Every Cloud

 

Shopping for the "Big C"

Having been diagnosed with head and neck cancer and with radiotherapy about to blast my hubby’s throat we embarked on our first supermarket shop knowing that he was eventually going to lose his taste, find it hard to swallow and on top of all that, the medication he would be taking would affect his regular visits to the loo.

We knew it would be a couple of weeks before all that kicked in, so we were also taking the advice of our dietician. She advised us that he needed to eat like it was Christmas every day and enjoy best butter, sweet treats, sugary drinks and as many fatty foods as he liked!

So off we went to discover aisles we had not ventured down since we joined slimming world nearly 10 years ago! Our trolley is usually full of fat free yogurts, semi skimmed milk and wholemeal breads. 

So, we strolled down the dairy aisle and added full fat milk, yogurt and best butter to our trolley. Then came the biscuits and cakes, the sweets and the snacks, the frozen ice creams, the ready meals and the pastries. Not forgetting the need to get those taste buds going and foods that would be easy to swallow, we added tangy haribo’s and tins of macaroni cheese and spaghetti, Oh and some prunes figs and dates to help with that “medication.”

With a trolley full of provisions that we had not bought for over 10 years we headed for the checkout, we smiled at each other and simply said “Every cloud….”

 

A Bit of Spit!

 

Big Cs and Little Cs

So, who remembers falling down as a kid and running to your grandma hoping for some TLC, only to watch her spit into a handkerchief and then apply the aforementioned spit onto your grazed knee or elbow stating, “that will cure you, now go on and play!”

When I was a kid that bit of “spit” was a cure for everything and trips to the GP were saved for bouts of appendicitis and broken bones! This has clearly carried through to my adult years. I rarely visit my GP, and my kids will confirm that they were sent to school no matter how much they protested to be ill!

Fast forward fifty years and I find myself sitting in a room with a consultant who calmy explained to my hubby that a recent biopsy showed signs of a secondary cancer in his lymph node and that he would have to undergo a series of tests and scans to find the primary source of the cancer. Once found then the treatment
would be invasive and brutal!

It was obvious that it was going to take more than a “bit of spit” to fix this one!

The consultant had used the word cancer. I looked towards my hubby, and I knew he had been overcome by that very loaded word. He had stopped taking things in as soon as the word came out of the consultant’s mouth. That’s the affect such a small word has on you. Once it is uttered nothing else is heard. Maybe that’s the reason it’s called the Big C.

The consultant calmly took us through the next stages and left us in the care of a little nurse who had sat quietly in the room with us, and I had hardly noticed her. She had been taking notes and I was to discover that this little nurse would be instrumental in our journey over the next few months.

The consultant had given us lots of information none of which had gone in. This was clearly a scenario that was played out every day in this consulting room but for us it was a first and the little nurse knew this. When my hubby asked

“What’s the prognosis? What happens now? Am I going to be, OK?”

It was the little nurse who answered, and it is her words that have stuck with me.

“You are absolutely going to be OK! You are in the best hands. The next 12 months are going to be tough, but we will get through this together!”

Now I am known for being a glass half full type of person and from that moment, I was positive. Even though he’d been told he could lose his tonsils and several teeth before the treatment started. Even though that he’d need a feeding tube fitted because he would find it difficult to swallow. Even though the consultant had painted a pretty dire picture of the next 12 months, I was positive!  

The only other time cancer had touched my life the prognosis was not so good. Mum was diagnosed with stage 4 terminal lung cancer yet even then I remember being positive. I spent many an hour with mum making light of the Big C. We compiled a list of all the little c’s that would kick the big c into touch.

 In mum’s case it was the cupboard full of creams to apply to parts of her body I’d never seen before, the chocolate and the crisps that she was now able to enjoy as putting on weight was no longer a problem, as well the commode and incontinence pads that now took pride of place in her bedroom. Of course, we also included the carers and the constant stream of visitors. Any mention of anything beginning with the letter c just made us smile.

 
So here I am again trying to make light of what I know is going to be a tough 12 months. I have started my list of little c’s that, when put together, will make that Big C small and surmountable.

As yet I haven’t shared this with my hubby as I know him well enough to realise that he’s not quite ready to make light of this, but it is helping me cope and keeping me smiling.

I started with a few positives as I remembered the day we cleared our calendars of work commitments, how I tried to be positive about the cooking that he wouldn’t have to do and cash we would save from his lack of drinking at the local tap! I used my old teacher skills to make a colour coded spreadsheet
to help us count down the days.

 As the weeks went on I added to my list the army of consultants and clinicians. The oncologists who all seem to be called Claire.

Claire the Dietician, Claire the Chemo Nurse and Claire the Dentist They just keep you positive without giving any false hope.  

Then there is the whole cancer community both online and in person who are there to offer a place to

chat and a place to cry. My list of little cs just kept growing.

Once his treatment started, we discovered the charity Firefly with their cheery cab drivers who pick you up and drop you off after your treatment

We have received cards from friends and daily text messages from people who just want to check in.   Family and friends made casseroles and cakes because they know that my hubby is the cook and that I prefer to enjoy coffee and a catch up with friends
Only last week my hubby was presented with a pair of crocs and a can of 0% Guinness.

Probably the most memorable little c was our Christmas party in October complete with Christmas tree, Christmas music, Christmas games and a cracking Christmas dinner because Christmas will definitely be different this year.

