Grief is expected – how you grieve is optional

The outpouring of grief since the Queen died has been phenomenal. Carpets of flowers, crowds of people and then there’s THE QUEUE, which can probably be seen from space!

I’ll confess I’m a bit ambivalent about all the fuss, I understand the need for a release of emotion but the flowers to me are a waste, and the pageantry and protocol seems over the top.

tributes for the Queen - image from Metro

My biggest concern is for the wellbeing of the immediate family and close friends, how abhorrent it must be to be filmed at every turn, practically every tear measured. When King Charles had a fit at the leaky pen my heart went out to him. For all his privilege and wealth this is intrusive. He is a seventy something year old man mourning the loss of his beloved mother, not that long after laying his father to rest.

This is the part he was always born to play but at such a time as this his emotions will be all over the place. And the same goes for the rest of the royals, from the oldest to youngest, those used to being in the public eye and those more used to being on the periphery, suddenly being scrutinised far more than usual.

The media can be a voracious beast devouring its prey and all too often those of us looking on lap it up.

If only there could be a halt on proceeding, a chance to just breathe, some space away from twenty-four-hour news.

I guess it won’t be long until this news cycle is over and most of the family can retreat and process their grief more privately, some member won’t get that luxury.

There is now some deliberation as to whether Prince George will make an appearance at his great granny’s funeral. That is a huge ask of a nine-year-old, only his parents can make that informed decision. There will be critics either way.

I was thirteen when my great nana died and hers was the first funeral I went to, co-incidentally she was 96, a good age, an expected funeral, the perfect introduction to the ritual.

The first funeral my youngest son went to was his dad’s – that’s a bit harsh when you are a month shy of being eleven. However, he was old enough to know what was happening and certainly old enough to know his own mind and how he wanted to honour his dad.

Andrew’s coffin was wheeled into the crematorium rather than carried, One of Andrew’s brothers wanted to be involved, the other vehemently refused, one nephew volunteered, one didn’t. Oldest son stepped forward and then youngest said with determination he wanted to help too. It was a proud moment watching them with tears in my eyes, but the scene was only witnessed by very close family. It wasn’t a public spectacle.

I do hope the young royals get some choice in how they wish to proceed. And I hope all of them get the private space to mourn in the ways that are best for them.

Grief is inevitable but how we grieve is both optional and never-ending.

I have been slightly surprised by how much of my own grief has resurfaced at this time, memories of losing grandparents, my dad and of course losing Andrew. The afternoon of the Queen’s death we were scattering ashes of my aunt and uncle, followed up with tea and cake. A family gathering that foreshadowed the royal announcement.

Death is all around us, very much a part of life and yet the subject is still very much taboo. When Andrew died it took me months to even understand what grieving was all about. I thought it was finite and never knew it came in many shades of grey and blue not one size fits all BLACK.

My best piece of advice to anyone grieving is do what you need to do to get through each day, whether you laugh, cry or scream, every emotion is valid.

Let’s hope the royals get the chance to grieve without worrying how the world sees them because they have lost a loved one who means more to them than she could even mean to us.

Abi and Me

The dust jacket is matt pink, scruffy black letters, which appear to have been scrawled with a sooty finger, or stick of crumbly charcoal, announce “This is not a Pity Memoir”. When the outer cover slips the sugar pink clashes with glossy bold yellow like a Battenburg cake full of E numbers. The words hidden beneath - “It’s a love story.” 

My copy is signed in the same scribbly hand – “To Sarah, Happy reading, crying (?) Abi Morgan”

Since trying to fashion my own story into a memoir I’ve been reading more true stories, especially those written by writers.

Abi Morgan is a screen writer and I confess I knew little about her except she wrote “The Split” for the BBC and I am a huge fan. Listening to her at discuss her memoir at the Primadonna festival with Kit de Waal I realised just how many similarities there are between my story and Abi’s.

Both of us were born in 1968 – I add her to the list of “famous” people born that year, Kylie, Jason, Catherine Tate and of course Daniel Craig. I note Abi’s birthday is in September, I am still just a smidge older than all of them!

Both us find our husbands collapsed after severe headaches – only Abi’s husband isn’t really her husband, they never married and the outcomes are starkly different.

Subsequently in the wake of one family trauma we both develop cancer – her breast, me bowel.

Yes, many similarities but also our stories are poles apart. We are like spinning tops which clash and career off in opposite directions rather than balloons benignly nudging each other on the breeze.

