A Monster Calls, Grief, and Guilt.

*Spoilers for A Monster Calls in here*

This week I went to go and see A Monster Calls at the cinema, which is a story based on one of my favourite books. The story is about a young boy called Connor whose mother is sick, and every night a Monster comes to visit him to tell him stories about life, but eventually Connor must tell the monster a fourth story – his truth. This is a story that hits very close to home for me as you can imagine, and I knew going into the theatre that I was probably going to cry. I took all the necessary precautions – I went on my own (just me and a couple of pensioners quietly crying in our respective corners, it was great), took some tissues and plenty of water, and wore my favourite comfy clothes.

Whilst I knew I would cry, I don’t think I was prepared for how much I would cry. I read the book nearly two years ago so I had forgotten most of the details. So I was pretty shocked to find myself crying at practically the opening scene. It was a scene that most would probably not think twice about – Connor is getting ready for school alone, making his breakfast, putting on a load of washing and generally just doing anything that needs to be done before he goes to school. Before he leaves, he checks on his mum who is sleeping in her room, evidently tired and sick. It was like someone had taken a scene directly from my own life, reworked a few things and put it on screen.

There was so much to this film I could relate to – how everyone around you is talking about you behind closed doors, but won’t answer your questions. Taking on responsibilities you normally wouldn’t have had to until you were older. Teachers approaching you and quietly asking in class if you’re holding up okay and that you can always talk to them. Being whisked away to a family member’s house who you know, but don’t necessarily get on great with. But the thing that rings so true with this story is Connor’s ultimate truth – which is that he wants it all to be over.

I remember the moment extremely vividly. I had spent most of the day in the hospice, reading and eating pizza and wandering around. I didn’t want to see my Mum anymore, she couldn’t talk anymore and was barely ever conscious and I didn’t want to remember her like that. So I got taken home by my stepmum and had been home about an hour when my brother and dad walk through the door crying. And they told me she was gone.

I felt many things in that moment, but one of the strongest emotions was relief. Relief that it was over. And I know that sounds bloody awful but it had been four years – four years of her going through countless chemo and hospital appointments. Four years of growing up too quickly and having to constantly face the idea of my mum dying when my friends seemed to be just facing the idea of which boys they liked (which I know of course, they all had other stuff in their lives as well, but that’s how it felt). I had watched my mum lose her hair, heard her crying at night when she thought I was asleep, never known when I was coming home from being out with my friends what I was going to find when I got home. And finally it was over. She was out of pain, she wasn’t suffering anymore. And in my fifteen year old mind, I thought I could finally have a somewhat normal teenage experience (of course what 15 year old Lily failed to understand was that I know had to deal with a whole other beast – grief and loss).

I felt guilty about that feeling of relief for so long. I thought I was an awful person for feeling that when I was told that my mum had died. I’ve never really told anyone other than my therapist for fear of being judged harshly. Like Connor, I just wanted it all to be over. I was tired of seeing her in pain.

I also just want to clarify here that yes, I lived with a person who had cancer, but I can of course never understand what it is to live with cancer and to face your mortality in that way. Yes I had to watch all this happen to my mum, but I never had to actually go through it. I can never understand that pain and would never want to undermine that.

Of course I felt other things one would expect when I was told my mum had died. Sadness, anger, fear of a future without her. But relief was also there. Like Connor, this is just my truth.

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Loving The Winter Season

Winter can be a cold, horrible and miserable time. But instead of using this as an excuse to be miserable ourselves, here at Safe Space we want to share with you some of the things about winter that we absolutely love. The things that you can really only do in the winter and the things that we really look forward to. This is because, as far as we’re concerned, there’s enough in the world to make life difficult, hard and horrible, so why would we ever let the weather make us feel that way too? So without waiting too long in this chilly weather, here are the things that we Safe Spacers love about the winter months...

Faye: Oddly, even though I was born in the middle of summer, I actually hate the season. I find it too hot and I really struggle with overheating. I hate sweating and I basically end up sweating all summer. I get stuffy and uncomfortable and there is never anywhere to go. And thus, Winter has and always will be my favourite season. It’s cold, and the perfect time to snuggle up inside and just feels me with such a heart-warming feel. There are so many things about winter that I absolutely love and most of them are materialistic but a lot of it is just the feeling that fills my entire body. I love hot chocolate while wrapped up in warm clothes, love the way the hot chocolate fills my body with the warmth it craves but also just how wonderful it tastes. I also love the Christmas drinks that get released in all the coffee shops, making coffee exciting as well as warm and tasty. I love snuggling on the sofa in my duvet and watching movies. I love snow. I love the crisp, fresh, cold air. I love that it is a time for spending with friends and family with good spirits and love. I love buying and giving presents to people, showing them how much I appreciate them and love them. Winter is just the best season by far, there is very little about it that I dislike.

