Goodnight

soft golden sky
wishing you goodnight
wherever you are
my love
I send you my kiss x

©CuteFaceAI

Moving forward

I’ve mentioned on here the various life journeys my younger son (now in his mid twenties) has been travelling in his life. He continues to live with depression, though he has told me that thanks to a reduction in his medication (though it has gone up and down a couple of times) and the support of his doctor, he feels as if he is beginning to emerge from what he calls “the fog”. He is in a new relationship and very happy. Just over a year ago, he asked his doctor to put him on the dietician’s waiting list and he subsequently was allocated a place. He took it all in his stride and since February last year, has reduced his weight by 6 stones 11 lbs (83 pounds) and continues to follow his healthy eating plan. He is focussed and following a firming and fitness exercise regime. I’m very proud of him. I know only too well how hard it is to stick to a weight reducing plan, so I admire his perseverance and courage. Love you, sweetheart x

Cute Face

I found your coat, Dad

I found your coat, Dad. The one you wore in the rain. Waxy and brown, a bit scuffed at the cuffs. You wore it the day we walked to the park with my first born. Pushing the pram in the drizzle. You wore a smile a mile wide. I remember a day a year before, the day I had lost a baby. “You have plenty of time” you said. You spoke true and the tear in your eye made me believe. It helped me a lot to heal, Dad.

I found your coat, Dad. It’s in the photographs of you with my sons. That special trip you went with them on the train. You took them to Glasgow, to see the dinosaur exhibition. You were so excited to be with them, like a little boy again. Your smile breaks my heart. They loved being with you that day, their Papa. They miss you too, Dad.

I found your coat, Dad. It was at the back of my wardrobe. It still had your badge on the corduroy collar. I must have brought it home after you died. I was not myself for a while. I wanted you to be there, wearing your coat. But you had gone. You lay on the kitchen floor, eyes open and still warm. But you had gone, Dad.

I found your coat, Dad.

Cute Face

Indexing memories

The rhythmic sound of the harvester is familiar and loud. The cycle of the seasons goes on and on…

I’ve been putting things into storage in our garden shed. Boxes of precious items from my Mum and Dad’s house that have “lived” with me since they passed away. My other half says they need to be tidied away and he’s right. So, the last three or four days I’ve been sifting through them. Which of my memories can be consigned to the dustbin? Which ones will I put into a dark box and placed on a shelf, out of the way, never to be seen again in my lifetime.

I found old sepia photographs of my grandfather and my Dad’s uncles, a half farthing dated 1844, an old ledger from my grandfather’s days showing estimates and invoices from the family business, a tiny pair of leather gloves which look as if they would only fit a baby or toddler, hand made (by my Dad) silver photoframes, family birth and marriage certificates. Whew. All of those will be kept.

Strangely enough, very little of my mother’s effects. She was ruthless when she was throwing things out, keeping very little. I remember when I was about ten years old, finding my Mum’s wedding dress in a cupboard where I had been sent to find a table cloth and I asked her about it. It was beautiful, with tiny pearl buttons on the sleeves and lace on the bodice. My parents were married in the early 1950’s and the fabric was heavy and rich. She dismissed it with a short comment saying she was forever meaning to throw it away and I asked her not to. I recall when I was being married, my mother telling her sister she no longer had her wedding dress and sadly, I certainly didn’t find her dress when I was clearing out their house after they had both passed.

It has been a difficult few days for me, having to deal with the memories thrown up by handling items from my family’s past, but it brought things into perspective in a way. In an ideal world, I would have everything wrapped, indexed and stored safely but that is never going to happen, so I’m making do with archive boxes and hope that our friendly neighbourhood field mice don’t get into everything.

I recently found this post when I was copying over some old files on my laptop. It’s a blog post written by me in August 2017. As far as I’m aware, I never posted it, but I am doing so now. It is now more relevant than ever as I’m soon retiring and may at last have time to “index” these memories I have stored in boxes.

Cute Face

Shelter

I’ve said it all before
Your silence fills my ears
I seek shelter in your heart
as I run from my fears

I need to know you care
“Talk to me” you had said
“Explain to me the words
that circle in your head”

She hated me deep down
An inconvenient fact
No child should suffer thus
such hate filled savage acts

So please listen a while
Open your arms to me
Hold me while my words flow
Then silent, let me be

©CuteFaceAI

Grassy slopes

Our local park was always in my life. From primary school to teenage years to young adult to young mum. Town celebrations, playing in the swing park, finding dark corners to kiss, walking for miles to be with someone you love.

One of my abiding memories of that park is such a simple one. As a child, rolling down the grassy slopes up near the top path. Spinning down that hill, arms tucked in, fearless, smelling the crushed grass beneath me, sensing the summer sun’s warmth on the surface of the slope, falling in a heap at the bottom. Smiling faces of my friends as we scrambled up to climb and do it all again. Innocence of youth, not a care in the world.

How I wish life was so simple once again.

Cute Face

Connections

A few weeks ago, my elderly uncle passed away. He was 100 years old.  Remarkable character, sharp as a tack as they say, until his last few days.

His only son, my cousin, lives in Canada and no other close relative stayed nearby other than myself and when my uncle was diagnosed with kidney cancer two years ago, no close family was here in Scotland to take care of him. My husband and I therefore had been looking out for my uncle at home as he was determined to stay in his own home until the end of his life.  For the last couple of years as his illness progressed, we got to know many of the wider circle of his friends who visited or called, his carers, his befrienders and support workers from the British Legion (he was a Normandy veteran) and the various hospital and medical staff we met while taking him to appointments.