Am I waxing lyrical, of course, my writing so often coloured by the style of narrative I am reading, Abi’s stream of consciousness somehow taking my own words along with hers.

I didn’t like her style at first, I’m not sure I will enjoy this, I thought, but then something clicked, her lists, her pop culture references and her brutal honesty started to resonate as I tuned into her wavelength.

Grabbing some post-it notes I began reading like a writer (thanks Kit de Waal for that advice) not only noting what I enjoyed but marking the pages where our stories converged.

We had both written to Jim’ll Fix It – neither of us had our letters answered. We both count our blessings for that – phew! What charmed lives we led.

Although Abi never travelled abroad until she was eighteen, she has made up for it since and recounts many skiing trips and foreign family holidays. She even manages to take her two teenage children, one boy, one girl, away to their holiday home in Italy when her beloved Jacob is in hospital. 

Our family could never manage holidays when Andrew was still alive, I remember only too well the stress at the airport flying to Paris, defusing and calming what could have been a major incident. I still find holidays hard to do.

Do I envy Abi’s “glamourous” lifestyle? Perhaps - not really - I wish the home screen on my computer was Andrew and I standing somewhere more exotic than on Redcar beach. But that is my life and my memories, we can’t make anymore together because Andrew died.

Meanwhile Jacob lived and Abi wonders what it would be like if he hadn’t. Would life be better or just different? She ponders a carefree life as a widow - sorry love that's not all its cracked up to be!

I certainly don’t envy her looking after a man who is her “husband” and yet isn’t – he doesn’t even recognise her – she is NOT the REAL Abi Morgan. A side affect of his debilitating neurological condition.

My heart breaks at the thought and I know full well that I would not have handled that situation as well. If Andrew lived and needed full time care it would have driven me mad, I couldn’t have done it. Only I am allowed to say it but, I do believe it was for the best Andrew’s heart attack was fatal.

Jacob suffers from MS and then develops Anti-NMDA receptor encephalitis – 80% of people have a good outcome with treatment, but his prognosis is not so great, they never get fully out of the woods.

I’m not sure what the percentage is of people having heart attacks fully recovering?  I daren’t look it up. It probably quite high and Andrew could have been perfectly fine but from family history I know that his dad was never the same after his first heart attack at the same age of 48. I know how stoic my mother-in-law was but how looking after her husband wore her down and how the ripples scarred the family.

Abi’s grief is so raw and visceral, you can still grieve if someone survives, you still mourn what was lost. 

Many of our challenges were different, I was spared financial worries, the mortgage paid off once I produced the death certificate – I burst into tears when the letter arrived.

Coming on top of all we both lost our cancer diagnoses seemed a cruel twist of fate, far too dramatic for even a weekly soap opera. 

We both think of our children and the unfairness of the situation, already being a family with “one man down”. 

Abi appears to have struggled more than me with the procedures of her own treatment, but she was also caring for Jacob, two hospital stories knotted together – how I admire her for that.

I had been a widow for eight years when I was diagnosed and I had my dad beside me during chemo, we sat side by side being drip fed our individual poisonous cocktails  – “family outings”, that my mum now admits she was weirdly jealous of.

It’s strange what you see in others, you wonder if you would cope differently. Be braver? Fall apart? Stay or leave?

Ultimately Abi’s story is not a pity memoir but a true love story, just as it says on the cover. You will never know how you might react until it happens to you and I pray it never does, at least not as dramatically. It makes a good story but up close and personal is almost too much to bear.

Abi Morgan you have my full admiration.

Everyone else – go read this wonderful, honest, life affirming book and hold you loved ones just that bit tighter in gratitude.

Occupation – Mother

Inspired by an A-Z of occupation on the Suffolk Writers Facebook Page  and with yesterday being Mothering Sunday I decided to combine the two and come up with a list of jobs undertaken by us mothers and others – all in the name of fun and procrastination…

Advisor - Are you able to give advice on such diverse topics as which options to choose for GCSEs, how to deal with bullies and what shirt should be worn for a wedding? Don’t delay apply today.

Barber – a handy life-skill to master, keep an eye on the technique used by the professionals and you too can attempt this in an emergency with creativity and flair.

Conker collector – seasonal outdoor work in the autumn months, if you enjoy the crunch of leaves underfoot, this could be the perfect job for you, easily fitted around the school run.