Jess: Given the option between summer and winter, I know that most people would choose long hot summer days but I have always favoured the months between October and February, there is so much to look forward to! Halloween, Bonfire Night, Christmas, New Year and then my birthday in January. I love the anticipation of this time of year as one event makes way for the other it seems like there is always something to look forward to. Winter for me is a time to reflect on the year that has passed and what I would like to accomplish the following year. It’s a time for change and fresh starts, for family and friends to come together and put their troubles behind them for a little while. It’s a time to be a little bit kinder and a little more generous than usual towards those closest to us and to strangers. As the leaves start falling and the air gets crisper it always brings a smile to my face because I know that winter and all of the joy that it bring is on its way.

Laura: Winter is my favourite season of the year; whenever I think about the last few months before a New Year dawns all I can envisage is white, frosty pavements, steaming mugs of hot chocolate covered in cream and marshmallows, scented candles flickering in the dusky light, new pyjamas, snuggly blankets and Christmas. There’s something about Winter that compels me to feel safer, warmer and happier than any other time of year which is bizarre as Winter is anything but warm in the UK. I secretly love the fact the days get shorter and I leave work in the dark at night...it heralds the promise of Christmas...and I love Christmas. It means cosy nights snuggled in bed with a book in new pyjamas and Christmas bedding, it means frosty commutes to work and feeling the pavement crunch beneath my feet, it means warming bowls of soup for lunch and red, cold noses. It means happiness. I love winter and everything it entails and I couldn’t imagine living somewhere in the world where Winter wasn’t cold, rainy and dark!

What are your favourite things about the winter months?

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Milestones without My Mum

I think it goes without saying that every day when you lose a parent at a young age is difficult. I’m 100% being truthful when I say that my mum pops into my mind every single day, even 5 years after her death. But there is something especially bittersweet about her absence when I’m about to hit a milestone.

My mum died of cancer when I was 15 years old, and she was my best friend. She came to all of my school concerts and plays, all of my riding lessons and shows as a child, every single parents evening and I know I was so lucky to have had a parent who could and would do that. Losing her at the age of 15 means that most of what people consider significant life events or milestones, I have experienced without her. My GCSE Results, my A Level results, my first kiss, my first time moving away from home, my 16th and 18th birthdays have all happened without her. And it’s not just these big events where I feel her absence; I remember wishing she could come and see my GCSE Drama production, or to see me off at the airport when I went to the USA for three months. Every birthday and Christmas is somehow tainted with her absence. And don’t even get me started on mother’s day.

For the first few years there was an extra factor into all of this; jealousy. It’s an ugly thing to think and I’m not proud of it but I couldn’t help but feel on my 16th birthday, or when I got my A level results that my brother got to do this with Mum. He’s three and a half years older than me and was in his first year of University when she passed away. She wanted to go up and help him move in, but she couldn’t due to being knee deep in chemo.

I remember opening my results for my GCSE’s quite vividly; I went alone because I didn’t want my dad to be there and he had work anyway. I went in, hands shaking and tore through the envelope. After a look through, I was pretty pleased with my grades and called Dad to tell him how he did. He was elated and very proud. After I hung up the phone, I almost went to make another call. But then I realised I couldn’t. I looked around the hall for my two best friends, who were both standing with their own mums a little way off. It felt like I’d been punched in the gut and I wanted to burst into tears. It felt so unfair that everyone else got to tell their mum’s how they did and I didn’t. I quickly composed myself though and got on with my day – I didn’t want to cry when I’d actually gotten pretty good results. I know that had she been alive I probably would’ve told her to stay at home as well, but it was the option to do so that I wanted. God, what I would’ve given to have been able to do that.

I found moving out to University for the first time particularly difficult. I remember having a dream the week before I was due to go. My mum and I were driving down a road, and then she was helping me unpack things in my room, and then we went to a café. I don’t remember the specifics but I remember feeling warm and happy. And then I woke up, and for a few blissful moments I thought it was true and would happen. And then reality crashed into me, that that was never going to happen. Moving in was okay in the end, but I was moving boxes and walking around my new campus feeling hollow and off the entire time. There were a few confused looks when I introduced my Dad and my Stepmum and I knew what they were thinking. What about her mother? Where is she? But most people didn’t ask. Apart from my flatmate later on that day, who I know got an answer she wasn’t entirely expecting. Not the best way to start off a relationship.

As I’m writing this, it is the night before I move into University for the second time. And I can truthfully say that I am in a much better place this time. A mixture of therapy and taking time to grieve and come to terms what happened means I am more accepting this time around of my situation. Maybe it’s because I’ve done it before and it’s not as ‘significant’ but I think it’s a good sign anyway. My 21st is later this year and I’m apprehensive as I always am for big birthdays because I just have no idea what I’ll feel like on the day. But I know in my heart that either reaction is totally okay. I do think about the future; how if I ever get married she won’t be there, if I ever have kids she won’t get to meet the grandchildren I know she so sorely wanted to meet. But I’m starting to accept this reality more than be angry about it – and I know that wherever she is, she’s watching, and she’s proud.

