refrain from doing because of judgement - varies. But ultimately, we have one interest in life and it goes against everything we are taught is right, and that is self-preservation. 

It is the reasoning that drives all decisions made in life, and it made me think – is there such a thing as a selfless individual? Why is being selfish actually so bad?  It seems logical to blame all the bad things in life on being selfish, and these things are discouraged. But there are ‘good selfish’ decisions. And I don’t mean leaving an abusive relationship but forsaking your children a two parent home, or anything as drastic as that. It can be as simple as caring for a sick relative. Why do we do it? Yes, because we care about that person, and yes because society expects you do to do so. But also because we must do it, so we can say at the end of it that we did all we could. So nobody could find us wanting.  I don’t think of myself as a particularly selfish individual, but as I get older, I understand selfish action more and more clearly. I am more inclined to be selfish because, throughout your life, you must be your own best friend.  I don’t think there is ever such a thing as ‘knowing who you are’, because by the time you’ve figured it out, you’re already changing again. People are a fickle thing.

The only thing that keeps us from acting selfishly day in and day out is a guilt and morality. But, maybe we judge those who care little for other’s opinions on their actions too harshly. You have to ask yourself, I guess, who is really the fool? The person who goes about life exactly the way they want, with no regrets on any decision made. Or the average Joe, like you and me, who are constantly limited by having to factor in other people into our decisions.

I’m not suggesting everyone sticks their middle finger up to everyone else from here on in, because that would be catastrophic. But perhaps we all need to sit down once in a while and do something. Not because anyone else wants you to, but just for yourself.

Just be yourself.

This Woman's Work

Dear Mam,

It has been 30 days since I’ve seen you, and it still feels like you’re coming back. It feels a bit like we’re all pretending, and I’m still doing things at 100 miles a minute waiting for you to call me, or for me to have to come and visit you.

People keep telling me that I’ll go through ‘Phases’. Of being angry, of being sad, of missing you. I do go through phases, but not of different emotions. I go through phases of forgetting, and phases of remembering things in such painful detail that my heart feels like it’s going to fall out of my chest.  Most of all, I’m lonely. I’ve never felt lonely before because I always had you in my head, to worry about. You were always in there with my other thoughts, rattling about in my brain, always on my peripheral. A direct part in any decision I made, any place I went. And now I don’t have to factor any of that into it anymore. I haven’t been able to put my finger on it before day, but I’m wandering, looking for you or anything that reminds me of you because it almost seems as if you were never here at all. It used to do my head in, constantly trying to work around you, and now it’s like I’ve got too much of everything, and too little of the one thing I really need.

I think perhaps that’s what I struggle with the most. That someone can live for 52 years and fight as hard you did and there’s no physical imprint here. I forgot that even when you were 7 stone and struggling for breath, your character filled the room. You were such a big person really. And now there’s just a hole. Some days it feels like a physical one, right in the middle of my chest and I have to walk round with my arms around myself or I’m sure I’ll fall part.  I know that you live on in me and in my memory, but some days that’s not enough, and today is one of those days. 

And I don’t want you to feel bad either. I know you said sorry to me, I heard you loud and clear even though it was whisper soft. It felt like the loudest thing I’d ever heard in the world and I wanted to kiss you and shake you all at the same time because I knew what it meant. You were sorry for giving in, but you didn’t have to be. I’m sorry too, for getting so angry at the macmillan nurse and the Marie Curie nurse. It wasn’t their fault, but I didn’t understand why they weren’t helping you. I felt so sad and helpless seeing you in that little bed, and I guess  I needed to be angry or else I was going to pass out with the weight of what was really happening in that room. You were finally leaving me, because you had no fight left. You were always so strong, and so courageous. So adamant that you could beat anything, even when your body told you no.   I was and remain what you made me, and I was only ever so positive because you made it look so effortless. Just like when you pretended you weren’t scared of the dentist for 20 years of my life so I wouldn’t be. I’m sorry that I couldn’t pretend for you that day mam.  I was scared and I was selfish because if I was scared you must have been positively terrified. It was the first time you’d ever showed that to me. I wasn’t ready for it. 

You couldn’t tell me that it was going to be alright that day mam, so I had to tell you. I know I was lying, but I hope you know what I meant.  I hope you knew that I was telling you it was okay for you to go. And that I’d look after Elly and Dad. And myself. I promise I’ll look after myself too because I know you’d want me to.  I know you hated leaning on me, but loved it all at the same time. I bet you even had a laugh at my expense some days for all the sleepless nights I gave you and all the dirty nappies. And all the fights that we had the year I was 17. I bet you laughed looking back on them, about how I was so sure that I was a big girl and ready to do it all on my own and without you, and now, here I am at 20, wishing you’d come back and help me out because I’m sodding useless at making decisions and crying in rooms on my own like a loon. What a catch I turned out to be, hey!