I smiled as I added cannulas, constipation and the constant CT scans 

We are 15 days into treatment and 5 months since we began our journey. Thanks to all the little c’s that surround us we are staying positive

I’m not sure I’ll ever get an award for carer of the year, but my cooking has improved and I’m sure you will be pleased to know that I haven’t once spit into a handkerchief and uttered the words

 “That will cure you!”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Lifetime Love of Little Boxes

Making Memories in a Box 

My family know that I never throw away a shoe box.  I use them to wrap up those difficult shaped gifts at birthdays and Christmas.  I keep all those tiny Sylvanian Family pieces in them, and I challenge any parent to deny that they have never needed a shoe box to complete that school project during half term holiday. 

Evidence of my shoe box collection can be found when you open the cupboard door of my craft room. There you will find floor to ceiling shoe boxes or similar shaped cardboard boxes full of keepsakes and photographs. Each box is carefully labelled and if I ever want a photograph to embarrass any family member then I know exactly where to find it.

Our loft is also full of boxes. These are mainly the square plastic type but they too all have a label, and they are all carefully organised. There’s one for Easter, One for Halloween, and several for Christmas! There’s a dressing up box, a box for all my hats and memory boxes for all my children. I’m sure you are getting the picture.

Just to be clear I don’t consider myself a hoarder just a keeper of the family memories that just happen to be in boxes!  Every so often I do go through the contents of the boxes and convince myself that there is no reason to keep every single birthday card I received when I was 16 or that painting that I did at school when I was 5 years old.  

I hope my children forgive me when the time comes for them to empty my loft because… guess what? Mum loved boxes too and there are no prizes for guessing where they are all kept now.

So, what is it about boxes? There’s something about a box that fascinates me. I see a box and I either want to buy it, paint it, play with it, or fill it full of stuff that apparently was special to me at some point in my life.

 A box just sets my imagination alight and for some reason fills me with joy and brings back lovely memories. We’ve all made a den from that big cardboard box and used a shoe box as a bed for a Barbie or an action man!

It seems that playing with a box is timeless. My dad used his dinky toy boxes to create a street when he was playing with his cars and just recently a huge box that once contained a fridge was a spaceship on Monday a boat on Tuesday and a place to hide the remote control on Wednesday!!

This week I have been looking through some of my boxes and I realised that once again fate has played its part in my life. If you've read any of my other blogs you will know that I am a big believer in fate or in coincidence, call it what you like.

On the morning that Harry was born, still and asleep, nearly 10 years ago my daughter Lauren was presented with a Memory Box from a charity we had never heard of called 4Louis. She has inherited my love of boxes  and she couldn’t wait to share her joy with me! Yes, the 4Louis box brought her joy at a time when her plans for the future had been shattered.

We opened the box together and we shared the love and attention that had gone into creating a box to make memories. Someone had been through a similar experience, and they had sent this box to help Lauren and her family get through the next few weeks.

She had something in which to keep her memories of Harry.  Although he never took a breath his box is full of memories of the day we met him and of the people he never got the chance to meet. There are photographs of his family. There are birthday cards, postcards, and poems. There are tiny baby clothes, wooden toys, and lots of stars. It’s not a sad box but a joyful box. A memory box for a little boy whom we only held for a moment but who changed our lives forever.

 
So, how apt is it that I am now a trustee of that charity. A charity that provides memory boxes for hospitals throughout the country to give to parents who have lost a child. A child whose memories will be days rather than years. I've been collecting boxes most of my life and I've always used them to store my memories. Now here I am working with a charity whose boxes give joy at a time when there is immeasurable sorrow. My love of boxes suddenly made sense.

Harry’s box sits with all the other boxes in my cupboard and a couple of times a year I get it out. October is Baby Loss Awareness Month so I will get out his box and remember the day he was born and the joy he brought to us all. I shall light a candle on 15^th October to remember Harry and all the other babies born still and asleep. I will be smiling and thanking him for introducing me to the 4Louis family and for confirming how a simple box can bring such joy.

 

Pebbles Pictures and Personal Messages

 

When Grief Returns

This week has been Mental Health Awareness Week so social media has been full of ways to manage our mental health. Now I have taken a step back from social media but someone sent me a personal message with a link to an interesting little article about grief.

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/av/stories-43227108

It explained how in the beginning, grief takes over your life and fills every part of it. The loss you have suffered is there when you wake up and is still there when you go to bed.  Then as time passes it may seem that the grief has gone away. You don’t cry as much you start to make plans you start to think that that you have gotten over your loss. Then a song is played, a memory appears on your social media account or you visit a place with special memories and there it is, all that grief comes flooding back. It may be years down the line. The grief hasn’t gone away its always there, but our life has expanded around it.   

Harry was born on 15th May, but it is 12th May that hits Lauren every year. That is the day she discovered that Harry had no heartbeat. Every year that is when the grief hits her. As a mum I know that, and I too remember that day in every detail as if I am watching it back on an old video tape. That is the day she needs more support or to left alone with her grief.

Today is that Day

A private message from Lauren simply says

 “I’m OK. I’ll let you know if I need you. Love you.” Followed by a blue heart and a blue car. I burst into tears and for a moment all my grief comes flooding back.

For me it’s the memory of that day and how helpless I felt as a mother watching her daughter suffer such distress. It’s the unanswered questions and the agonising realisation that my grandson was not going home to his nursery but Lauren was. How does she cope with that? Moreover, how does she manage for 2 whole days knowing that when she returns to the delivery suite it will be to deliver a little boy who will not fulfil any of the plans they had made as a family.