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When Your Mum Becomes Your Friend

Today, I want to talk about my mum and my relationship with her. As a child and teenager, both my parents were pretty strict. My brother and I had rules and boundaries, and neither of my parents would take any crap from us. No-one likes their parents really laying in to them, right? So we were pretty well behaved children (apart from the odd fight between ourselves). Which led to us getting on pretty well with our parents as youngsters. And like mums are, Mum was always there; when we'd fallen over and hurt ourselves, when we needed help with our homework, and when we just needed someone to talk to.

I don't know at what age my relationship with Mum changed, but it did. Sometime in my late teens, I'd guess, Mum stopped being simply My Parent and became my friend. That might sound kind of corny, but it's important to me, and something I'm so grateful for. There are a lot of people out there who don't have great relationships with their parents, and I'm just so glad that I do.

Mum is my mother, and I am her daughter, but we have the kind of personalities that just work well together. Mum had me a month before her 19th birthday, so there isn't a huge age gap, and although in some ways we're pretty different, in others we are pretty similar. We both make the effort to find time for each other, and will have days out, whether it's going to the cinema, going shopping, or going out for a meal. Other times, we'll plan nights in. We'll get a take away, buy some goodies, and watch a movie. It's not just so we can have some mother/daughter time, but because we genuinely enjoy each others company.

There's the added bonus that because we're mother and daughter we can trust each other to be honest when asking the other for advice or their opinion, when it comes to something small like outfit choices, or for help making a tough decision (though, to be honest, that is more me asking than Mum). I love how I can talk to my mum about anything, not just as my mother, but also as my friend. Depending on the subject, sometimes she'll be in full-on mother mode if she's worrying about me - after all, I am her baby - but she will also talk to me as a fellow woman. We'll have deep discussions about topics we feel are important, and sometimes we'll disagree, and sometimes we'll educate each other. Sometimes Mum will give me the perspective of someone with more experience, and sometimes I'll give that of someone a little younger, for a generation where things are changing when, for example, it comes to society's attitudes about women.

As you can tell, I've always been pretty close to my mum, but I have appreciated our relationship more since my nan died. Mum was close to Nan, and Nan's death, though expected, broke her heart. She no longer has her mum, which makes me even more grateful that I have mine and that our relationship is so wonderful, yet so sad that she no longer has that mother-friend in her life. It's made me think about the inevitable moment when I will lose my mum, and how absolutely devastating it will be. But then I remember I still have her, and fully revel in the time we spend together.

I don't think there's anything quite like a mother-daughter relationship, but that relationship becomes even more special when you can call your mother your friend.



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How Loved Ones See Us

In general, people don’t see themselves very clearly. We put ourselves down, suffer with self-doubt, or just don’t think very highly of ourselves. But when this happens, our friends and family rally behind us, feeding us positivity and encouragement. This is because they can see us for who we truly are. They see us, whereas when we look at ourselves, it’s through the reflection of a distorted mirror, like at a funfair, that our negativity becomes.

For today’s group post, the friends and family of Jo, Jess, Faye and Ray will introduce you to the people they see, know and love, with our responses; compared to their description of us, how distorted is our view of ourselves? And how does it feel that these people they see are actually us?

Jo’s Best Friend Adam (who calls her Red due to her hair colour):

Red is a very close friend of mine. She's smart, funny and a lifelong reader. She loves the occasional drop or two of tequila. Always there if I need to rant a little, or a lot, and doesn't judge.
She's a cool geek and we can talk about everything from Doctor Who, to classic literature. She puts herself down a lot. But I suppose we all do. I've always thought she has no reason to, though. She's kind and loyal and I don't hold the fact that she's English against her [Jo: He’s Irish *eye roll*].
Mainly though, she's my friend. I trust her with anything. And I can't imagine life now without her in it.

Jo’s Reaction:

So I read what Adam wrote and mostly smiled. The tequila, the cool geek, the English comment. Things we've joked about quite often in our six year friendship. I was surprised to read I put myself down a lot. I actually thought I was doing pretty well in how I talk about and view myself. Perhaps I put myself down more than I actually realise, unconciously, without even thinking. Perhaps it's becoming habitual, that I don't even consider it putting myself down, and rather just something I do - or something that's not considered at all. That's really, really sad. I intend to be more aware of how I talk about myself, the words I use, and my thinking behind them. It might be hard, but I really think I need to do better.

But... that very last line made me pretty emotional. And I guess here is where I see Adam's point about me putting myself down, because, well, I've always considered that in our friendship, I benefit more than he does. I've had a tough time over the previous couple of years, and to be honest, I don't know how I would have got through them without leaning on Adam. I've leaned on him a lot. I've had a lot to cry and rant about, and a lot that scared me. It left me feeling our friendship was unbalanced, that Adam wasn't getting as much from me as I was from him. I put down my ability to be a friend, and although I knew Adam valued our friendship, I couldn't help worrying that maybe our friendship would peter out when he got tired of me leaning on him and having to hold me up. So reading that last line... it made me super happy, but there was this huge sense of relief. 'He does want to be my friend!' I thought. It sounds pathetic typing that (there I go again, eh?), but it's what I thought. I had no real reason to feel our friendship was rocky, but that last line reassured me of how solid our friendship is. But even without how I worried about our friendship, that last line is pretty amazing, huh? 