I wanted to tell you that I did well in that exam I thought I’d failed too. I rang my course tutor in your bedroom, and I was so happy that I’d done well. I know if I’d have told you you’d say “see, I told you”, in that way you always did, even though I’m sure after the great breakdown of second year A levels, you were never really sure of anything with me anymore. I know you were always proud of me though. You wanted me to do well in school, I knew that, but you taught me all about the real things in life that were important. Most importantly you taught me how to love myself, for who I am, and to be comfortable in my own skin. To be able to be proud of myself when I’d done well but also to call myself a silly idiot (or silly iriot, as you would have put it) when I’d done something colossally stupid.  I never appreciated that until recently.  Anyway, I hope you were listening and I hope I made you proud. I can’t promise you anything about the other exams though because they are looking to be really hard so just send a bit of your academic wisdom (har har,) on that day and I’m sure I’ll be okay.

I think that’s all I have to tell you for now mam. But I’m just letting you know I miss you. I miss our conversations and cwtches and your advice.  I’ll miss you every day from now till I’m 94, even when it’s irrational and I wouldn’t have had you anyway.

All my love,

Amy.

My Lovely Mam

 

There has been absolutely nothing physical that happened to make today remarkable, but I made a startling realisation: I am beginning to forget what my mother was like when she was ‘well’.   I guess it got me thinking about anyone who has ever watched someone die from a long, drawn out illness. On a day to day basis, you forget that there was ever anything other than this constant rota of care plans and thinking one-step ahead at all times, because you don’t have time to think about what you have lost. But on quieter days, perhaps when it’s just you and your relative in a big bed, drinking cups of tea in a companionable silence, you blink and rack your brains for what you did before you were needed for company. Before that person had no choice but to seek you out for help and assistance.

Today, the utter reversal of roles was made glaringly obvious. Prior to my realisation, I was looking through old photographs. Many of me as a baby, dressed up in silly hats and sunglasses, playing with my toys, new friends, my first holidays.  And then the more mundane ones; me in the bath, me sporting an unintentional chocolate moustache (Impressive, even if I do say so myself), me in the process of creating an artistic masterpiece. Although perhaps no more than a stray finger brushing back an errant strand of hair, or a guiding hand keeping the paintbrush on the paper and not on her wallpaper, my faceless advisor, teacher and  - above all – carer,  was my lovely mam.  

I closed my eyes then and attempted to remember feeling that vulnerable, and as the series of pictures progressed and I watched myself find independence in the photographs (Standing on my own two feet, starting school, eventually hopelessly encouraging my sister in our misdemeanours,) I tried to imagine what it would be like to lose it all over again.  You see now, as I watch her completely undone some days by simply finding the effort to brush her teeth, I find it increasingly hard to remember that this woman once had the gumption to stick up for her friend who got bullied at playtime or – ironically - that this woman’s day to day job was to help those with disabilities.  This woman fell in love, carried, gave birth to and raised 2 children and made a house a home.  Just like the disease eats her body, it appears to eat away at my memories of her. I guess my point is that we must make ourselves remember, because for me, if I was in her shoes,  I think the most insulting thing would be that people only remembered me for what I couldn’t beat, rather than all the things I had accomplished. 

My mother has never been a rocket scientist. She has never made a medical discovery that will save mankind. She hasn’t even been to America. But for me, she taught me some invaluable life lessons; most importantly, how to love myself, flaws and all.  And even now, at 20 years-of-age, if I am in doubt on any matter, the final word from Mam can always swing my decision. Because, although perhaps I don’t remember everything I should, I will always know how much of an inspiration to me she is.  Everyday, I see her fight and struggle just to be around for us, to keep things as normal as she possibly can.  Before all this, I thought true strength and bravery came from people rescuing others from burning buildings, siblings jumping into rivers to save other siblings. Although these events are by no means cowardly, I have come to respect that sometimes true bravery can also come from less grandiose circumstances. It is the courage to tell two scared daughters that everything will be okay and that life will go on, even when you don’t 100% believe it yourself. It is the quiet but resilient strength that comes from knowing your body is changing every day, and not for the better, but the decision to fight it anyway.  Sometimes, it’s something as little as a hand squeeze in the dark when you have no words for each other that will make the situation any brighter.

So I guess this is for anyone who’s ever lost anyone to anything, as vague as that may sound. Sometimes, we must look to the people we are attempting to support in order to support ourselves.

Thank you Mam, for everything you do, every day.