Feeling very drawn to be creative right now. There is a large box of art materials sitting in the corner and I have also just ordered material to sew some upholstery which has been a project I have been meaning to start for ages. However, the main thing I am drawn to at this very moment is to write.
Writing is very cathartic for me, almost as much therapy as being with my horses and today I am going to brain dump some ideas on here as a positive step towards creating some writing I can immerse myself in. This year is a time of huge change for me and our family, the end of an era today as our youngest child has his last day of school. Ever. He is now on study leave, sitting final exams and then onto Uni in September. So very exciting and bittersweet at the same time, I am so happy for him to be moving onto a new adventure in his life and I am feeling sad for myself as I realise that I no longer need to get school uniforms ready on Sunday night, reply to letters from the school, go to parent teacher nights, attend concerts, fight battles over which subjects are taken, find cash in my purse every morning for school lunches and most of all watch the clock every morning to make sure no one misses the school bus but perhaps most heartbreaking of all is that now in the afternoon when me and the dogs hear the bus driving past our cottage there will be no one flinging open the front door, dumping their bags at the door, dropping coats on the chair in the kitchen and putting the kettle on before shouting 'Mum, I'm home' then getting to share a cup of tea and hear all about their day. Life will have a very different rhythm to it from now on.
It is true that parenting changes as your children age, the sheer physical exhaustion that comes from having 3 small children and getting them organised, fed, clothed (we never did get the hang of matching socks!) is then transferred into mental and emotional exhaustion from dealing with teenagers. In a way the teenage years are definitely more challenging, not so easy to make people happy by getting out their favourite toy, game or dvd. Teenagers just need you to be there, to be able to talk to if they need it, to give you a hug and then just to be able to disappear to their rooms, only to be shouted down for dinner or to collect their laundry.
However what occurs for me today is that I didn't know that my life would be this full of love and life when I was a child. If only I had known then what I have learned throughout my 52 years, perhaps there would have been less fear about everything. What would I say to myself at ages 6, 16, 26 and so on? If only I hadn't taken what my family thought of me as the truth? What if I had ignored the family that assumed I wasn't very smart because I was a dreamer, what if I hadn't let my terrifying fear of being 'given away' (I am adopted) make me try to be a very good girl, actually stifling my own true self, until as a teenager after coping with a tragic bereavement I then completely flipped and rebelled, not really discovering my true self until after a very short lived unhappy marriage, finally 'waking' up to who Alison was, what she needed and how she was going to reclaim her life aged 25!
I actively craved the type of family and life that I have now, but I would have never thought it was possible. I still have to pinch myself that I actually have horses, I really do own horses and have done for the last 25 years, that pony horse daft kid who never missed an episode of Black Beauty or Follyfoot and still can't listen to the theme from White Horses without crying would never have imagined in a million years that fast forward 40 years that I have a life with horses. I had never been near a real horse until a family holiday to Jersey when I was 16, the family we were staying with had a daughter who rode and I begged to be allowed to go riding! My parents gave in to me and I had my first ever sit on a horse using a borrowed hat and wearing open toes sandals. A change of job and career meant I could finally start riding lessons aged 23, it was heaven and my dream come true, I didn't know that within 3 years I would have actually bought my first horse. Now we have cottage in the country with dogs, cats, chickens, three glorious kids and a husband whom I love and adore and who just 'gets' me, so much so that we bought this house, our home for 16 years without even seeing it just because it had enough bedrooms and a huge garden and 4 acres of paddocks!
Anyway I digress, I am going to write to myself. And I am going to tell the young me, that it will all be okay, that life is going to throw great sadness and tragedy at me, there will be lows but also there will be huge highs and that life generally is the most wonderful adventure. There are inspirational people to meet and become friends with, there is the biggest love ever that comes through children and owning animals and that I will learn to relax and enjoy love, it will not all be taken away from me. My track record for coping with the sad, bad times is ok, I am still here, still learning how to roll with whatever challenges life throws my way.
I'm still learning, still being inspired by books that I read, places I visit, people I meet and the dreams of what is next. To quote Trainspotting, I choose Life, and I still do.
To be continued.......
Friday, 27 April 2018
Sunday, 7 January 2018
Thoughts about love - Part 1
I think about love a lot, I love my life but it hasn't come naturally to me. I have spent times in my life feeling not worthy of love and being terrified of losing everyone I love and recently I have wanted to write about how I ended up here, managing to live without the fear that it could all disappear instantly.
However, I think I need to start earlier than that by first of all thinking about the first loves, real loves in my life, so before I start on the human relationships I have learned to love from I need to talk about my animal loves. To write about them all would be too long, so this is the first post mostly about my childhood dogs.
The first dog I can remember having was a wire haired fox terrier called Penny. I can't remember life without her, so my parents must have got her when I was wee. I remember the story being that she had belonged to an elderly lady who couldn't look after her anymore and we got her. She was the sweetest little thing, one of her favourite spots in our house was sitting behind the door in the bathroom next to the electric towel rail. We didn't have central heating at that time and it must have been a cosy spot, quite often you would go to the loo, sit down and realise that there was a wee dog looking at you. It was very nice to cuddle her and she used to smell of clean towels and was always toasty warm. Sadly, when I was about 5 or 6 years old she developed a skin condition which after a few trips to the vet, meant she was referred to the Glasgow vet hospital. She didn't come home and I was told that she had gone to heaven. I cried and cried for days, I still remember that bus ride home from us visiting family when my Mum told me she had died. I was devastated.