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Jess’ Best Friend Ray:

How do I even begin to describe Jess? Eight years ago we were two Twilight fangirls who started mutually stalking each other on various bookish threads and now here we are – best friends, soul twins, Threadsisters (ask me about that reference), two peas in a very weird pod who can’t imagine life anymore without the other. I could reel off an enormous list of superlatives that still wouldn’t cover who she is to me. Kind, generous, whip-smart, passionate like you wouldn’t believe, supportive, loyal like only a Hufflepuff can be, STRONG AS FUCK- I’m not messing she is cuddly and wonderful on the outside but ruffle this Hufflepuff’s feathers then you’re in some serious shit and you’ll know it.

Jess pours so much of herself into her work online and sometimes when doubt creeps in and makes her question whether all that time and effort is worth it, I want to snatch those thoughts away so they won’t bother her because she works incredibly hard and *so* many people love and appreciate her for what she does. She hauls me back up when I’m feeling crap and I do everything in my power to do the same for her. Jess will also boss me around like a long-serving spouse in such a way that I can’t ever get mad at her. Which she totally knows and is proud of because she is living that Hermione Granger life like a BOSS.

Jess – you know me better than I know myself half the time and I am endlessly awed by your magnificence. You are magic.

Jess’s Reaction:

Wow, reading this was very emotional and by the time I reached the end I had tears trickling down my cheeks. I’m going to have to get this printed out and framed to put in my bedroom so that I can look at it on days when I’m feeling sad or doubting myself. I think that what I love most about what Ray has shared is that as well as all of the good things she sees and loves about me, she also loves the not so great traits just as much (I am bossy as HELL) because they make me me, her best friend. It’s so nice to know that I have someone in my life who sees me so clearly and who loves all of me not just the good parts.

-----------------------------------   Faye’s Best Friend Michelle: 

I met Faye through twitter when I started my book blog at the end of 2014 and we have become good friends ever since. I feel like I have known Faye for years and years. All my life. This is a credit to her kind, caring and welcoming nature. I see Faye as loyal and loving to her friends and family. She is always there to listen and to give you a hug when you need it in real life or a virtual hug. Faye listens and gives good honest advice when needed. To me Faye’s smile and laugh brighten up any room and her snuggles make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. I also know Faye in a professional capacity. She is organised and enthusiastic about everything she is involved with and her ideas are always bright and imaginative. I also see that sometimes Faye can lack confidence in the things she does, but everything she does is amazing so I am going to take this opportunity to say Faye, you are a brave and wonderful human being, believe this and carry on being you! I love you very much!

Faye’s Reaction: 

First of all, I have to say that this paragraph about me made me cry. Because I would never have said any of those things about myself. I know that I care deeply about others and that I’m loyal, it almost physically hurts when someone I love is hurting and there’s nothing I can do to help. But I would also say I’m hard to get along with, shut off from the world, and can be a very infuriating person. I also feel like I go over the top with enthusiasm and that my laugh and hyperness is annoying and I’m so self-conscious of how awful my laugh sounds. But I do admit, I love big bear hugs. She definitely has it right on about my professional self, I definitely lack confidence, and even as I read those compliments I am still sitting here doubting they’re true but appreciating that she sees me that way. Maybe one day I’ll believe that it’s true.

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Ray’s Boyfriend Mark:

Rachel is a person of two halves.

The first, a backseat driver. Happy to stay in bed late; put things off as long as possible; avoid responsibility whenever possible; and downplay her own achievements.

The second, a practical superwoman. She reads at the speed of light; is incredibly intelligent; absorbs knowledge like a basking lizard; and picks up new skills first try, aiming to master them instantly. She is incredibly empathetic to those in need around her, always ready to lend an ear and shouldering the burdens of others. She can be incredibly active; happy to go on long walks, camping, swimming, climbing (potentially) and generally open to wacky and wonderful activities such as indoor sky-diving.

Rachel's biggest flaw is that she has a tendency to leave her superwoman costume in the closet, happy to take the path of least resistance. With a little dusting of the costume she could achieve pretty much anything she could ever want. A little more confidence and faith in her abilities and she could have her own army of fans.

Ray’s Reaction: 

Hoo boy, there was a few emotions leaking from my eyes just then. Wow. I would be the first person to agree with everything in that first paragraph, there is no denying how much I love my sleep and if my tweets from the last year were used as evidence I’d be convicted of extreme procrastination in a heartbeat.
The second paragraph is what got me misty-eyed, I have never entertained the notion of me as some kind of superhero so having that said about me is incredibly moving although I have to work pretty damn hard to stifle that voice that seeks to deny every wonderful thing mentioned.
I’d like to try wearing that superwoman costume more often, I might just need a reminder every now and then that I still have it.

