loss

Simple twist of fate…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Do you believe in fate? Maybe you think even asking the question is absurd. Part of me agrees. Life just happens, right?

There doesn’t appear to be much rhyme or reason to the things that happen. Whether examined through a personal or global lens, it all feels random. Chaotic, even. Yet, there a times when the pieces fall precisely together. Incredibly unlikely circumstances align to create perfect moments. Almost like they were destined to be.

The Man

We didn’t live in the same city or have the same interests. We didn’t know any of the same people or enjoy the same places. The chances of us ever crossing paths was minute. Cross they did. We met at an event that he attended as a professional commitment and I was drawn to for ethical reasons. Here’s the thing, he was handsome & broody, but speaking another language. Not literally; we just weren’t on the same page at all. Still, I was intrigued. I wanted to keep listening to all the things that wouldn’t normally interest me. Alas, someone wanted to introduce me to an editor and blah, blah, blah. The moment passed, along with any chance of seeing the enigmatic stranger again. Or so I thought. Three days later I was cc’d on an email that I spent 5 seconds on before it landed in my trash box. Luckily for me someone else on the recipients list paid more attention. His ensuing email led to a steamy romance and an enduring friendship. Now that strange man is an integral part of life. Almost like it was meant to be.

The Finances

At various points in my life I have experienced weird financial luck. Sometimes tiny and sometimes more significant. I have found myself short of the funds needed for something specific. Then out of nowhere I will receive money that I had no expectation of. An out of blue tax rebate, holiday pay that I wasn’t even aware I was due, unpaid invoice is suddenly satisfied. A last minute monetary reprieve. This might sound fanciful or even just plain stupid, but I’ve always had this thought that perhaps someone or something was looking out for me.

The Job

I had just graduated. I took on full time hours in the call centre I had been working evenings in. Three weeks in, I was losing my mind. 12hr shifts that were actually 13hrs (they didn’t pay me for the legally required breaks), customers who either wanted to fight about their bill or ask me to describe the films on the adult channels. Oh and managers who were trained by some sort of despot. However, the rent needed to be paid. So, I found myself applying for every job under the sun and accepting the first one that was remotely suitable. The first few weeks I thought I had leaped out of the pan and into the fire. It was so boring. The most mundane, repetitive office job imaginable. My manager was an overly religious ogre. It was dire. Then some fellow new starts hit the floor and things started looking up. We clicked immediately. They were all in similar positions, just graduated or in need of stop gap employment. Suddenly there’s laughter, common ground and epic nights out. They made that job bearable and that job gave me the impetus to do what I really wanted to do. I began to seek out writing jobs. I put myself out there and started to get small jobs. It was the beginning of my career. Had I not found myself in such an employment dead end I may not have summoned the bravery to go for it. Who knows what twist of fate brought us all together in that godforsaken retail park, but I’m grateful. 20 odd years later they’re all still in my life. We’ve formed deep & wonderful friendships. Feels to me that we were meant to meet.

The Flower

I have always liked white flowers. They’re fresh and pretty. In the aftermath of my first miscarriage I took a walk in the park by my flat. I needed some time alone to think and feel. As I sat by the river a whole bunch of white flowers drifted past. I don’t know how they came to be there, they were fresh cut flowers. Whatever the reason they felt significant. Since then white flowers have been a presence in my life. I’ll see them in the wild in moments when I need comfort. I saw an arrangement at the nurses station when I was admitted after my third miscarriage and a white rose motif in a stained glass window at the clinic I attended for tests to ascertain the reason for my recurrent losses. White flowers just turn up, serendipitously, a sign that my little ones are somewhere.

I walk the line…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I’ve needed my walking stick for quite a long time. Maybe 7 or 8 years and I’ve only just become properly comfortable with it. Using a mobility aid, especially earlier in life, is very strange. Everyone has an opinion. No one is shy about sharing it.

All the questions and reactions definitely had an impact on me. I feel self conscious more often than one might expect. I hate when strangers want my medical history. Staring makes me feel shit or angry; sometimes both. I am so fed up with being told I’m so young for a walking stick. I find it really difficult to need accommodations. I feel like a real pain in the arse more often than anyone else is bothered. Likewise, I’m sure I sense judgement more than it actually exists. All of which messes with the confidence.