Some time later we bought a puppy, this time we had been to the breeder to pick our puppy out and one Saturday morning off we went to pick Sheena up. Sheena was a Shetland Sheepdog, she was quiet and shy and she totally loved us. She chewed her way through umpteen pairs of shoes, the side of a wall (yes really) and a couple of wicker baskets, my Mum finally getting a bread crate from the local supermarket which became her bed. Sheena was the best trained dog I have ever had. I could walk her all around our small town and she would sit at the edge of the pavement if we had to cross the road. She never ran away, barked or chased other dogs. We used to walk everywhere together, we had lots of favourite places to visit, the record shop in the village - the owner Cathy had 3 Shelties too and we used to meet on Sunday evenings in the local park for walks with the dogs, thinking back the friendship I had with Cathy (who was also great friends with my Mum) was one of the first friendships I had on my own with an older person, I loved those walks together, she really was a lovely lady. Sheena(dog) and me used to love visiting my Auntie Nan who lived around the block from us. Sheena could have whole conversations with Aunt Nan, joyfully whining away when talked too. I used to tell my friends that Sheena must be related to Lassie, the famous film dog, as I was sure that she would save me if I fell down a well! Sheena did save me in a way, I had a person in my life that really loved me, just me, not the me that had to be good or had to try really hard to be loved.
As an adopted person I think that even then I knew that the love Sheena had for me was unlike any other. I didn't have to work for it, she slept outside my bedroom door and used to come into the bathroom with me if I had been naughty, I would wrap us both up in warm towels and wonder if we could live in there, how long could we stay hidden and could I eat the toothpaste? One of the best things was being able to completely hide my face in her long coat, she was a lovely dog for cuddling. Sheena loved me and I loved her, it was unconditional. Being able to walk the dog was a great way to escape from the house and be out for hours. Once I started going out with my first boyfriend Alasdair, he and I used to take her for huge walks up in the country park next to our town, she used to go nuts when she saw him, always whining and wagging her tail madly.
It was Sheena who helped me cope with my grief after Alasdair died, a few days after his 18th birthday. I could still escape from the house, which I needed to, my parents really couldn't cope with me or my grief, I suppose they were trying to cope with their own but we didn't talk about things like that in our house. My Dad's solution to any difficult situation was to isolate himself and not talk about it, my lovely Mum just tried to make the peace but she would never stand up for me against my Dad, she really was his wife first and foremost, with that taking priority over being a Mum to me or my brother.
We still had Sheena when I started dating my ex-husband, I was still living at home and walks with Sheena had stopped now as she must have been about 14 or even 15 years old, totally blind and finally she had a stroke and we had to have her put to sleep. My Mum took her up to the vets and left her there, I hated that I hadn't been with her in her last moments, it wasn't until I came home from work that I walked in our back door and noticed that the dog bowls were gone that I knew what had happened. I remember being both distraught and furious, I don't think my parents really thought about it, I know my Mum was upset but she didnt understand why I was upset that Sheena had just been left at the vets. I have never ever done that with any of my animals since, I truly believe that if you have an animal that has loved you and shared your life then it is up to you as the human to be there at the end of their life too. I know sometimes circumstances dictate differently but if you can you need to be there for them.
I was 19 when I started dating my ex he was seen as a bit of a 'calming' influence on me by my family I think. We got engaged and married too young and too quickly, 21 when we married, and 25 when I left him. The one thing that we did have in common was that we both liked animals, Tomas's Mum bred Birman cats and the first cat that I have ever owned was a male Blue Point Birman, called Turbo, who I even took to Cat Shows for a couple of years (don't ask, I wasn't really myself then!). It was with Tomas that we bought my Mum a Yorkshire Terrier puppy, she was called Tara and was quite the best small dog I ever met. It was a good thing for Mum to have her as both me and my brother had left home by then. Tara never ever felt like my dog though, I had to get used to visiting home and being greeted by a dog that wasn't really mine. Tara was a funny wee thing and used to get quite jealous of me hugging my Mum, we now own a terrier cross and she is exactly the same when others are getting attention. I think it is a 'small' dog thing!
It took going through CBT (Cognitive Behaviour Therapy) after a serious riding accident for me to realise that these first loves with my childhood dogs were to shape me as a person for the rest of my life. I did not have to be 'good' to earn love from my dogs, I didn't ever worry about them not loving me, it was a tangible real love that came without strings of being grateful or not being like them - I loved them and they loved me and the loss I suffered when they died was as real as any other bereavement I had known at the time. In my 20s I went on to discover myself and who I really was through my other massive love in life - horses. And that is the subject of another post altogether.
I truly believe that our lives are woven together with threads and cords which link us, bind us with love and shared values and worths. Through animals I have met and been inspired by some of the most amazing people I know, and through them I hope I have learned and grown and in return reciprocated with my love too.
However, I think I need to start earlier than that by first of all thinking about the first loves, real loves in my life, so before I start on the human relationships I have learned to love from I need to talk about my animal loves. To write about them all would be too long, so this is the first post mostly about my childhood dogs.
The first dog I can remember having was a wire haired fox terrier called Penny. I can't remember life without her, so my parents must have got her when I was wee. I remember the story being that she had belonged to an elderly lady who couldn't look after her anymore and we got her. She was the sweetest little thing, one of her favourite spots in our house was sitting behind the door in the bathroom next to the electric towel rail. We didn't have central heating at that time and it must have been a cosy spot, quite often you would go to the loo, sit down and realise that there was a wee dog looking at you. It was very nice to cuddle her and she used to smell of clean towels and was always toasty warm. Sadly, when I was about 5 or 6 years old she developed a skin condition which after a few trips to the vet, meant she was referred to the Glasgow vet hospital. She didn't come home and I was told that she had gone to heaven. I cried and cried for days, I still remember that bus ride home from us visiting family when my Mum told me she had died. I was devastated.