I deal with my grief by putting pen to paper or fingers to keyboard.

Every year I imagine Harry as a young lad and share all the experiences that we have enjoyed, and I imagine him being a part of it.

This year he would hit 9. He has 4 siblings and one cousin. We often wonder if any of those little people would be here if Harry had lived. Maybe that’s his legacy.

Harry is talked about. His picture is present in every family home, and he will always be Laurens eldest son. The next few days will be filled with grief and memories but there will also be family gathering balloons and quiet reflection.

I have just returned from a lovely couple of days with my sisters in a cabin on the Norfolk Broads. There was no TV and limited internet just a blue tooth speaker and good company. We played the songs of our childhood and danced like no one was looking! How appropriate that we should choose the first few days of Mental Health Awareness Week to be together and count our blessings. We have all suffered loss recently and we talked about our parents our pets and our friends. We remembered them all as we walked on the beach and made pictures from pebbles and seaweed!

 I’m pretty sure our kids think we are all a bit mad at the moment but one day I hope they too will enjoy the simple pleasures of a walk on the beach making pictures from rocks and spotting images in the sky when they are in their 60s!

    

Wheelchairs and Water Tablets

Tips for Travelling with an Ageing Parent

When I first suggested to my hubby that it would be nice to take Dad to Fuertaventura I’m not sure I was really thinking about the practicalities of getting him here. I was more focussed on the holiday rather than the journey. So for any of you thinking of venturing on an aeroplane with your ageing father  here are a few of the things I have learned.
First of all if your elderly father  is on water tablets it’s best not to take one on the morning of your journey. We travelled about an hour to East Midlands airport and stopped at every service station on the way. I had no idea there were 4 services stations and I also had no idea that nearly every disabled toilet needed a Radar key! In fact I had no idea what a Radar key was until this journey!

Apparently it’s a key you can buy that will unlock most disabled toilets. Well, being new to this disabled toilet stuff we don’t have a key. I soon discovered that the keys are kept at the coffee shop that you hurtle past on your rush to find the loo and that that coffee shop happens to be furthest away from the aforementioned toilet.

It is advisable to take your own wheelchair, you know the one that folds flat and fits in the boot.
Just be aware that that folding wheelchair takes up all the space in the boot and so you have to travel in the back seat with every other piece of luggage you are taking whilst your ageing father stretches out to enjoy the journey

                                                                                     ( in between toilet stops)
It’s also worth saying that after the third toilet stop and a father with a weak bladder the wheelchair needs to be sturdy enough to be thrown back in the boot with a certain amount of force as your patience may start wearing a bit thin!

Some of you may remember dad’s jacket. You know the one with the inside pocket that sticks every time he tries to unzip it! Well that jacket pocket now houses his money, his lip balm, his tooth picks and his handkerchief. Despite having several pockets he still uses the one that sticks and all of the above items are stored in that one pocket. 
Having used the facilities Dad needs to check he has all his belongings and refuses to sit in his wheelchair until he has checked that all of the aforementioned are safe in the pocket.
Imagine doing this 5 times after every toilet stop knowing that check in is getting very close to closing!

Talking of check in do not be fooled into thinking that priority check in and special assistance make checking in any easier or faster with Ryanair! Apart from rushing him to the loo half way through check in he was given a full body search as we passed through security and his wheelchair was scanned twice! 

I’m not sure his comment to the security guard assuring them he wasn’t carrying anything illegal helped!
Dad also carries a stick so I would recommend having some kind of attachment to the wrist for a stick as we had to go back to 3 toilets to retrieve his stick as he was too busy checking his bloody pocket!

Once through security you will have no time to browse the duty free or enjoy a beer as you will have to race to the gate so that you can be first on and last off a plane which may be delayed if your dad decides to use the on board facilities just before the plane is about to take off.

Whilst on the flight it may be worth quietly reminding your ageing father that you are travelling Ryanair economy so the wine will be warm and cheap and gently whisper in his ear that the young hostess is not fluent in the Barnsley accent and doesn’t understand his attempt at a chat up line.
“ Thas got a luvly pair o' legs lass”

You may need to practice that apologetic smile to the lady in front every time your father swings on her seat to help him get up out of his seat to use the facilities and 
 remind him to be patient as you wait for assistance to help us off the plane to a waiting wheelchair.
To say the journey was stressful would be an understatement. To say I have been on a huge learning curve is the most positive way I can describe getting here. 
I have a week to prepare for the journey home. I predict a couple more blogs and lots of alcohol along the way.
Wish me luck!

Old Friends and Photographs

Missing the Man in the Mirror 

My sister shared a photo of Dad recently and just commented, "Missing this man"

I smiled at the image and replied "Me too"

Its been a few weeks since we said our final goodbyes to Dad and although I have not shed tears every day I have missed him every day. 

When I retired 6 years ago, Dad became a huge part of my weekly routine. Monday we did his shopping and collected his prescription. Tuesday we organised a visit to the pub. Wednesday was cleaning and foot soaking day and Thursday was the sing a long at the local pub.. Friday he went for a pint with Uncle Colin and I ordered his taxi and Saturday was a day off with Sunday being a carvery or a meal out at another local pub.

