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Misogyny, Scandal and Roses: Venice Pt 3
Friday arrived, and as predicted, after two long days on my feet, getting up silly early, however much I wanted to get to Rialto Market early doors, wasn’t going to happen. Today was a big day: not only were we moving house – so carrying all our belongings with us all day – but we…
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Clinomania and too many people under the same sky: Venice Pt 2
Thursday morning, and we both struggled to wake up. Unsurprising under the circumstances. Also unsurprising if you know us. This is actually only the fourth time we have ever met… yes, really! Cleo and my friendship is one of the beautiful things that came out of lockdown. We both attended online peer support meetings with…
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Venice, Anxiety and Angels: Venice Pt 1
So, after a two-year hiatus from this blog, I’m back! And I’m doing it in spades, at least that’s the plan… In 2017, I set up my website after winning a grant to spend time studying visual art. The only stipulation was that I blogged about it. I sat in this very same spot I…
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Deafening silence and wiggling ears
One’s – mine at least – instinct is to think that the empty nest will be painfully quiet. No more desperate chicks calling incessantly for food. Jostling for space and attention. Ruffling their feathers. Constant noise? Despite my hearing feeling more acute than usual, there is no obvious new quiet. No. Our house is always quiet.…
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Your invite to a pity party. Do bring gifts.
Rebecca, 51. Mother of one. He’s called George. George is 18. I am infertile. I wasn’t always. And I don’t often say it out loud. Part of me thinks that I would only be saying it to draw attention to myself. Like it was an invite to a pity party. Mind you, sometimes I think…
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Dancing with grief
Memorise the music for tomorrow and now dance. Eek… Nigh on 30 years since I memorised anything and I do not dance. Like, really do not dance. Cumbernauld. A brutalist town between Glasgow and Edinburgh that saw better days a long time ago and was certainly never built for pedestrians. But Cumbernauld has a beautiful – facilities-wise…
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Death and the holiday
‘We are sorry for the death of your mother’ Oof. My Mum died. September 2nd 2022. She didn’t ‘pass away’, she died. But ‘death’? Now there’s a word that comes with a sucker punch. We have just returned from two weeks away in Italy. Utter bliss. This was a long-awaited holiday, booked relatively late, the…
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Grief is a funny thing. Funny, not funny.
One year on.Almost to the minute, by chance, Mum was taken off to surgery.We had sat for 5 hours waiting for her to go.Five very long and painful hours.They were indeed, as our worst fears knew, to be the last 5 hours we spent with her still able to properly communicate. And even then she…
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I built a wall from rubble
Feeling incredibly vulnerable today. In the world of grief and seriously ill parents, it seems often you can’t see the intense reactions and feelings slamming straight for you. Last night I left Papworth for the last time. For now at least. Dad has been there for 50 days. When he arrived his life was hanging…
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Without my Mum
This morning, at 10:30am, our dear Mum passed away. In the twenty-three days we have kept vigil at her bedside, she had one dose of paracetamol and one tiny dose of morphine. And then she quietly and peacefully slipped away. Allow me to take you back just a few days though. Tuesday (Day 20), and…
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