Some time later we bought a puppy, this time we had been to the breeder to pick our puppy out and one Saturday morning off we went to pick Sheena up. Sheena was a Shetland Sheepdog, she was quiet and shy and she totally loved us. She chewed her way through umpteen pairs of shoes, the side of a wall (yes really) and a couple of wicker baskets, my Mum finally getting a bread crate from the local supermarket which became her bed. Sheena was the best trained dog I have ever had. I could walk her all around our small town and she would sit at the edge of the pavement if we had to cross the road. She never ran away, barked or chased other dogs. We used to walk everywhere together, we had lots of favourite places to visit, the record shop in the village - the owner Cathy had 3 Shelties too and we used to meet on Sunday evenings in the local park for walks with the dogs, thinking back the friendship I had with Cathy (who was also great friends with my Mum) was one of the first friendships I had on my own with an older person, I loved those walks together, she really was a lovely lady. Sheena(dog) and me used to love visiting my Auntie Nan who lived around the block from us. Sheena could have whole conversations with Aunt Nan, joyfully whining away when talked too. I used to tell my friends that Sheena must be related to Lassie, the famous film dog, as I was sure that she would save me if I fell down a well! Sheena did save me in a way, I had a person in my life that really loved me, just me, not the me that had to be good or had to try really hard to be loved.
As an adopted person I think that even then I knew that the love Sheena had for me was unlike any other. I didn't have to work for it, she slept outside my bedroom door and used to come into the bathroom with me if I had been naughty, I would wrap us both up in warm towels and wonder if we could live in there, how long could we stay hidden and could I eat the toothpaste? One of the best things was being able to completely hide my face in her long coat, she was a lovely dog for cuddling. Sheena loved me and I loved her, it was unconditional. Being able to walk the dog was a great way to escape from the house and be out for hours. Once I started going out with my first boyfriend Alasdair, he and I used to take her for huge walks up in the country park next to our town, she used to go nuts when she saw him, always whining and wagging her tail madly.
It was Sheena who helped me cope with my grief after Alasdair died, a few days after his 18th birthday. I could still escape from the house, which I needed to, my parents really couldn't cope with me or my grief, I suppose they were trying to cope with their own but we didn't talk about things like that in our house. My Dad's solution to any difficult situation was to isolate himself and not talk about it, my lovely Mum just tried to make the peace but she would never stand up for me against my Dad, she really was his wife first and foremost, with that taking priority over being a Mum to me or my brother.
We still had Sheena when I started dating my ex-husband, I was still living at home and walks with Sheena had stopped now as she must have been about 14 or even 15 years old, totally blind and finally she had a stroke and we had to have her put to sleep. My Mum took her up to the vets and left her there, I hated that I hadn't been with her in her last moments, it wasn't until I came home from work that I walked in our back door and noticed that the dog bowls were gone that I knew what had happened. I remember being both distraught and furious, I don't think my parents really thought about it, I know my Mum was upset but she didnt understand why I was upset that Sheena had just been left at the vets. I have never ever done that with any of my animals since, I truly believe that if you have an animal that has loved you and shared your life then it is up to you as the human to be there at the end of their life too. I know sometimes circumstances dictate differently but if you can you need to be there for them.
I was 19 when I started dating my ex he was seen as a bit of a 'calming' influence on me by my family I think. We got engaged and married too young and too quickly, 21 when we married, and 25 when I left him. The one thing that we did have in common was that we both liked animals, Tomas's Mum bred Birman cats and the first cat that I have ever owned was a male Blue Point Birman, called Turbo, who I even took to Cat Shows for a couple of years (don't ask, I wasn't really myself then!). It was with Tomas that we bought my Mum a Yorkshire Terrier puppy, she was called Tara and was quite the best small dog I ever met. It was a good thing for Mum to have her as both me and my brother had left home by then. Tara never ever felt like my dog though, I had to get used to visiting home and being greeted by a dog that wasn't really mine. Tara was a funny wee thing and used to get quite jealous of me hugging my Mum, we now own a terrier cross and she is exactly the same when others are getting attention. I think it is a 'small' dog thing!
It took going through CBT (Cognitive Behaviour Therapy) after a serious riding accident for me to realise that these first loves with my childhood dogs were to shape me as a person for the rest of my life. I did not have to be 'good' to earn love from my dogs, I didn't ever worry about them not loving me, it was a tangible real love that came without strings of being grateful or not being like them - I loved them and they loved me and the loss I suffered when they died was as real as any other bereavement I had known at the time. In my 20s I went on to discover myself and who I really was through my other massive love in life - horses. And that is the subject of another post altogether.
I truly believe that our lives are woven together with threads and cords which link us, bind us with love and shared values and worths. Through animals I have met and been inspired by some of the most amazing people I know, and through them I hope I have learned and grown and in return reciprocated with my love too.
Wednesday, 13 September 2017
Remembering Stephen
I started writing this by stating when and how my brother died, but then I realised I didn't want to start at the end of his life but rather at the begining.
This memoir is hard for me to write because as I try to recall things it saddens me to acknowledge that I perhaps didn't know my brother as well as I wish I had. However, he was my brother and I have always wished that I had a memorial to him, perhaps this will be that.