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I think all four of us learnt something about ourselves through this experience. How about you take the leap and ask how your loved one see you, too? If this is something you'd like to do, but feel nervous or don't know how to approach it, take a look at Danielle LaPorte's Ask-a-Friend Survey, and maybe send the questions on to someone who loves you. I hope you learn to see yourself in a better light, just like we did.

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Connection Through Snail Mail

I'm a strong believer in the importance of connection; of working on and nurturing the relationships we have. Nothing beats a face-to-face conversation; sitting down over a cuppa, catching up, and physically being there to offer a hug or a supportive squeeze of the hand. Actually being there, in person, with the people you love and who love you.

But let's face it, that's not always possible. We're busy people with busy lives, and some people might not live a bus ride away. There may be those friends from school we haven't seen since going to uni. Those friends from uni we haven't seen since moving after graduating. Friends from previous jobs we don't get to see so much of now we're working elsewhere. Seeing these people face-to-face can require not only time, but also money, and as someone who has been having some financial difficulties lately, I know it's just not always possible.

And so we rely on what we do have. We live in a fast paced, digital world where a message - whether through email, social media, or various messaging apps - can be sent within seconds. It doesn't require much thought, time or effort to send a message these days, and in my opinion, it leaves a lot to be desired. You're talking, but there's no real connection there. Maybe if you're using FaceTime of Skype. But what if you're not able to?

Laura wrote a few weeks back on her experience of not having access to the internet. What do you do then? Well, you could always make a phone call! It's not perfect, but at least you can make a connection when you're able to hear each other and discern tone and emotion. But it still relies on technology. What if you're mobile breaks, or you run out of minutes, or it gets stolen, or...? And you're one of those people who no longer has a landline, or work is being done on the telephone lines, so you can't use it anyway? No internet and no phone. How do you communicate then?

There is a way. It's relatively inexpensive, but kind of old school, so most people don't think of it anymore. Snail mail.

I'm passionate about snail mail. There's a lot to be said for handwriting someone a letter. Real connection can be made through intentionally taking the time out of your day - making time for this person - and showing them you're thinking of them by sending them a note the old fashioned way. It requires effort, it requires time, and I'm telling you, there's something magical in receiving a letter from someone knowing they set aside some time for you, that they put in the effort to write a letter, go and buy a stamp, and popping it in the postbox for you. Snail mail isn't just a way of nurting your relationships and fanning the flames of connection with the person you care about, snail mail is also a gift.

And you can also give this gift of time and effort in physical form to someone you hardly know. I also think there's something special about becoming penpals and getting to know someone through letters; building a friendship through the written word. There's an excitement to waiting for a reply, and devouring the words of this new friend with relish. And writing back - telling them more about you, answering their questions, catching them up on your life - is it's own kind of exquisite, knowing the person your letter is going to is interested, genuinely cares about what you have to say, and wants to read your words. There really is something uniquely magical about seeing and being seeing, creating that connection, through letters. It's wonderful, and it's also really beautiful.

So how about it? One day of the week, you set aside half an hour, an hour, two hours - depending on what you want to say - and handwriting a letter to someone you love. Maybe a relative - a grandparent, an aunt or uncle, a cousin? - or an old friend - someone from school, or uni, or a previous job? Need some ideas on what to write? Alexandra Franzen has a free workbook One Letter Today (scroll down just a little), with ideas on who to write to, and templates on what to say. Or perhaps you'd like to receive a letter? You might be in luck, as I'm open to letter requests from whoever wants one.

Breath life to connection one sheet of paper at a time.



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Wonderful Things

It’s been a tough couple of weeks since my last post. Without going into too much detail, I’ve had a lot of stress and sadness going on in my life this past fortnight at work, with my own health, and with some flat troubles too. It’s definitely taken it’s toll and more than a few times I ended up just curling into a ball in bed and wishing that it could all end.

But I’m not writing this post today to tell you all how awful my life is, because, despite everything going on, my life is everything but awful. And so today I want to tell you about five wonderful things that have kept me going and will continue to keep me going.


Supportive, Loving, and Amazing Friends
I owe my friends so much. Without them, I am not so certain I would be where I am today, or if I’d even be here today. Whenever I’m feeling lonely or sad or stressed or down, I know that there is someone that I can turn to. Someone who will give me words of advice, someone who will remind me how wonderful I am, someone who will make me laugh and someone who will simply just be there. I cannot put into words how grateful I am to every single one of my friends for helping to make life just that little bit easier.

My Rock
Metaphorically speaking anyway. My rock is my mum. She is the best person I know. She is the one I always go to when I have a problem or just have something that I need to talk about with. She always sits with me as we talk everything through analytically and logically until we come up with the perfect solution. She literally keeps me together. And she has been incredibly helpful these past few weeks too. I really cannot imagine going through life without her.

Books
It’s no surprise to see this one on the list, right? What with me being a book blogger and a library assistant. But books are just so wonderful. They can help you feel less alone. They can make you happier, and they can keep you in touch with your emotions too. Books can also help you make decisions and are just incredible for taking your mind off of things too. Reading is also really good for the brain. So you really just can’t go wrong with a book.