Then of course there is a sense of loss. Accepting all the things you can no longer do is hard. I struggled on without a stick for longer than I should have because I had this ridiculous idea that I was giving in. I’ve always felt a certain amount of pressure to be stoic in the face of my health issues. A walking stick felt like capitulation. It also forced me across the line in my head of admitting that I was permanently disabled. Before that I was hanging on to the idea that my knee could get better. That was silly considering I’d been assured by more than one Dr that it absolutely would not. Degenerative conditions aren’t known for improvement.

All told, it’s been trickier than I’ve let on. I’ve finally found peace. How do I know? I have personalised my stick. The idea of making it in any way decorative used to make me feel queasy. I have concluded that my subconscious attached styling the stick with it being part of my identity. The way I dress has always reflected my personality. Until very recently including my walking stick in that was a frightening prospect.

Klimt Style

I’m over the line again. If I’m taking the bloody thing every where it might as well be a bit funky. Keep your eyes peeled for new incarnations. Knowing me, I’ll be mixing up it.

Moo Style

If you like what I do you can support me on Patreon.

Through the echoes…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Last month I added to my tattoo collection in the best way possible. I got a beautiful profile portrait of my beloved Bronan.

I lost my gorgeous boy in July and it has been impossible to get used to life without him. My home still feels empty without his demanding presence. A memorial tattoo felt like the perfect way to always have him with me. The fantastic Lauren at Luna Tattoo captured my boy perfectly.

I wanted a really simple black profile that highlighted the shape of his nose and white stripe. I adore him. I also had a great experience at Luna. I love being tattooed by women. Lauren made me so comfortable and I loved the vibe they’ve created at Luna. If you’re local, I highly recommend this shop.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on Patreon.

24

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Dear Son,

Today you would turn 24. That’s older than I was when I carried you. I still don’t know how to reconcile the fact that I have lived your whole life in my head, but have never held you in my arms.

It’s hard for me to imagine mothering a grown man. Although, I certainly needed my Mum at 24. I made some unwise decisions. I hope I could help you avoid some. I also hope I’d know when to stand back and let you make your own mistakes. I have a lifetime of love and nurture stored up. There are countless things I wanted to teach you. So many moments I have played over and over in my head.

I don’t know exactly what I believe about heaven and god. I know there is something. I know you are somewhere. I can’t envisage a reality in which you haven’t been loved; haven’t felt my love. I’ll never stop yearning to express that love. I would give everything to have held you even once.

Love always,

Mum

Xxx

The world it just keeps spinning…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Things have been rough since I lost Bronan. I keep expecting him to wander into the room. I’m home most of the time, so we were together all the time. My daily habits and routines were centred around my boy. Eveything feels off without him.

I had Bronan cremated & he’s back home now. I also have a little bit of his fur. I haven’t completely decided, but I think I will scatter a little of him in his garden with some forget me not seeds. I will keep the rest of his ashes home with me. The people I worked with were wonderful. Very compassionate & professional. I am grateful that they made our last moments together so peaceful.

I have been seeking solace in my little ones. They are so loving and wonderful. They offer temporary distraction from my sadness. It’s summer holidays, so we’ve had time to have lots of adventures. We’ve been to the park, swimming, the cinema and more.

My adult people have also been wonderful. It’s very comforting to be around people who don’t need me to explain how I’m feeling. I want to say thank you to everyone who has been so kind here & on Instagram etc. I appreciate all of your lovely words.

I won’t forget a single day…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I had to say goodbye to Bronan on Monday. We found out he had hyperthyroidism a few weeks ago. Shortly after I noticed changes in Bronan that led us back to vet. We discovered fluid in his stomach and that his kidneys were in trouble. Bronan had lymphoma. At 19 with diabetes & hyperthyroidism surgery or radiation were not option. The vet gave him injections to relieve symptoms, but told me he didn’t have long. I got another 11 days with him. He stopped eating or drinking at the weekend and it was clear that prolonging his life would be for my benefit rather than his. I’m heartbroken. My home feels so empty without him.