Born in December 1967, my younger brother Stephen was 23 months younger than me. Stephen, like me, was adopted when he was a baby, I don't have any details other than he was born in Glasgow and like me had been given up for adoption. I don't remember life without him, I was very happy to be his big sister.
Stephen physically was as opposite me as you could get, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, he had a long back and short legs for his size, I had dirty blonde hair and a short back with long legs. Family photos of us as children are comical. We had a family dog called Sheena and we both adored her, playing football with her in our back garden. Family life was generally happy enough when we were wee, our Mum stayed at home to look after us and the house and our Dad went to work 6 days a week, occasionally getting Saturdays off which meant we were taken swimming. I was a shy and very willing to please child, always wishing I had my brother's determination and spirit much more. He was far more true to himself than I was, and if he didn't want to do something he wouldn't! I vividly remember Stephen starting at the primary school we both went too, I was so proud to have a wee brother at the same school and spent my playtimes trying to make sure he was ok, I needn't have bothered, Stephen always got on fine without my interference.
When he started school he was sent to speech therapy to correct and slight stutter and lisp, I used to help him with his exercises. Sammy the snake slithers through long grass, we used to repeat over and over. Our childhood was not so bad, we definitely suffered at the temper of our Mum, I don't think we were actually that bad, just naughty in the way kids are. A new primary school was built in our area and Stephen was moved there as it covered the school zone we lived in, I remained at the old primary for another year until I moved up to our secondary school.
Stephen hated school, he actually refused to talk about it when he was older. Our Dad had already written me off as not that intelligent and I think he decided Stephen was the same too, nothing really could have been further from the truth.
During our early teen years we were a gang of two, watching Top of the Pops, Friday nights eating Findus French Bread pizza (how exotic) in front of Monkey Magic and spending the weekend buying new singles and listening to them as loud as we could. Stephen was a punk, I was a rocker, then he was a rocker and I was a punk. We shared hairspray and t-shirts and worked part time at the local supermarket where we used to annoy the manager by swapping our sections if we didn't like them! Stephen was the coolest brother ever, and once I started college all my new friends fancied him, always asking me to get him to come to parties. I loved those rebellious times, driving round in my banger of a car while Stephen got too cool for that and bought a Vespa.
Stephen left school with no exams, once again teachers assuming he was 'thick' and managed to get an apprenticeship with a local plumbers. That lasted about 6 months until Maggie Thatcher brought in the YOP/YTS programmes effectively killing off apprenticeships. Stephen moved up to Aviemore to work a season at the Coylumbridge hotel, only returning every once in a while with his bags of washing and sometimes with a punk girlfriend in tow. I was now at college, on quite a destructive path following the death of my boyfriend and we didn't spend much time with each other.
Stephen had taught himself to play guitar as a teenager, he was left handed and now I can't remember if he played a right or left handed guitar, I think he played right handed? He left his beautiful blues guitars to my sons, his nephews James and Liam, both play guitar very well, and the music that comes from these amazing D'Angelico guitars makes me feel as if Stephen is still here. Whilst still a teenager living in Glasgow, Stephen was in a band called 'If Only', he always said those were the two saddest words in the English Language, full of regret at not doing something.
And here is where my beautiful, bold and brilliant brother lived his life in a way that I always admired and I really wished I had told him that more. After various unfulfilling jobs in Glasgow, Stephen moved to Aberdeen and attended a degree access course for the University of Aberdeen. Of course he passed, and started his undergraduate degree in English and History as a mature student when he was 25. During the second year of his degree, his supervisor had a meeting with him to discuss why Stephen hadn't told the department that he was dyslexic, Stephen's answer to that was that he wasn't but he was encouraged to undergo testing where they showed that he was severely dyslexic however very highly functioning in his other IQ tests. He was offered extra help to complete his degree which he refused, saying that he wanted to complete it under his own merits. He achieved a 2:1 Joint honours degree in English and History. The first one ever on either side of my Mum and Dad's family to graduate from University. I am so proud of what he achieved, he inspires me to try and achieve as much as I can out of life without listening to what others think of me.
The 5 years that Stephen lived in Aberdeen were probably the time when we were closest in our adult lives, as I had moved up to Aberdeenshire with my job in 1992. It was really great to be able to spend time together, Stephen got on really well with my boyfriend/then husband Paul and as we started our family we shared some great moments with our new baby daughter and then son, as my big 'tough' Glaswegian brother melted into the best uncle 'Pop' ever, always offering to babysit for me if I needed a haircut or to do some shopping in Aberdeen. He absolutely adored all our kids, sadly by the time he met his life partner they didn't manage to have kids of their own. Funny stories included him having to buy his niece, Lindsay, a book in Waterstones which she had grabbed as he had pushed her around in her pram as he was in buying books for his course. The book was a children's book but quite advanced for a one year old, his answer was to shrug his shoulders and say well he thought she may cry if he took it away from her! The big softie, I'm sure he would be very proud to know how the book loving baby now has a degree in English Literature and is now studying for an MLitt, with a view to then completing a PhD and becoming an academic. Probably all down to that book, eh Stephen?
As I get older, I now realise that our dysfunctional childhood, growing up very much bonded together in a home with parents who we weren't related to and actually gave me one of the most amazing loving relationships of my life. Stephen didn't care about what others thought about us, he only cared about whether we were happy or not. And whilst I busily tried to fit in and keep people happy (effectively stifling and drowning out my own thoughts and needs) he did the opposite, he listened to what was said and then let it go in one ear and straight out the other. I will always admire how he did that, I do try now, especially as I am struggle trying to 'deal' with our father, the only one of our family I'm left with now, as our lovely Mum died 6 months after Stephen. In a strange twist of fate Mum died on Stephen's birthday, I always felt it was a way of them telling me that they were together. There was another sad side to that story but I'm not actually strong enough to tell that today, perhaps one day.