In between there were hospital visits, chiropodist appointments and visits to the local barbers! I have a file full of Dad’s hospital appointments and another one full of his chequebooks. 

On Tuesday 24th August 2021 at 12.05am all that stopped!  

My routine would no longer include Dad and I hadn’t realised in that moment how much I was going to miss him.

We are all guilty of getting annoyed and frustrated at our elderly parents and I am no exception. Ironically it is those annoying little habits that I am now missing the most.

The way he tested the door 4 times after it was locked. The way he picked out the bits of strawberry in his strawberry trifle, the little whistle he made when he was getting bored with your conversation. His insistence on having Gammon Steak for a meal then spending the next 20 minutes using a toothpick to dislodge all those bits stuck in the gaps of his teeth! The way he washed his fingers rather than his hands and his fascination with the words on the beer mat. 

I miss the guy that placed beer mats over his pint pot, smiled at his reflection in the mirror and never went anywhere without lip balm and a toothpick. I miss the guy who never carried a wallet or paid for anything with loose change, instead he saved all his copper and silver coins in a box for when the grandkids went on holiday!

I miss the man who was always cold and hated flies. I miss cups of tea and crossword puzzles and reading the obituary page in the Barnsley Chronicle. 
I miss his selective hearing and his chat up lines. I miss his continual desire to get on an aeroplane and travel somewhere hot, not forgetting his need for the toilet just before getting on a plane, train or automobile.
I miss the guy who always stayed in the background supporting those he loved and cared about. I miss the guy who was a man of principle and strong opinions. This no doubt lost him some friends and most certainly lost him access to a few pubs in the village but it most definitely gained him respect amongst his work colleagues and his friends.

On the day of his funeral the church was full. This was an indication to me of how much he was loved and respected and how many other people were going to miss him.

 I had the privilege of  being  able to stand at the front of the church with my two sisters and read his eulogy. I called it Dad’s Dash or The Measure of the Man. The dash referred to the small dash on the headstone between birth and death. Although the dash is small it represents a whole life. As I was reading the eulogy I tried to take a mental picture of all those who had taken the time to come to church to remember Dad. 

There were old friends, relatives, carers, neighbours and drinking pals. 
But there were two guys sitting near the front of the church that I couldn't quite place. They followed us to the graveside and took one of the roses we offered and smiled as they placed the rose into the ground. I heard one of them say,
“There you go Gebber! See you on the other side!”
Later at the pub they came to find us holding three photographs of Dad as a young man. They were keen to add to Dad’s Dash! 

They introduced themselves as old friends and talked fondly of the young man they knew as “Gebber” A school friend and a work colleague. A guy who gave most of his wage to his mother but who saved up for a car and then took all his mates to the seaside for a day trip. They said he always said he wanted a big car and they were pleased to learn that he treated himself to a Bentley. They didn't realise he became a councillor or a JP but remarked that he was always someone who spoke his mind so it didn't surprise them.

They picked him out in the old photographs and they remembered the young man who played football for the youth club and who played the bugle in the boys brigade. 
They lost touch with him when he married mum. Apparently word on the street was that he’d met quite a catch with a ready-made family and they were sorry that they never met mum. Ironically they read the Barnsley Chronicle and that's how they had learned that he had died! They had come to the church together to remember their friend 50 yrs. after losing touch! 

That was the measure of the man. 
Once met…. always remembered and missed by many for lots of different reasons. 

We celebrated Dad’s birthday recently. He would have been 82. He wasn't with us in person but he was certainly with us in spirit. We went to his local pub. Drank his favourite beer and talked about him all night. We even read beer mats and took toothpicks!

Dad will be missed and I have no doubt that there will be many moments of sadness as we come to terms with our loss. However I also know that there will memories that make us laugh and most of those will include his quirky ways and his annoying little habits.
If you have an elderly relative or friend who is driving you mad with their quirky little ways, rest assured that in time those odd little habits will be the things that make you smile so treasure them and remember them and add them to your "Dash." 

Our Missing Piece

Seeing the Space or Appreciating the Picture

I once hid a small piece of my hubby’s jigsaw and watched for weeks as he put the pieces together. With just a few pieces left he slowly realised there was a piece missing. All that planning and sorting to create the perfect picture was ruined because of that one missing piece. 

He was annoyed, angry, upset, frustrated. All of those emotions, all at the same time. So I encouraged him to go to make a drink and to come back to the jigsaw later. Meanwhile I placed my hidden piece where it belonged. 

When he returned and the jigsaw was complete all those emotions were replaced with a feeling of fulfilment, pride and relief. His picture was complete and he felt good. Of course he wasn't best pleased with me but that soon passed!

Imagine if that missing piece was a family member who was always going to be missing. I don't think you ever stop looking for the missing piece because the picture just isn’t the same without it.

It got me thinking that maybe, how you view a jigsaw with a missing piece, is a bit like how you cope with loss. At first that missing piece is so huge and so noticeable that the picture becomes a blur and all you see is the gap. Over time that piece may not be as noticeable and you begin to look at the picture you have created despite there being a gap and you begin to appreciate its beauty.

This is how I see grief. Some days it seems that the picture you have created without the piece is ok but then other days the space in the picture is so noticeable and so huge that you can see nothing but the void. 

Our grandson Harry is our missing jigsaw piece. 8 years ago he was born still and asleep and this weekend we will be celebrating his birthday. At this time of year the missing piece in our family jigsaw is much more apparent.