Diplomat – If only you were better connected, you’d be working for United Nations – their loss is our gain as you negotiate the complexities of sibling rivalry, just who does have the biggest piece of chocolate, do you have the skills to judge by eye without resorting to using the kitchen scales? This is exactly the kind of precision we are looking for.

Elephant Impersonator – Other animals considered, join the circus and fascinate a toddler with your mediocre impressions, short term contract only until the little ones are bored or embarrassed by your behaviour.

Fire starter – Create a cosy family home by lighting as REAL fire in your home. Health and safety training is a must, use of fire guard essential. Butler will clean grate to perfection on occasion (when grandad come to stay) but must be capable of cleaning out in between visits and responsible for arranging a chimney sweep.

Guinea Pig Handler – Tasks include cleaning out cage, moving run to fresh grass and some cuddling.

Holiday Planner – Do you have what it takes to amuse the kids for six weeks over the summer holidays? Scrap book provided to create a portfolio of work completed.

Inventor – Always wanted to join Blue Peter? Test out you credentials by creating fun and mayhem from an assortment of cardboard boxes, a glue stick and pot of glitter (optional) or use recycled tin foil to save the planet instead – extra brownie points available for those who do!

Jedi Master – Are your Midi-Chlorians strong enough to accept this challenge of training a Padawan? Sith Lords and time wasters need not apply.

Knight’s Armour Maker – A very specific role but important when your son is invited to a Knights and Princesses party. Armour should be made from shiny silver fabric to facilitate movement during energetic party games.

Lego-Sorter (Apprentice position) – you must follow orders and stick to the devised system. Being able to differentiate between a oner, twoer, flat piece or wedge is highly desirable but training will be given.

Maker of Meals – includes other cakes and tasty treats. The ability to hide stealth vegetables is essential.

Nurse – Are you flexible enough to care for a sick child in the middle of the night? Make an executive decision on when said child is well enough to return to school? Are you prepared to on occasion wait in A&E, hold hands, wipe tears and generally offer support and comfort? Nursing is a vocation but don’t be put off, you WILL rise to the occasion.

Optical Facilitator – Can you spot a pair of dirty glasses at ten paces? Then this job is for you, especially for those devious enough to be able to apprehend glasses from child’s head and give them a good wipe before returning them. Stealth and distraction is a must for this rewarding position.

Photographer – Herding cats might be easier but just keep snapping to preserve those precious family times together, of course no one will remember you were there as you always have hold of the camera – selfie technique training will be part of the ongoing development of the right person.

Quest Setter – Are you motivated and do you want to motivate others? A temporary position is available for a candidate with imagination in devising a summer reading scheme, tailored to the ability of each child, can you foster a love of words? Bar charts, star charts all considered – coloured pens provided.

Record Keeper – Up to date record keeping is a must especially when filling out medical forms for school trips etc. Remembering dates of each child’s last tetanus injection is an essential quality.

Snowman/ Sandcastle builder – Can you project manage in all weathers? Come sunshine or snow showers we have the job for you.

Tennis Umpire – Can you tell in from out on a tennis court? This is not for the faint hearted – serious contenders only should apply.

Undercover Agent – This role demands ingenuity and flexibility, from hiding behind curtains to amuse the youngest child to secretly listening in on conversations to ascertain the mood of older teens, your skills as an unseen professional should never be underestimated. Eyes in the back of your head is a must for this challenging role.

Ventriloquist Trainer – this job can be outsourced when your son buys a puppet and wants to try his hand at ventriloquism for at least 5 minutes.

Washer Woman – self explanatory but remember to set up training scheme for young apprentices in good time before they fly the nest!

X-terminator – Can you deal with the removal of spiders, birds, bats and mice from you home? All in a days work for one of our skilled operatives. Join the team!

Youth Leader – Do you keep abreast of latest trends and fashions? Is your home a gathering place for the youngsters in your neighbourhood? If you can stick a pizza in the oven to feed a hungry crowd you may have found yourself a new career – at least until university.

Zucchini Grower – other vegetables may to added to the plot …

 

I kind of ran out of steam by the time I got to Z and I couldn’t put zoologist as we only ever had guinea pigs for pets. Otherwise, everything else is pretty much true and all in a day's work!

Thinking the Worst

I’ve always considered myself to be an optimist but after this incident that happened over Christmas, I’m not so sure…

The boys and I been out for the day visiting family and now we were heading home, driving on the windy dark country roads.