Stephen, I miss you every day, but am left with memories of big laughs, being drunk together and feeling that it was you and me against the world sometimes. I wish I hadn't been quite such a bitch of an older sister, I wish I had told you how amazing you were every day, I wish I had managed to share part of your next life adventure in Portugal with you before you died, and not to have only visited after your death.
After graduating Stephen moved to London, to work and start life there, which included motorbikes and trips from the Ace cafe down to Brighton on your Triumph Bonneville. I am so glad you met Trish, the love of your life and that she brought you such happiness and joy, for the last years of your life. I love that you played the guitar, rode motorbikes, loved dogs and cats (even though you were allergic) travelled and got your beautiful tattoos (apart from that first one which was supposed to be a shark but you said looked like a tuna!). I love that you really loved your friends, and in turn they all loved you back, I know from the ones that I know that they miss you as much as I do.
My last story for this post Stephen, was what you did for me when in 1991, I had finally found to guts to leave my lonely, loveless first marriage. I had told my ex that I was leaving him, and then had to go round to our parents house to tell them. When I got to the house they already knew (thanks to my ex who had phoned them!), and when you got back from work that day I was standing in tears in the kitchen whilst Mum stood and cried and Dad shouted at me. You walked in the door, shouted at the lot of us and asked what the fuck was going on? I turned round and said I'm leaving my marriage and Mum and Dad don't want me too and think I'm an idiot, and you said 'Are you ok? Has anyone died, is anyone dying?' and when I said I was ok, you said right get your coat we're leaving. You took me out the house and up to the pub where you proceeded to buy me gins until I had calmed down. You always said that night that nothing in life really mattered apart from being happy and if I wasn't then I needed to sort it out and that you loved me and would help anyway you could. And you did, and always did.
On July 14th 2009, Stephen died. He died in one of the end of life ward at the Royal Marsden Cancer Hospital Sutton, Surrey less than a year after his diagnosis with advanced oesophageal cancer. He had originally been misdiagnosed with acid reflux, by the time he couldn't swallow and was properly diagnosed the prognosis was terminal, Stephen didn't actually tell any of us he was terminal was until about a month before he died. He was only 41 when he died, the staff at the Royal Marsden were wonderful and when the time for him to pass came, he was given breakthrough pain relief and died listening to himself playing his own guitar composition via his headphones. Those he left behind were devastated and heartbroken.
Eight years since you have gone, it is so hard to think that I have to spend the rest of my life without you, so I hope that you don't mind me talking to you, asking your advice and trying to think 'what would Stephen do' because I hope that you are always still here for me, as I will always be for you.
Thank you for being part of my life Stephen, I am a better person because I was your sister, I am so proud that I still am.
Love you Stephen x
This memoir is hard for me to write because as I try to recall things it saddens me to acknowledge that I perhaps didn't know my brother as well as I wish I had. However, he was my brother and I have always wished that I had a memorial to him, perhaps this will be that.
Born in December 1967, my younger brother Stephen was 23 months younger than me. Stephen, like me, was adopted when he was a baby, I don't have any details other than he was born in Glasgow and like me had been given up for adoption. I don't remember life without him, I was very happy to be his big sister.
Stephen physically was as opposite me as you could get, with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, he had a long back and short legs for his size, I had dirty blonde hair and a short back with long legs. Family photos of us as children are comical. We had a family dog called Sheena and we both adored her, playing football with her in our back garden. Family life was generally happy enough when we were wee, our Mum stayed at home to look after us and the house and our Dad went to work 6 days a week, occasionally getting Saturdays off which meant we were taken swimming. I was a shy and very willing to please child, always wishing I had my brother's determination and spirit much more. He was far more true to himself than I was, and if he didn't want to do something he wouldn't! I vividly remember Stephen starting at the primary school we both went too, I was so proud to have a wee brother at the same school and spent my playtimes trying to make sure he was ok, I needn't have bothered, Stephen always got on fine without my interference.
When he started school he was sent to speech therapy to correct and slight stutter and lisp, I used to help him with his exercises. Sammy the snake slithers through long grass, we used to repeat over and over. Our childhood was not so bad, we definitely suffered at the temper of our Mum, I don't think we were actually that bad, just naughty in the way kids are. A new primary school was built in our area and Stephen was moved there as it covered the school zone we lived in, I remained at the old primary for another year until I moved up to our secondary school.
Stephen hated school, he actually refused to talk about it when he was older. Our Dad had already written me off as not that intelligent and I think he decided Stephen was the same too, nothing really could have been further from the truth.
During our early teen years we were a gang of two, watching Top of the Pops, Friday nights eating Findus French Bread pizza (how exotic) in front of Monkey Magic and spending the weekend buying new singles and listening to them as loud as we could. Stephen was a punk, I was a rocker, then he was a rocker and I was a punk. We shared hairspray and t-shirts and worked part time at the local supermarket where we used to annoy the manager by swapping our sections if we didn't like them! Stephen was the coolest brother ever, and once I started college all my new friends fancied him, always asking me to get him to come to parties. I loved those rebellious times, driving round in my banger of a car while Stephen got too cool for that and bought a Vespa.