There I am, living my life enjoying the small pleasures and feeling blessed then, WHAM, that missing piece just stares me in the face and my anger and frustration at losing that important part of my jigsaw rise to the surface again.

As we approach Harry’s birthday I find myself distracted as I entertain my grandkids at the local park. For some reason the park seemed full of young lads who could have been Harry’s age. Which one would Harry choose as a friend? 

Would it be the young lad playing football or the one on the zip wire? Would he be happy to build sandcastles in the sandpit with his younger siblings or would he be hooked up on some electronic game on his mobile phone?

Or is he still that little lad I met 8 years ago snuggled up in the pushchair wearing his stripey blue hat with his blue kangaroo?

Harry changed the way our family jigsaw looked. One of my hobbies is creating collages from photographs. Sometimes when I am putting together a collection of family photographs there is a space that just needs filling but none of my photographs fit. That's where I place an image of a robin or a rainbow and hey presto the picture looks complete. It’s my attempt to fill the gap and complete the jigsaw and include all of my grandchildren.

A very dear friend recently painted me a picture from a photograph I had taken of my grandchildren. She knows from experience that no matter how beautiful and well composed the image there is always a gap where your loved one should be.  She managed to fill that gap in my photograph by including Harry’s little blue car tucked inside his cousin’s pocket. Only someone who has a missing piece of his or her family Jigsaw could do something so special. 

4Louis have taken the idea of a jigsaw and created a corridor full of jigsaw pieces Every piece on their wall is a missing piece in someone’s family and those families are all connected by 4Louis. We are all connected by love and loss. Harry is up there and I thank 4Louis for finding a place for our missing piece on their wall of remembrance. He fits in perfectly.

So the next time you are doing a jigsaw and you find there is a piece missing try to focus on the big picture rather than the space. Be assured that the missing piece is somewhere close and you will find it in a place you never expect at a time you weren’t expecting. The feather that falls, the song that plays, the bird that sings. Gentle reminders that its ok to notice the space and be sad but also a little signal to appreciate the other 999 pieces of your jigsaw which in fact have created a beautiful image.

Happy Birthday Harry. 

15 05 2013

Cowboy Hats and Wedding Hats.

 Why Hats Make Me Happy!

Hats have always been a part of my life. I suppose they represent all the happy memories I have as a child and into adulthood. They make me smile. I have hundreds of photographs and the one’s where I’m wearing a hat, bring back such happy memories.

It started with a cowboy hat. I was a bit of a tomboy and on a holiday at Beacholme in Cleethorpes my Uncle Bri bought a cowboy hat and I wore it all week. Uncle Bri never saw it again!

Then there was the Easter Bonnet parade at the local working men’s club. We spent days making our bonnets before parading them in front of all the adults on a Sunday afternoon.

Whitsuntide and the Whit Sunday Walk always involved a new hat and Christmas was all about party hats and funny hats. 

Family weddings were huge hat occasions.  They were more about the hat than the outfit. 

So it seems that hats are in my blood! They take me to my happy place.

Mum had a collection of wedding hats. She bought a new one for every family wedding and I had 18 cousins so there were lots of weddings! Mum  never gave them away and a couple of years after she died we found them and organised  a photoshoot. Once again hats were making me smile.

I could mention that my favourite book is “The Cat in the Hat” and that as a teenager one of the first albums I bought was “Stardust” by David Essex and I played Hats off to Larry by Del Shannon on repeat for months much to the dismay of my older sister who was into Bay City Rollers!

Into adulthood I have a fascination with hats. I have a habit of taking random pictures of complete strangers wearing funny hats and I can’t resist trying on every hat in the local vintage charity shop. My friends and family cringe when we go near a hat shop because not only do I insist on trying them all on I make them join in too.

I even took dozens of hats on a day trip to Ilkley just in case we got the chance to sing that old classic “On Ilkley Moor Bart Hat”

I had no idea growing up that my love of hats would one day lead me the Brain Tumour Charity and “Wear a Hat Day” I had no idea that my growing collection of hats would support my good friends who tragically lost their son to a brain tumour in 2018. He was 28 years old. He was the same age as my daughter and he had his whole life ahead of him.

Now I have never lost a child but I have spoken to mums who have lost children. I have listened as mums talk of losing their baby in early pregnancy and mums who deliver their baby still and asleep. One of the things that upsets them more than anything is that they never got the chance to see them grow up. 

Well Imagine losing your child at 28.  You have seen them grow up. You have kept them safe as a child and watched proudly as they grow into young adults. They leave university with honours, pass their driving test, travel the world. You stand back with pride as they begin to make plans to settle down and buy their own home and maybe one day have a family. 

Then cancer strikes and it is not only your hopes and dreams as a mum that are shattered but also those of your son! For me that is a double loss! 

I am blessed. I have not had to endure this pain but I have friends who have. I have listened as they have tried to explain their grief and there is no explanation. They are angry as well as upset but the only thing they can do is raise awareness and funds to support other families who have to deal with the horrors that a brain tumour brings. 

Supporting “Wear a Hat Day” is my way of supporting my friends as well as my reason for keeping all my hats!

My mum always reckoned that some things happen for a reason. Well I have no idea what reason there could ever be to lose a child but it seems that the reason I have always loved hats is to bring a smile to those close to me when they need it the most. Thanks mum for your wisdom and for love of hats which I have obviously inherited from you and my nan.