I adopted him from a friend. A change in her circumstances hadn’t agreed with him. She had him & his sister, but he didn’t always love sharing with her. He was home the moment he stepped out of his carrier. He thrived having his domain and me to himself. Always his own man, he came for cuddles when he wanted, wandered his territory as he pleased and demanded my attention as he saw fit. Be that insisting on having breakfast at 6am every day or waking me in the middle of the night because he required a chin rub. He’s had me at his beck & call from the first and I have loved every second of it.

We had a perfect bond. He fit into my life seamlessly. Our personalities matched. A little bit fierce, with a soft belly beneath. He guarded his space fearlessly, no cat, dog or fox was permitted in his garden. He saved his greatest vexation for the Magpies. A foe he hated so much they had their own annoyed meow. Yet, he didn’t kill. Nor did he turn his frustration on people. He never bit or scratched, always gentle for such a big boy. Always easy. He’d appear from a hedge or behind a sofa when I called. He cared not a jot about the twice daily insulin injections he needed in the last few years. My boy charmed everyone who met him. With his handsome face and gentle giant ways. He even learned to love kids. Once wary, he made friends with my little ones. Becoming best of friends with one of nieces, who wanted to visit purely to see him.

Bronan embodies so many of the things I love about cats. He lived on his own terms. Doing exactly as he pleased; bending me to his will. He was independent, lacked patience, had no respect for personal space or any rules I tried to enforce. He could say fuck you with the tiniest narrowing of his eyes. All of which made his choice to love me more satisfying. He didn’t blindly obey or love me unconditionally. He cared for me because he wanted to. I earned his trust & respect. It was a privilege to have it.

More than anything he was part of my healing. He came to me near the beginning of a journey. Joined me in this house that has become a real home. He’s been my companion when I couldn’t bear to see another living being. Somehow he understood me. When my pain is too much he’d let me off easy. He’d lie quietly with me, requiring nothing, soothing me with his purrs. When my mind was troubled, he knew and responded with affection. My boy has aided in the making of huge decisions just by his presence in my life. He has eased my heart when it was shattered by loss. Listened to my tears, singing and the thoughts I only voiced to him.

Bronan is a dream and I will miss him more than I can say. I’ll miss him sleeping on my feet, keeping them warm. I’ll miss the taps on my face when his meows don’t wake me. The sound of his steps on the wooden floor, the way he announces himself with a shout when he comes in his cat flap. I’ll miss being the only person allowed to rub his fluffy belly. I will miss giving him a running commentary of the day and the way he looks over his shoulder to check I am following when he leads me to what he wants. I’ll miss stroking his paws. The tiny white spot above his lip. His snores. The way he crunches & snorts when he eats. I’ll miss him. His attitude, his spirit, his love. All of him.

Oh Mother…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Mother’s Day is always a tricky one for me. I love my Mum, of course I want to celebrate her. I have a lot of wonderful Mums in my life. All of whom deserve to be spoiled. I also feel incredibly fragile.

I’ve put a lot of time and effort into building a protective shell around myself. You can’t live if you wake up everyday confounded by what you have lost. It’s always there, but self preservation is an art you can learn. There are some thoughts that I don’t allow myself to examine. I push them outside of my armour and focus on something else. Unfortunately my shell is not impenetrable. There are dates, memories that crack the surface. Mother’s Day, is obviously one of those occasions.

Mothering Sunday is a trigger in the true sense of the word. It has the power to wreck me. Realistically, that’s not an option. I refuse to ruin a special day for people I love. Still, the whole process is hard. Shopping for gifts is painful. I find myself drawn to things that I’d like to have received. I both love and envy watching my niblings express their love for their Mummies. That bond between mother and child is unique. And oh so special. All of my siblings have children meaning my Mum is also Gran. They love her so much and always want to make/buy things for her too. It’s another little detail that I dreamed of, but won’t live. Each of these pierce holes in my carefully crafted casing.