Stephen left school with no exams, once again teachers assuming he was 'thick' and managed to get an apprenticeship with a local plumbers. That lasted about 6 months until Maggie Thatcher brought in the YOP/YTS programmes effectively killing off apprenticeships. Stephen moved up to Aviemore to work a season at the Coylumbridge hotel, only returning every once in a while with his bags of washing and sometimes with a punk girlfriend in tow. I was now at college, on quite a destructive path following the death of my boyfriend and we didn't spend much time with each other.
Stephen had taught himself to play guitar as a teenager, he was left handed and now I can't remember if he played a right or left handed guitar, I think he played right handed? He left his beautiful blues guitars to my sons, his nephews James and Liam, both play guitar very well, and the music that comes from these amazing D'Angelico guitars makes me feel as if Stephen is still here. Whilst still a teenager living in Glasgow, Stephen was in a band called 'If Only', he always said those were the two saddest words in the English Language, full of regret at not doing something.
And here is where my beautiful, bold and brilliant brother lived his life in a way that I always admired and I really wished I had told him that more. After various unfulfilling jobs in Glasgow, Stephen moved to Aberdeen and attended a degree access course for the University of Aberdeen. Of course he passed, and started his undergraduate degree in English and History as a mature student when he was 25. During the second year of his degree, his supervisor had a meeting with him to discuss why Stephen hadn't told the department that he was dyslexic, Stephen's answer to that was that he wasn't but he was encouraged to undergo testing where they showed that he was severely dyslexic however very highly functioning in his other IQ tests. He was offered extra help to complete his degree which he refused, saying that he wanted to complete it under his own merits. He achieved a 2:1 Joint honours degree in English and History. The first one ever on either side of my Mum and Dad's family to graduate from University. I am so proud of what he achieved, he inspires me to try and achieve as much as I can out of life without listening to what others think of me.
The 5 years that Stephen lived in Aberdeen were probably the time when we were closest in our adult lives, as I had moved up to Aberdeenshire with my job in 1992. It was really great to be able to spend time together, Stephen got on really well with my boyfriend/then husband Paul and as we started our family we shared some great moments with our new baby daughter and then son, as my big 'tough' Glaswegian brother melted into the best uncle 'Pop' ever, always offering to babysit for me if I needed a haircut or to do some shopping in Aberdeen. He absolutely adored all our kids, sadly by the time he met his life partner they didn't manage to have kids of their own. Funny stories included him having to buy his niece, Lindsay, a book in Waterstones which she had grabbed as he had pushed her around in her pram as he was in buying books for his course. The book was a children's book but quite advanced for a one year old, his answer was to shrug his shoulders and say well he thought she may cry if he took it away from her! The big softie, I'm sure he would be very proud to know how the book loving baby now has a degree in English Literature and is now studying for an MLitt, with a view to then completing a PhD and becoming an academic. Probably all down to that book, eh Stephen?
As I get older, I now realise that our dysfunctional childhood, growing up very much bonded together in a home with parents who we weren't related to and actually gave me one of the most amazing loving relationships of my life. Stephen didn't care about what others thought about us, he only cared about whether we were happy or not. And whilst I busily tried to fit in and keep people happy (effectively stifling and drowning out my own thoughts and needs) he did the opposite, he listened to what was said and then let it go in one ear and straight out the other. I will always admire how he did that, I do try now, especially as I am struggle trying to 'deal' with our father, the only one of our family I'm left with now, as our lovely Mum died 6 months after Stephen. In a strange twist of fate Mum died on Stephen's birthday, I always felt it was a way of them telling me that they were together. There was another sad side to that story but I'm not actually strong enough to tell that today, perhaps one day.
Stephen, I miss you every day, but am left with memories of big laughs, being drunk together and feeling that it was you and me against the world sometimes. I wish I hadn't been quite such a bitch of an older sister, I wish I had told you how amazing you were every day, I wish I had managed to share part of your next life adventure in Portugal with you before you died, and not to have only visited after your death.
After graduating Stephen moved to London, to work and start life there, which included motorbikes and trips from the Ace cafe down to Brighton on your Triumph Bonneville. I am so glad you met Trish, the love of your life and that she brought you such happiness and joy, for the last years of your life. I love that you played the guitar, rode motorbikes, loved dogs and cats (even though you were allergic) travelled and got your beautiful tattoos (apart from that first one which was supposed to be a shark but you said looked like a tuna!). I love that you really loved your friends, and in turn they all loved you back, I know from the ones that I know that they miss you as much as I do.
My last story for this post Stephen, was what you did for me when in 1991, I had finally found to guts to leave my lonely, loveless first marriage. I had told my ex that I was leaving him, and then had to go round to our parents house to tell them. When I got to the house they already knew (thanks to my ex who had phoned them!), and when you got back from work that day I was standing in tears in the kitchen whilst Mum stood and cried and Dad shouted at me. You walked in the door, shouted at the lot of us and asked what the fuck was going on? I turned round and said I'm leaving my marriage and Mum and Dad don't want me too and think I'm an idiot, and you said 'Are you ok? Has anyone died, is anyone dying?' and when I said I was ok, you said right get your coat we're leaving. You took me out the house and up to the pub where you proceeded to buy me gins until I had calmed down. You always said that night that nothing in life really mattered apart from being happy and if I wasn't then I needed to sort it out and that you loved me and would help anyway you could. And you did, and always did.
On July 14th 2009, Stephen died. He died in one of the end of life ward at the Royal Marsden Cancer Hospital Sutton, Surrey less than a year after his diagnosis with advanced oesophageal cancer. He had originally been misdiagnosed with acid reflux, by the time he couldn't swallow and was properly diagnosed the prognosis was terminal, Stephen didn't actually tell any of us he was terminal was until about a month before he died. He was only 41 when he died, the staff at the Royal Marsden were wonderful and when the time for him to pass came, he was given breakthrough pain relief and died listening to himself playing his own guitar composition via his headphones. Those he left behind were devastated and heartbroken.