Television *cough*Netflix*cough*
Netflix has been my saviour lately. When I’m in a really low mood, I find it difficult to read. But I can switch the TV or computer on and dive into one of my favourite shows or find a good film to immerse myself in. The best thing about TV is that it doesn’t take a lot of concentration but it can stop me from thinking too much about other things. If it’s gripping enough, I forget everything but what’s happening on the screen. It’s the perfect way to relax and just ignore everything else.

Letting Myself Feel Sad
Now, this may seem like an odd thing to be on the list but it needs to be here because I never used to do it. Being sad always felt like a weakness to me and I would pretty much force myself to feel better without really looking into my emotions and why I felt the way I did. But now I allow myself to wallow. I allow myself to treat myself to small things to make me feel better (like coffee) but I also just allow the tears to flow. Because it’s good to let it out. And once it is out, you can just get up and move on. Work out the next logical step with a clear and level-head. It is quite wonderful.



So those are just a few of the things that have kept me going these past few weeks. I could also add chocolate and coffee to this list, and cats, and funny videos and twitter… but then the list would just get a little out of hand.

Don't forget to also check out Jess' post, here about how she self-cares her mental health!

What wonderful things keep you going?

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My Nan, My Hero

On Monday 4th April, it will be a year since my nan died. She had lung cancer, which she had fought and was told she had beat, and was in remission - only to be told about a month later that it had actually spread to her brain, and she had six months left. She was here for another nine. As I have recently talked about how hard it is to be without her already, I thought that I would instead talk to you about how she was - and is - my hero, my role model, and my inspiration.

People are multifaceted, complicated beings, and Nan was no different. The overall image I have always had of her is: my Nan, the party animal; strappy heels and low cut tops; perfume, lipstick and chewing gum; a dry martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Dancing, flirting, swearing like a trooper, and bragging that she could drink anyone under the table. She was a good ol' cockney bird; confident, fierce and wouldn't take any crap from anyone, and I was in awe her.

Nan was confident in how she didn't care what anyone thought of her. She lived very much by the saying, "If you've got it, flaunt it," and she definitely had it. People were drawn to her; she was always laughing, never taking herself too seriously, and would flirt with anyone. She was fierce in that she had a voice and she used it. If you wound her up, you would bloody know about it. She was assertive, and would stand up for herself and hold her ground, and defend whoever she felt needed and deserved to be defended. When I was younger, I always wanted to be just like her when I grew up; just as confident, just as fierce.

But there was another side to Nan; a gentler, softer side. Nan had a huge capacity to love. She had two daughters and four grandchildren, and you could never doubt how much she loved us. She would do anything for us, and at times, she did go above and beyond. But she loved far more than just us six. As a child minder and a foster carer, she opened her heart and home to countless children for around 20 years. I can't imagine what it was like to have these children come to live with her, get to know them and love them, and then say goodbye - over and over again. I remember her breaking her heart when one baby, Chloe, and, later another, Grace, had to move on.

But there are those who never did leave, those she has always considered family. One girl, Debbie, became a woman who Nan considered a daughter, who considered Nan her mum, whose children were Nan's grandchildren - who I now consider my aunt. Nan also stayed in touch with a family whose three children she child minded, one from when he was a baby right up until he finished school. They were also "hers", and they felt the same; I've heard one of the three talk about how she was raised by two strong women - her mother and my Nan. Besides those people, I don't think it's possible to count the number of children who have called Nan "Nannie" over the years; her actual grandchildren, Debbie's children, great-nieces and -nephews, and those who stayed with her for only a short while. She's touched more lives in her 70 years than most of us could hope to.

When it came to those she loved, Nan was generous and forgiving, more so than she would be to anyone outside her unconventional family who might hurt her. And she had, at times, been hurt. But with us, her capacity to love was matched by her capacity to forgive. And I sincerely hope I do and will always love as fiercely and as openly as she did.

At 00.19am on Saturday 4th April 2015, she passed away, surrounded by people she loved and who loved her. Her hands were held, and she was told how much she was loved. She was there, and then she wasn't. I will never forget that night.

The past year has been hard and painful, and I miss her more than I could ever explain. But I remember who she was: the woman who danced and laughed. The woman who wore self-confidence like a second skin. The woman who loved with her whole heart. The woman who changed lives. The woman who taught me so much, and who, without knowing, showed me the kind of person I wanted to be.

My nan was an amazing, incredible lady. And I want to be just like her.



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Grief in all its Sh*tty Splendour

By the time you are reading this post I will have been to my Grandpa’s funeral. I wasn’t sure how it would go but based off how I’ve felt since he died on the 13^th of February I thought I might get through it without turning into the sodden mess I was at my Uncle’s funeral in December. Oh yeah, this *is* my second funeral for a close relative in about two months, I’m more than ready to be done with death at this point. Like seriously, fuck off death.