(Co-incidentally the same roads as I drove on when Following Fog Lights, several blogs ago!)

All of a sudden, I hit something and braked sharply because whatever it was sounded like it had caused some major damage to the undercarriage and quite probably a flat tyre.

We all got out of the car to look.

Every tyre was intact and we were very puzzled. We’d all heard the noise and there was nothing on the road left behind us.

On closer inspection under the car I could see what I thought looked the size and shape of a concrete breeze block – I had to describe what one was to the boys because neither had heard the term before. It was wedged in tight and impossible to move.

After calling the breakdown service lots of thoughts bombarded my brain simultaneously,

1.     Why didn’t I see the offending object, after all it was big enough? On reflection I did spot it, too late. The problem with driving on dark roads is that you get dazzled by oncoming traffic so by the time I had registered its existence I was over the top of it! Phew - I’m not really a bad driver.

2.     How did a breeze block get in the middle of a road, should I call the police, was it a matter for them or should I wait until the breakdown truck had arrived? Fortunately, I waited but in my crazy train of thought I had already thought all of this through to the illogical conclusion of standing giving evidence at the trial of some rogue gang depositing concrete blocks on minor roads. My imagination knows no bounds – no wonder my dreams are so vivid.

3.     Who lived in the house we were parked outside of, had they spotted us, why didn’t they invite us in for a cup of tea? Or just check we were OK?

“Have we got anything to eat in the car?” Oldest son broke into my thoughts.

There was an emergency packet of mini cheddars in the glove box which he didn’t want. And chocolate he’s just got as a Christmas present which he also didn’t want – we certainly wouldn’t starve on this cold and wintery night.

Anyway, our rescuer wasn’t far away, about a 40 minute wait, so we’d been told.

I got back to thinking about what I would wear in court and my mind wandered to the interview on the radio talking about our traumatic ordeal!

The dashboard flashed up that the battery was low, we turned everything off except the hazard lights to conserve power – it really was like a disaster movie now. Cars whizzing past from both directions.

Except we refused to get out of the car for safety as my friends suggested when I texted them – “too cold!” was my excuse.

Besides not many parked cars get hit on country roads with their lights off and we were flashing away – on, off, on, off – and I reasoned we were on a straight bit of road quite visible to all who passed. But still ignored by the people in the house – perhaps they were away, or stuck on another road somewhere also a victim of the concrete block gang.

I didn’t worry about being hit but feared the worst about the state of my poor car. Of course, it would be a right off, and we’d end up arriving home on a flashing tow truck – on, off, on, off!

Then I’d have to go through the process of sorting out an insurance claim and getting a new car.

But I’d have my day in court and those rascals who had caused so much inconvenience would get their come-uppance!

The AA man arrived and a very nice man he was too, just like the old adverts used to suggest.

He took a look round and we showed him the offending article, I think I might have suggested calling the police but perhaps he didn’t hear.

He advised me to drive the car up a small ramp so he could take a better look and remove the foreign object.

Good luck with that I thought – Its concrete – I was convinced.

Until he removed a huge square of wood!

Now that wasn’t in the script.

“Fell off the back of a lorry,” he shrugged. An every day occurrence?  Certainly, something that was far more believable than a gang of breeze block thugs.

Was the car OK? He couldn’t see any serious damage.

He suggested I drive it to the next village while he followed in case there was a problem. We could stop there and complete the paperwork (a misnomer these days when it’s all done electronically on a tablet with an illegible finger squiggle signature).

To cut a long story short, everything was fine and we got home safe and sound.

My disastrous fantasies disappeared into the ether. No day in court, no drama, no new car, no ride in a tow truck.

Was I disappointed? I guess not really as everything slipped back into place and life carried on. Just a minor bump in the road of life.

But when did I get to be such a pessimist, thinking up the worst scenario?

I suppose after all I’ve been through very little surprises me these days, so much of my life has spiralled out of control, taking unexpected twists and turns. The word “straightforward” has not been in my vocabulary for many years.

I remember Andrew saying being a pessimist was best because there was something to celebrate when everything turned out ok.

I admit the optimist in me was always down hearted when my plans didn’t work out.

Ultimately it’s better to be pragmatic, somewhere in the middle, my internal train of thought running at a hundred miles an hour, thinking the incredible worst because it might make a good story, while externally exuding confidence that life has thrown a whole lot my way, I’m still standing and whenever the next “real” crisis hits – hopefully - I’ll be ready!