Eight years since you have gone, it is so hard to think that I have to spend the rest of my life without you, so I hope that you don't mind me talking to you, asking your advice and trying to think 'what would Stephen do' because I hope that you are always still here for me, as I will always be for you.
Thank you for being part of my life Stephen, I am a better person because I was your sister, I am so proud that I still am.
Love you Stephen x
Tuesday, 9 May 2017
Spring, art and conversational french
Since my last post I have been working towards the next stage in my life. This time next year I will be facing the very real possibility of becoming an 'empty nester' and whilst that future fills me with sadness, as our children grow up and move away to start their own adventures, there is also a sense of excitement as I wonder what is next for me?
I have been writing, lots of ideas and thoughts jotted down in books, but as I have also been proof reading our daughter, Lindsay's final dissertation and essays for her English Lit degree, I haven't really wanted to do much of my own.
However, a few other things I have been amusing myself with are a French conversation class, where I spend 2 hours every Friday morning trying to speak French and remember the difference between J'ai and Je suis! It is great fun and I hope that I can manage to converse if only even a small amount when we are on holiday in France this October.
The other grand project for me has been to start an Art for Amateurs course at Nescol college. I spend one afternoon a week trying to draw, learn perspective and experiment with different medias, it is just the best fun! This week we are trying wet on wet (no idea!) but it should be landscapes, so I am going to use the photo below and try to paint it.
 |
| Findhorn Beach |
The other exciting thing is that we are finally restoring our Railway wagon. As mentioned in GardenCuppa years ago this has been on the project list for years. I will blog about it on there as we progress!
Life is changing, with new things ahead and I want to think of this next stage of my life not being the end of raising our children but as them beginning their next stage in life and that, I think, is the same for me too.
Ali
x
Tuesday, 21 March 2017
For the love of Tea
My favourite drink is Tea. It always has and always will be tea. My favourite drink in the whole world, the drink I can count on every time and even better than gin!
The idea for this piece of writing was brewed up as surely as freshly boiled water is poured over dried leaves and left to brew. The resulting amber liquid, the best thing to drink, with or without milk (my favourite being almond at the moment). I have never taken sugar in tea (my Mum was a dental nurse in Glasgow and well aware of the horrors that too much sugar could do to your teeth!) but I have been given strong, sweet tea at times in my life, and those were stressful or sad times when perhaps the caffeine and the sugar were needed to restore and revive.
My first memory of the magic of tea was a blue 'Caddy-Matic', attached to our 1970s kitchen wall between the gas cooker and the sink. I was allowed to stand on a chair, reach over and press the big cream plastic button, and whoosh, the tea leaves dropped, perfectly measured into the warmed (always warm the pot) teapot.
The tea was Typhoo and it came in a nice red cardboard box that looked a bit like an old fashioned Telephone box. I used to love tipping the leaves into the plastic hopper of the Caddy-Matic
Our teapot at the time was shiny metal, stainless steel perhaps? The lid knob and pot handle were either black plastic or bakelite I think and the pot itself was engraved with some fancy pattern. My Mum was quite proud of this pot, which had a matching strainer which looked liked a knights shield and sat in its own tiny metal bowl.
Inside the teapot was where the alchemy happened. I remember my Mum or Granny telling me that we should never put soap inside the pot to wash it but just to rinse it out. The texture on the inside of the pot was black and velvety.
I started collecting teapots as a teenager. My Mum was a great fan of jumble sales, I'm not sure that they happen anymore given the rise of the charity shop. Anyway I bought a pale pink china teapot with a white handle and kept it on the windowsill in my bedroom. I don't collect teapots anymore, I really have no space for them but I do have a chosen few which I will never part with. I do have a small collection of milk jugs collected and gifted from friends, for some reason I never quite understood, it was always seen as bad manners to have a milk bottle or carton on the kitchen table! Therefore I have always used milk jugs too.
Tea is my first drink in the morning, always made in my favourite pot, which is a small cosy Highland Stoneware one. I have a large Emma Bridgewater pot for making tea for the 5 of us and I have my Mum's Picquot-ware teapot for when there are only 4 of us at home.
My friends and family have given me some of my favourite Tea gifts over the years. From milk jugs and glass teapots for herbal teas, to tea towels and proper metal pots from the Far East. One of my best friends from Calgary passed away, finally losing her fight with Breast Cancer and when her family visited us in Scotland last year they couldn't have brought me a more fitting present to remember her by, her horse patterned tea cosy. I had been with Eileen when she bought it and we had laughed over our British way of having tea as the drink to solve all problems.
Most of the time these days I cheat and use teabags (always in a pot though!). I remember when Teabags came out my Nana saying that they would never catch on and that teabags were just full of the sweepings from the tea factory floor! Not sure about that.
My daily tea time table is as follows;
6.30 am, get up, feed dogs, put kettle on and make first cup of the day
Tea is either Lapsang Souchong or PG Tips (I like Lapsang Soughing as it is smokey and a bit like the first cigarette of the day, even though I stopped smoking 30 years ago!)
10.00 am - my one cup of coffee, mostly just instant as I'm not a huge coffee fan and its more to have a quick drink after I have mucked out my horses!
Lunchtime - PG Tips, sometimes I manage to sneak in an extra cuppa during the day too!