You might be wondering where the hell I’m going with this after that opening – basically grief is a weird mess of feelings that after three family deaths in the last 5 years I still don’t fucking understand. Every time I’ve lost someone, I’ve felt so differently to the point that I don’t even know how I might react in the future. Not that I want to contemplate that right now. Not even a little bit.

Back in 2011 my Granddad died suddenly and I’ll be honest it fucking floored me. Hell it still bothers me from time to time and it’s nearly five years since it happened. At the time I took a rather odd method to dealing with things – I wrote a blog post about it (here) and since then I’ve had a dangerously morbid sense of humour when it comes to talking about the subject of death. By making awful and borderline inappropriate jokes I stave off the constant crying that might otherwise occur, while possibly at the same time making people think I’m slightly unhinged.

I was so angry and devastated for months after my Grandad died, it was such a sudden occurrence that we were all left reeling at the void that had opened up beneath us. Just processing that he wasn’t there anymore was impossible. I had the distinctly dubious luck to be present at the hospital when he passed along with the rest of my family so now I have a ghoulishly detailed memory of that god-awful Thursday night to haunt me for likely the next twenty years.

This is the version of my Grandad I want to remember. :D

With hindsight comes a few consolations. While I may rail bitterly against the knowledge that my Grandad never got to meet my boyfriend Mark (known to Twitter as Le Boyf), or that I’ll never be able to hear him sing at my wedding one day (goddamn just thinking about this makes me choke up), I have to remember that not long before he died my Grandad was diagnosed as being in the early stages of dementia. If he hadn’t gone when he did, he could have slid away from us bit by bit until he was less than a shadow of the vibrant man we loved. I now understand all too well that it was a very back-handed blessing that my family was spared that awful experience. At least that time.

My Uncle’s death in December was grossly unfair and heart-breaking, but it wasn’t a surprise – he had had a massive stroke in April 2014 and by some fucking miracle survived. Only for us to learn several weeks later that the blood clot had been caused by several brain tumours and that he likely only had 4-6 months left. Which obviously was a thorough kick in the spine once we were already on the floor. He was only in his mid-50’s and had already battled melanoma twice before, surely he’d had far more than his fair share?

The only two positive things that came from my Uncle’s diagnosis was that although he couldn’t really speak or use his right side due to the stroke, he was still unmistakeably the same man in his mind. The other positive thing was that the 4-6 months prognosis ended up being 18 months which I will never stop being grateful for. I’ll be honest now, the women in my family are more than a little high-strung and opinionated so it seems to be the trend that we gravitate towards very chill and easy-going guys who don’t mind living with our nonsense. My Uncle Peter was quite possibly the most laid-back person I’ve ever known and had a fantastically wicked sense of humour that he kept the entire time he was battling the cancer.

The last time I saw Peter was at a joint birthday party for me and my Grandma last October (we’ve always had joint parties since our birthdays are on the 7^th & 11^th). I didn’t see him again because his health started to deteriorate later that month and continued to worsen through November so both me and my sister were told that it was best if we didn’t see him like that. I do not regret that decision in the slightest.

The birthday party was held at my sister’s flat in Nottingham so from my house takes a 15 minute drive and a 30 minute tram journey to get there. When Mark & I walked onto the street where her building is, we were met with an odd sight. My cousin Jamie, my Aunt and my Uncle Arnold were cleaning the roof of my Aunt’s car in one of the parking spaces.

It turns out that as my Aunt was driving round Nottingham’s god-awful ring road she had to get round two cyclists who were hogging most of a lane. As they passed, my Uncle Pete thought it would be *hilarious* to stick two fingers up at the cyclists, using the one hand that still worked. Apparently the blokes weren’t too impressed by my Troll Uncle’s antics and when they were stopped next to the car at some traffic lights soon after, took it upon themselves to throw a carton of milkshake onto the roof, resulting in the mess that I saw them cleaning up.

My Aunt was beside herself and threatened to put mittens on Pete if he dared do it again. Pete being Pete, spent pretty much the entire afternoon flipping the V at us all every chance he got, grinning like a fiend as we howled with laughter. There is a picture from that afternoon which I will cherish forever because it so perfectly epitomises who my Uncle was and I’m so glad that it’s the last memory I have of him.

Auntie Michele & Uncle Pete

Losing him was such a heavy blow but at the same time, we knew he was no longer suffering and it would be callous to wish for him to still be here if it meant he was in prolonged agony. He could have died straight out from the stroke and we would have been left shell-shocked and bereft like we were after Grandad died. But we were astonishingly lucky to have been given the gift of 18 more months with him when we thought we had only a handful.

We had the time to say goodbye on our terms, time to fortify our hearts against the wave of grief that was looming on the horizon, to brace ourselves to weather the storm. We could hold onto each other until the surge subsided and then pick our way back to the shores of normality. I’m not sure if we’re in the clear yet. But one day we will be.