A Limited Lifestyle

The Man in the Mirror

I dug out my old journals recently in response to a comment that a friend made about my dad. He is often a topic of conversation and all my friends ask how he's doing especially during lockdown.

My usual response is,

“He’s doing ok” followed by “He’s just old and frail”  

On this particular occasion my friend commented that Id been saying that for years and we started talking about how old age creeps up on you.So when I got home I started looking back through my journals to help me pinpoint when exactly did my dad become old and frail. It occurred to me that I was in danger of forgetting the man my Dad was and he would be remembered as an old and frail guy rather than a man who was once quite popular and occasionally funny!

10 years ago Dad was a relatively healthy 70 year old. He was also someone with some authority.  He was a local councillor, a JP and being an official at the pit he was well respected in the community. Then he had a stroke. Within a year he had recovered but by the end of that year he had lost my mum. His life had changed but Dad carried on refusing to let his stroke and his loneliness deter his plans. He loved travelling and he loved cars. So he travelled to Belgium and America every year to visit my sisters and at 75 he bought himself a Bentley just because he could! 

I still hadn't figured out at what point Dad had become old and frail. After his stroke he started using a stick but we always reckoned it was for the sympathy vote rather than to help with his balance.  The more I looked the more I realised that its only in the last 5 yrs that dad has gotten old! That said Dad has never really accepted old age. He doesn't see himself as old even though he knows he is. 

Even after breaking his leg in 2016 and his arm in 2019 he has refused to succumb to my description of being old and frail. He still asks young ladies for their phone number and every time he sees himself in the mirror he giggles as if he thinks his reflection an optical illusion. 

Every obstacle that is thrown in his way he has taken head on and never changed his lifestyle or his determination to continue. 

• His sight deteriorated but he refused to stop driving until his license was taken away. 

• He broke his leg and his mobility deteriorated but he still found a way to visit the pub for a few pints of John Smiths. 

• He broke his arm but he learned to manoeuvre a walking frame into a taxi and found a new pub that looked after him.

I am guilty of being frustrated with him at not accepting his limitations. He never stops talking about getting on an aeroplane again and he wants us all to go away on a family holiday. He has worked out that he probably can’t travel alone anymore so if we book a family holiday he can still get on that aeroplane! He may be old and frail but he still has all his marbles!

Living with Covid over the last 10 months has given me a bit of an insight into the frustration of living with limitations. Just as I am trying to find ways of overcoming the limitations of Covid, dad is trying to find ways of overcoming the limitations of old age. 

Covid is limiting my travel.  Covid is limiting my social life. Covid is limiting my lifestyle but it is old age that is limiting all of these for my dad.

Covid will eventually pass and all being well my lifestyle will improve and I will be able to travel and mix and not be restricted. For dad, when Covid eases his life will be just as restricted. Imagine that! A lifetime of Covid restrictions!

There’s no wonder dad keeps planning. If I thought that I would never get on an aeroplane again or enjoy the company of my friends and family and be confined to my own four walls I think I would be a little sad and more than a little frustrated.

Thing is, dad smiles a lot he doesn’t seem sad or angry He doesn't complain too much and he is very compliant. He is reluctant to talk about the “old days” and he chooses to sit quietly and read the paper. 

The people who meet him today see an old guy who struggles to walk. They know very little of the life he has experienced because he chooses not to talk about it. If they had met him 10yrs ago they would have seen a very different guy. The same guy that dad sees in the mirror. On occasion he can be persuaded to remember past holidays and there are glimpses of the husband and father who loved to travel. You see Dad still has places he wants to go and people he wants to see. He doesn't want to talk about the adventures he has had, he wants to experience new ones. So he keeps planning!

Just recently dad fell and fractured his arm again. He spent a couple of weeks in hospital and even though we thought it would be better for Dad if he left hospital to go into a respite care home he had other ideas.

"Those places are for old people." he told me. "And they don't serve John Smiths!" How could I argue with that!

He is home now and rarely leaves his chair. He may need help getting dressed and support as he walks to the toilet but he is in no doubt that he is independent enough to stay in his own home. At first we were a little bit angry with his refusal of full time care. We couldn't understand why he wouldn't want a cooked breakfast every morning. Why the lure of a home cooked meal at lunch time and as many cups of tea with biscuits as he wanted just wasn't appealing to him. He couldn't explain to us either he just kept saying "I'd sooner stop here"

He's been home a week now and I have visited him most days. I sit with  him and watch him smile as the neighbours walk by. He studies the TV pages and he circles the programmes he wants to enjoy on TV. Most days I help him with the crossword.

It was as I was helping him with the crossword that I had one of those lightbulb moments. I suddenly understood his reluctance to enjoy the comforts of a respite care home. The clue was "Place for elderly people to go for rest" (6,7) Quick as a flash he said "Canary Islands" 

There was the guy that dad saw in the mirror. The traveller , the driver, the regular at the local pub. He does not see a man who will play cards or dominoes with a group of elderly people. He does not see a man who would have a go at armchair aerobics or arts and crafts whilst drinking cups of tea. The man he sees will always be capable of  getting on an aeroplane  and will always look forward to the day he can enjoy a pint of John Smiths.

I laugh at his answer to the crossword clue and ask

"Does it fit Dad?" 

"We'll make it fit, have we?" was his very clever reply!