For me, the solution has been creating a little emotional distance. I pull myself back from the feelings and do what I can to enjoy the day. When I’m alone again, I let myself feel it. What’s the point of this? Just to say that if you are struggling today, I get it. It’s ok to give yourself what you need. Go gentle.

If you like what I do you can support me here or on on Patreon.

Blue Christmas…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

I love Christmas. The focus on giving and spending time with loved ones is special. I like the way it makes strangers wish each other merry. It warms my heart to see little ones really believing in the magic of Santa Claus. Tis the season, right?

Well, yes and also a little bit no. The last few weeks have been a whirl of wrapping gifts, singing carols with excited little people, twinkly lights & festive fun. I have adored every minute of it. However, now that all the presents are delivered and prep is completed I feel a tad blue. This always happens. I needed a rest day before the main event, but as soon as I slow down it hits.

My siblings and friends are having cosy days at home with their families. My Christmas nest is empty. I can’t help but think of what could have been. All traditions I wanted to pass on; opening just one present on Xmas eve, fuzzy red stockings with their names in gold, snuggling with Santa hyped darlings as we read a new festive bed time story. Then the frantic readying of gifts whilst my babies sleep. Santa presents wouldn’t be wrapped in my house; just lain out beautifully in the living room. Ready to be enjoyed the second they wake. There wouldn’t be any Christmas morning rules. Rising before dawn, chocolate for breakfast, all out Christmas chaos would be just fine. There’s an unsung seasonal opera in my head.

I know I’m very lucky. Tomorrow I will be with family. Exchanging gifts and clinking glasses. I’ll watch my nephew tear open his gifts and be loaded with big loving squeezes. I’m safe, warm & loved. That is a lot to be grateful for. There’s still hint of sorrow for the dreams that didn’t come to pass.

I know I’m not alone in being touched by sadness at this time of year. If you’re struggling this year, I’m sending love. If joy is out reach I hope you can find some peace.

23

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Dear Son,

Today would be your 23rd birthday. I can’t imagine that I would be top of your party list. Mothers tend to cramp one’s style. Still, I think about how you would celebrate.

Would you feel too old for cake with candles? I wonder if a family dinner would be on the agenda. I picture your Gran fussing over you. Your Aunts & Uncles buying you drinks & taking the piss. I see you surrendered to your little cousin’s nonsense entreaties. It’s all perfect. Of course I know life wouldn’t always be that way, but this is what I hoped to give you.

Recently I’ve been wondering what would come next. When I kissed you goodbye, where would you be headed off to? I was self sufficient by 23. I graduated that year, I was living alone in a flat I hated & working a crappy job to get by. My mental health was a mess & adulting was a learning curve. It wasn’t all bad. I was young & answerable only to myself. I had good friends and we made the most of our youth. I partied as many nights a week as I could afford. I felt such satisfaction; paying the bills, managing a home. Living life on my terms. Always, though, you were missing.

I thought of how my life would be with you then as much as I do now. The younger years were easier to imagine. I don’t know what decisions you would have made. I’d have wanted you to go to University. I’m sure I’d be happy to still have you at home. Perhaps you’d have a partner. You could be just like me. A new graduate balancing a job & the clubs. Or maybe you’d have taken an entirely different route. I’d support anything that made you happy. I’d be proud of the man you would be becoming.

I only write today, but you’re in my thoughts every day. I’d have done whatever it took to give you everything you needed.

Love always,

Mum.

All those chandeliers of hope…

~ somethinginthewayshemoves

Christmas is a funny old time. We’re all feeling sentimental and emotions are heightened. I struggled a little this year, but still had a beautiful Christmas Day.

I got all dressed up for Christmas with family & friends. We had lots of food, presents & excited children. I feel loved & grateful for having such wonderful people in my life. Especially that I am blessed with so many niblings to adore. I’m equally thankful that I can spend the post festivity stretch ensconced in jammies & cosy socks.

I know this time of year can be hard for a multitude of reasons. Xmas is all about children and I find myself dwelling on how different my life could be. There are so many reminders of what I have lost. If these past weeks have been arduous, I hope you were able to have as merry a time as possible. If merry is a stretch, then I wish you peace & a better new year.

Here’s to 2023!