We’ve all lost loved ones and know the sadness it brings.  I wasn’t close to my uncle, he was the husband of my father’s sister, therefore not a blood relative, but he had been in my family’s life for ever it seemed, in the background of my childhood.  After his memorial service, a thought came to me as we sat with family and friends over lunch.  It struck me that it might be the last time these people meet each other, those who had come to pay their last respects to my uncle.

Certainly there will be no occasion in the future for us to see his nephews, or his carers, or his befrienders.  Second cousins from down south, his in laws from up north. My own cousin and his wife from Canada.  My uncle’s granddaughter also from Canada.  Will we ever see them again?  I shared these thoughts with a friend on Twitter and it surprised me that it upset me so much, the realisation that we’ve not only lost the loved one who had passed, we have also lost the connection to the bigger circle of distant family and friends that has surrounded and supported my uncle.  Through the sad circumstance of his illness, it was thanks to him that we were privileged to meet them in the first place.

Each of us has a circle of family and friends around us.  Share a smile or a hug with them when you can.

Rest in peace Uncle.

Wishful thinking… ?

I’ve written elsewhere on this blog about my Dad, whom I love dearly and I still miss though he’s been gone for almost seven years now.  I remember one of the times my husband and I visited our wee holiday house in France after my Dad had passed away, we found three feathers in our house.  No idea where they came from.  Pure coincidence, probably, but my OH reckoned it was a sign from my Dad and that he was there with us.  Maybe… I would like to think his spirit travelled with me.  He certainly loved holidaying in France as much as we do, so nothing would surprise me!

It’s a strange thing, how we could imagine inanimate objects can symbolise loved ones.  That those loved ones who have passed could miraculously make things appear is so far from realistic as to be laughable to some people I expect.  But life holds so many mysteries that are unexplained…

So let me tell you about my mother-in-law.  She was definitely a Matriarch, presiding over her large family with a strong will but with a huge heart of gold.  My husband has four sisters and three brothers and they would have done anything for their Mum.  Sadly, she passed away suddenly in 2004 and they still keenly feel her loss.  Her husband had passed a couple of years before, his health had not been good for a few years, but they had spent over 50 happy years together.

As is often the case with the passing of a second parent, the family home had to be split up and the house emptied of its contents (I will tell you the tale of the mysterious amulet that was found another time).  Among the many mementos my OH brought back to our family home was his Mum’s very healthy, abundant Calla Lily pot plant.  She had adored that plant, and my OH wanted to nurture it and take care of it, keep it as part of his memories of his Mum.  He imbued it with his mother’s spirit, imagining it to contain her well wishes for our family and wider, all my husband’s family too.

It was watered as usual before we left for our holiday in July this year, and as before, we expected it would be fine on our return this week.  However, we were surprised to see it had withered and is limp, brown and rotten.  Not good.

Coincidence perhaps, but eerily, this same week, a major upset has occurred within my husband’s family (a rare occurrence), so major it is threatening to split apart some of the family.  My husband and his siblings have been working and talking together during the last few days and now seem to have averted the crisis.

Meantime, we have been trying to coax the Calla Lily back to health.  It remains to be seen if the tiny green shoots I spied on the plant this morning grow and thrive…

Cute Face

A long, tough ride

On a difficult day
I aim to see
another way
to try to be

My tears they flow
no matter what
soften the blow
say this say that

A mother’s love
so they say
will still survive
in all the ways

Support and nurture
help and provide
Towards the future
A long, tough ride

©CuteFaceAI

Rings

Rings worn on the hand have a symbolism in the world, especially within relationships, that is second to none.  Friendship rings, signet rings, engagement rings, wedding rings, they usually have a special connection to a person or an event in our lives.  For me, my engagement ring is precious to me.  It didn’t cost a massive amount of money, it doesn’t hold a rare gem.  It is a simple, diamond solitaire, tulip set in a gold band.  But it symbolises the love that my husband held for me then when he slid it onto my finger and still does so today.

I celebrated my 60th Birthday last year.  About a month before then, my husband asked me, is there a special gift you would like?  He suggested an eternity ring.  I told him instead, that I wanted to have my engagement ring resized to fit my (fatter) finger so that I could wear it again.  The ring has “lived” in my dressing table drawer for over 20 years.

We took my engagement ring in its blue velvet box to a well-known family jewellers in Edinburgh and asked if it could be resized.  The staff were wonderful, and said it was certainly a straightforward job, but explained that if they resized it, it would slip over my wedding ring and lie over it.

As you can see from the photograph of my hand, my wedding ring is very tight and has never been resized since my husband placed it on my finger on our wedding day more than 37 years ago.  The only time it has left my hand for any length of time was during my two pregnancies when I wore it on a chain around my neck.

The staff at the jewellers advised me to have my wedding ring cut off because it was so tight.  However, I won’t do that as it is not damaging my finger in any way.  So, as I’m still slowly losing weight, I’m waiting patiently for my size to diminish so I can wear my engagement ring again – maybe in time for our Ruby Wedding anniversary in 2018…

Weight update: Since the beginning of March this year, my weight has reduced by 10 pounds.  Small steps…

CuteFaceAI