Dad is learning to live with his limitations but he will never accept them any more than we can accept that the Covid restrictions are here to stay! Maybe thats not such a bad way of looking at both Covid and Old age it can only restrict you if you let it!

You may be wondering about the crossword clue. Well I figured it out. The answer was "Senior Respite". If Dad had agreed to the correct answer then the rest of the crossword would have been a whole lot easier. But as you may have gathered Dad is not really bothered about making things easy whether it seems like the perfect fit or not. So we left it blank for Dad to think about another day.  

 Theres a message in that somewhere! 

January Blues in a Global Pandemic

Blue Monday 2021

As I met my friend for a walk this morning 

I heard on the radio that today is known as Blue Monday.
It's the third Monday of January and is supposed to be the saddest day of the year due to a combination of bad weather long nights and lingering aftermath of the festive glut!
Add into that 10 months of Covid 19 and a National Lockdown as well as no chance of a coffee at the end of the walk and  Blue Monday took on a whole new meaning!
 As I walked with my friend at a safe 2 metre distance, less than 5 miles from home we talked about how we felt and if it was anything to do with Blue Monday.

Interestingly we were both feeling a little fed up. We both celebrated our  60th birthday in 2020 and somehow our own mortality has hit us as we realise that we could be considered as old!!!
We have been offered a free flu vaccine, we have both been called for a mammogram as well as being sent a little mascara brush to submit our bowel cancer-screening test! No wonder we are feeling fed up. 

We know we are not old but we both know that we should be making the most of these years and its annoying us that we are being denied what we had planned. We both understood the importance of the lockdown and the restrictions and we both agreed that we were lucky to be fit and healthy and not to have lost anyone through covid.          

That said, we are both tired of listening to pundits advise us on how to lighten our mood. Enjoy your natural surroundings, take time to read that novel, learn a new skill! Write down 3 things to be grateful for every day and read them back at the end of the week!!! We smiled as we both held up two fingers to these positive ideas because we are weary of them.

We did all that in March were fed up of it now  and Im sure we are not the only ones.

We talked about what we missed and we were in agreement it was the spontaneity of life. The freedom to shop in comfort without avoiding others and trying to speak to cashiers through a damn mask. The joy of booking a short break and being able to drive more than 5 miles without being pulled over by the police. 

We know we are lucky and no one is dropping bombs on us but we would really like to book that theatre trip in the knowledge that its not going to be cancelled. Or maybe book a city break or a country retreat and enjoy our retirement.

After my walk I met a friend from Slimming world outside the local post office. It was so lovely to see her and chat. We both miss the social side of the group and the banter that we enjoyed every Wednesday. We were both struggling to be self disciplined at a time when little chocolate treats and a glass of wine lift our mood. I had a video call from my sisters and once again we talked about the difficulty of self motivation and how we just wanted to stay in our comfies and do nothing but for some reason we don't allow ourselves to that. 
We try to keep busy. Clear out a cupboard, sort out the paperwork, finish that project you started before xmas.
We are lucky enough not to work and we can stay home and not have to juggle work kids and family. It occurred to me that every age group have their difficulties during this pandemic.

My daughters say how last lockdown it was fun and school work wasn't as
planned and organised as it now with virtual classrooms and on line learning.
They are feeling a whole different kind of Covid Stress. School learning platforms allow parents to share work that they have completed with their kids. 

There is a whole new level of expectation and feeling of failure if the work they are producing at home seems less than others in the class. But others may all have access to lap tops and not have a baby at home or a toddler that is being potty trained. They may not have a 4 year old who needs attention whilst on an important zoom call.

Then there are the young adults. The teenagers who can’t meet their friends, those in their 20s who are missing out on a university life or have been furloughed from their new job.

Those who are in their 70s and 80s who are increasingly worried about the virus and those who are front line workers who are in contact with people every day.

We are all fed up. Yes we are grateful, yes we know it will pass and yes we know others are in a worse situation than us but we are just fed up!
 I just want to say that on Blue Monday I allowed myself to feel sorry for myself. I sat and pondered all the things I miss and I voiced my frustration to those close to me. 
I am a glass half full type of person so having done all that and put two fingers up to all those psychologist who are full of happy thoughts I poured myself a G& T and danced around to Blue Monday by New Order as it played on the turntable which my hubby bought for Christmas.
Playing Vinyls is his way of keeping happy but I’m not sure he appreciates the 70s dance moves that I insist on doing to his 80’s classics.
So on Blue Monday 2021 I had a bit of a blip but I’m sure that with the real conversations with friends and family as well as a few G&Ts I will be back on form soon.

                                                       

Stay safe guys and remember its OK not to be OK.

WHEN THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS

Coping with Covid

On a rainy Sunday afternoon I find myself watching re runs of Antiques Road Trip. As the celebrities parted company, having made no money at the auction they gave themselves a huge hug. In that moment I felt so envious. I miss hugging my friends and my family. I miss that spontaneity. I'm sure I am one of many, who, after more than 6 months of keeping my distance, I just crave a real hug. Back in March I never expected that I would miss a simple hug so much.

It's made me reflect on that word "expect" and made me think about what happens when our expectations are not met.

Sometimes things happen that you never expect.

• When your daughter is pregnant with her second child you never expect that she will not bring your grandchild home.
• When your son reaches their 20s you never expect them to diagnosed with a terminal brain tumour.
• When your friend beats cancer twice you never expect it to return and get the better of them at the third attempt.