For my side of the family though the waves swept us out again in February. My Grandpa (I will always love how everybody seems to have different epithets for their maternal & paternal grandparents) died suddenly on the 13^th February but on this occasion I did not cry. In fact I only actually cried on Monday at the funeral right at the end when the final song started to play – Josh Groban has a lot to answer for. Before you really start to question my sanity I need to explain why this third death has affected me so differently.

My Grandpa had been ill for a long time. He was diagnosed with Vascular Dementia about a year or so after my Grandad died. I honestly believe that the shock of his death probably hastened the onset of my Grandpa’s illness. I don’t know how usual it is for both sets of grandparents to be friendly like mine were/are - for as long as I can remember my Gran & Grandad have got on really well with my Nan & Grandpa. We had them all at my parent’s house every Christmas and we even took them on holiday to Florida with us twice.

Grandpa Charles & Grandad Don (L+R) at Epcot

But over the last few years dementia slowly robbed my Grandpa of everything that made him who he was. I think it was sometime in 2012 or 2013 that I went to my Nan’s house for the first time in several weeks or maybe a couple of months and was so struck by how different he was even then that I started to cry. He was starting to hunch over and shuffle his feet as he moved and my Nan had to guide him back to the sofa.

That was the top of a long slope which Grandpa kept sliding down, becoming less and less able to function, more and more dependent on my Nan until she was unable to leave him alone for more than a few minutes without him getting agitated. For the last 9 months or so my Nan has effectively been house-bound caring for him up until the start of December when he finally had to be moved to a hospital as she was no longer able to look after him at home.

Like with my Uncle I hadn't seen my Grandpa in several months as my parents felt it would only upset me and my sister to see him how he was - unable to really move by himself and so far gone with Dementia and Alzheimer's (that little shit of an illness rocked up to the party eventually) that often he didn't recognise my Nan or my Dad and would be shouting and swearing at them. I didn't argue with my Mother about this, it was awful enough seeing him sitting vacantly on the sofa, barely aware of what was going on around him let alone seeing a complete stranger effing and blinding at his family.

I think that's a lot of why I'm not all that sad now. To my mind my Grandpa has been dead for a couple of years already - at least the essence of him has been gone for that long. The dementia was like a vicious sprite frolicking through his brain, gleefully shredding everything that made him the person I recognised as my Grandpa. All that we saw each day was the hollowed out shell left behind.

I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wished he'd died sooner. Seeing the increasing strain and distress that his worsening condition caused for my parents and my Nan, made me wish that he would just slip away that last little bit during the night so the awful drawn-out trauma could finally be over. Every day that he continued in that shade of an existence was another day of good memories that were stripped from the time Before. It's hard to remember now how he was before 2011 because the fucking Dementia has seared it all away, leaving me with only the memories of the man who was no longer my Grandpa.

That Saturday when we got the phone call from my Nan to say that he had died, I felt a numbness that shocked me as well as an even more disturbing sense of relief. Finally. The suffering was over for him at long fucking last and the rest of us could stop holding our breath. 

At the funeral there were so many people that some had to stand at either sides of the room. That was wonderful to see. My Grandpa was a very popular and well-liked man and I envy all those old friends and work colleagues their happy, untainted memories of him. I actually read a poem at the beginning of the service. When I agreed to do it my Mother was impressed but for me I didn't anticipate that I would be too upset to manage it. After the service everyone kept congratulating me on how well I had done with the reading and I honestly felt like a bit of a fraud for *not* having been more upset about it.

I don't think many people would quite get what I meant if I said that I wasn't sad because I'd already mourned the loss of my Grandpa over the months that he vanished before our eyes, so I kept nodding and thanking all the people I didn't know as they told me how brave I was. Brave is the last word I would have used for me on Monday.

The point that I think I'm trying to make is that Grief and Death are such intangible lethifold-esque beasts that you can never guess whether they'll sneak up on you and devour you whole, or whether they'll rip apart those you love and leave you standing in the remnants, too shell-shocked to feel anything. You never know what you'll feel until the feelings hit.

I hope this may have meant something to some of you, and that you found a nugget of happiness from the few happy moments I've shared. It's been incredibly hard to lay out all these thoughts so I do hope they make sense. 

Thank you so much for reading. 

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What Makes Me, Me - Jo

When Jess first asked us to write this introductory post, my mind went blank. If I had to write about Who Am I, it would have been much easier. I could talk about how I’m devoted to my friends and family; how I don’t take myself too seriously and will happily make a fool of myself for a laugh; how I am the kind of person who finds the most ridiculous, unfunny jokes absolutely hilarious; how I’m an avid reader of YA and fantasy; how I’m a writer, a dreamer, an optimist who is always full of hope. But that’s all kind of surface stuff, and doesn’t go very deep. What Makes Me, Me, though - that digs a whole lot deeper.

If you were to look at me, you would see a young redhead, probably in her late teens, who is very slim. You would probably make some unconscious judgements on me based on my slim frame. Like others, you might think I’m anorexic, or that I’m obsessed with being skinny and on some ridiculous diet.

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