When the unexpected happens your world shifts. Back in 2013 when Lauren lost Harry my world shifted. It took me on a path that I never expected and it led me to the charity 4Louis.

When my friends lost their son through a brain tumour their path took them to Cancer Research and Rotherham Hospice. These charities supported us and guided us through the abyss that engulfed our world. We thought there was no way out but with their help we found our way. 

I actually think that Covid has shifted our world. A world where most of us felt safe and secure. We are all experiencing a type of loss. Not as severe as losing a child through stillbirth or brain tumour or losing a friend through cancer but a loss of we took for granted. That hug, that coffee with a friend that trip to the coast. I think that I am coping with Covid better than some because I have had to cope with the unexpected. I believe those who have suffered a huge loss and who have been touched by the unexpected are maybe a little more prepared for the impact that Covid is having on our everyday lives. 

It is those people who have had to live through the things you wouldn't expect that are my inspiration.

So this month I shall be raising awareness and possibly funds for the charities that have guided me and my friends through the most difficult and unexpected of times.

On Thursday 15 October I shall be lighting a candle to remember my grandson Harry in support of Baby Loss Awareness Week and in support of 4Louis. They have been there for hospitals and families throughout this pandemic and continue to support me and my family seven years after we lost our grandson.

On 1st November I will be "Walking for Luke" to raise awareness for Brain Tumour Research and to support my wonderful friends who lost their beautiful son at just 28 yrs of age. 

As I light my candle for Harry and as I walk the streets of Swinton (via various local pubs) for Luke I will not be expecting to raise loads of money but what I do hope is that we raise some awareness of the work these charities do to support the loss of a loved one.

I will be posting on social media and if I do manage to raise any funds via the donate button then that will be a bonus.

Meanwhile I expect to be hugging all of you sometime in 2021 when I expect to be throwing a party to celebrate the end of social distancing. If you have ever been to one of our parties then you know what to expect. If you have never experienced a party at the Abbott's then raise your expectations and gey your dancing shoes on.

Stay safe my friends.

Childhood Chores and a Coronavirus St George

Thankfully I am not displaying any symptoms of Covid-19, however I have developed some unusual habits!! One of these is to keep my house clean! Normally I’ll just give it a quick dust and hoover a couple of times a week, but these days of isolation have made me realise that… guess what?

Dust settles every day and because I am in the house I am noticing all those areas I’ve neglected since I retired. Well actually I’ve neglected them all my adult life.

I am discovering dust and grime in areas of my house that I have ignored for years!! I put it down to being scarred as a child.

When I was a girl and mum worked, we used to do chores. My job was to do the paintwork and clean the skirting boards. I never questioned it then but boy did I question it when I got older. Life was far too short to clean skirting boards but for some reason Covid-19 has taken me back to my childhood and once again I find myself cleaning skirting boards!

That's how on a sunny Thursday morning I am on my hands and knees in my bedroom with the radio playing and I am cleaning the skirting board!!!!

I am singing along with Michael Ball and Captain Tom.

“Walk On Walk On

With Hope in your Heart

And you’ll never walk alone

You’ll never walk alone

 Walk On Walk On”

It's the Coronavirus Song that has taken the country by storm.

When the song finishes a little man starts talking about heroes and legends and I am reminded that it’s St George’s Day.

Of course I knew it was St George’s Day. I had been thinking back to my childhood as I scrubbed those damned skirting boards.

 Mum always told us that we had our very own St George and that he would look after us where ever we were and whatever path we chose.

I remember reading about the legend of St George and finding out that the Patron Saint of our little country tamed a dragon and slayed it because the dragon was asking for human sacrifices.

How that legend rings true in a world battling with Coronavirus.

There are lots of St Georges working today to slay the dragon that is 

Covid-19.  Every day in the news we hear stories of people who are going above and beyond to save the lives of people in hospital and to save our NHS. Communities that are coming together and businesses that are diversifying to fight this terrible dragon that is attacking our way of life.

Then I realise that I don't have to look far to find a hero or a saint. They are very close to home.

There’s the one who sends colouring books from America to families who are who struggling to home school.

The one who delivers food to local residents because he can’t go out to work.

There’s the one who visits my dad every day to make sure he has a home cooked meal, and the one who queues in the supermarket to shop for those who are self isolated then pops a bottle of fizz to a sibling just to cheer them up.

Not forgetting the one who pops a little bit of money in your bank account because they know it will help pay for the Disney channel for the little ones!

There’s the one making bags for NHS staff to pop in their PPE after a shift at work and the one who is making head bands for nurses at the local hospital.

I especially appreciate the one who forwards a funny you tube clip to put a smile on your face just when you need it.

The one that sets up a zoom meeting and a group quiz because we can’t meet for coffee and cake.

The one who uses the power of social media to raise funds for charities close to my heart.

Not forgetting the ones who set up chat rooms and share pictures of the grandkids I can’t hug and play with.

I realise am surrounded by saints! They are of course my family and my friends who are keeping me smiling and supporting those I love.

Our family is special and those who we meet are welcomed into it and share in our highs and lows. I know that my very own St George and his Sylvia are the reason that I am surrounded by saints.

So on this special St Georges Day I will make the most of the sunshine and raise a glass to all those saints out there and look forward to the day when I can get out of the bloody house and give them all a hug and stop cleaning my dirty skirting boards!!!

Happy Saint George’s Day

April 23^rd 2020.