Green tea or Ginger Tea or Mint Tea - mid afternoon
4.00 pm - After school cuppa
Always Earl Grey, which I do add milk to too!
8.00 pm - Last cup of the day, some Rooibos with milk, no caffeine for me after 5.00 pm otherwise I won't sleep.
Some of the best events in my life have been celebrated with Tea. The first cup of tea when we moved up to Aberdeenshire and into our new house after living in two flats in Glasgow. I had packed the teapot, kettle, tea and biscuits in a box that I had written OPEN FIRST on!
After the birth of our two older children the cup of tea and piece of toast that we were served at Aberdeen Maternity Hospital (Paul got some too!) will always be one of the most memorable meals of my life. When we had our youngest son in Calgary, Canada they didn't serve tea and a glass of water was not the same, we saved the cup-of-tea-celebration until we returned home the next day and drank tea in the garden of our Calgary home.
I have drunk more cups of tea at funerals than I care to remember, and on those sad occasions it is just the ritual of having a warm, soothing drink that perhaps keeps you from smashing the cup and saucer to the ground. I have essays to write about grief, and I'll probably be drinking a cup of tea as I do.
One of the first things I bought my husband when we started going out with each other was a Blue teapot from Habitat in Glasgow. He didn't have a teapot then, we then added mismatched mugs to our collection. It seemed like a fitting way to be starting our new life together, we don't have the teapot anymore but I do have a small pink milk jug that we bought at the same time. Not bad for 26 years together.
So Tea it is, and if you like me are a tea-fanatic here are a few of the places we have visited over the years that are especially wonderful for a cup of tea;
The Cutty Sark, Greenwich - Walk on board this famous Tea Clipper, built on the Clyde and now restored and sitting on the Thames at Greenwich and smell the tea as you walk through her hull and learn the history of Tea. You can sit in the tearoom underneath her hull, alongside figure heads and have quite a nice cup of tea too.
The Royal Yacht Britannia, Edinburgh - speaks for herself but they serve a lovely afternoon tea on board, in beautiful china too. A proper tea.
Dobrá Čajovna, Prague, Czech Republic - we stumbled across this fabulous Tea House in Prague when visiting 10 years ago. It was so lovely we went twice and also bought some fabulous Gun Powder tea leaves to bring home.
Places to avoid tea unless you can take your own are most of North America, unless when in Canada you can find a "British" tea place. The sad habit of being served a cup of lukewarm water with a bag on the side is very common in most of the States. If I am travelling now I have a travel kettle and will take my own teabags, sometimes the only way to get a proper brew. We also have been known to have a camping stove and tea supplies in the back of our car on family holidays so that a cup of tea is ready after a day on the beach or a hike up a hill.
Well, now I am thirsty and that means it is time to put the kettle on.
Cup of Tea anyone?
Ali
PS - How to make the perfect pot of tea - my way
Put a kettle of fresh water on to boil
Just before the kettle boils warm your chosen teapot with a swirl of hot water
Add two teabags - enough for two people and an extra one if there are more of us! We have soft water in Scotland and that usually brews fine
Wait for about 5 minutes or more but NEVER less!
Pour out into mug or cup and THEN add milk
Drink and enjoy x
The idea for this piece of writing was brewed up as surely as freshly boiled water is poured over dried leaves and left to brew. The resulting amber liquid, the best thing to drink, with or without milk (my favourite being almond at the moment). I have never taken sugar in tea (my Mum was a dental nurse in Glasgow and well aware of the horrors that too much sugar could do to your teeth!) but I have been given strong, sweet tea at times in my life, and those were stressful or sad times when perhaps the caffeine and the sugar were needed to restore and revive.
My first memory of the magic of tea was a blue 'Caddy-Matic', attached to our 1970s kitchen wall between the gas cooker and the sink. I was allowed to stand on a chair, reach over and press the big cream plastic button, and whoosh, the tea leaves dropped, perfectly measured into the warmed (always warm the pot) teapot.
The tea was Typhoo and it came in a nice red cardboard box that looked a bit like an old fashioned Telephone box. I used to love tipping the leaves into the plastic hopper of the Caddy-Matic
Our teapot at the time was shiny metal, stainless steel perhaps? The lid knob and pot handle were either black plastic or bakelite I think and the pot itself was engraved with some fancy pattern. My Mum was quite proud of this pot, which had a matching strainer which looked liked a knights shield and sat in its own tiny metal bowl.
Inside the teapot was where the alchemy happened. I remember my Mum or Granny telling me that we should never put soap inside the pot to wash it but just to rinse it out. The texture on the inside of the pot was black and velvety.
I started collecting teapots as a teenager. My Mum was a great fan of jumble sales, I'm not sure that they happen anymore given the rise of the charity shop. Anyway I bought a pale pink china teapot with a white handle and kept it on the windowsill in my bedroom. I don't collect teapots anymore, I really have no space for them but I do have a chosen few which I will never part with. I do have a small collection of milk jugs collected and gifted from friends, for some reason I never quite understood, it was always seen as bad manners to have a milk bottle or carton on the kitchen table! Therefore I have always used milk jugs too.
Tea is my first drink in the morning, always made in my favourite pot, which is a small cosy Highland Stoneware one. I have a large Emma Bridgewater pot for making tea for the 5 of us and I have my Mum's Picquot-ware teapot for when there are only 4 of us at home.
My friends and family have given me some of my favourite Tea gifts over the years. From milk jugs and glass teapots for herbal teas, to tea towels and proper metal pots from the Far East. One of my best friends from Calgary passed away, finally losing her fight with Breast Cancer and when her family visited us in Scotland last year they couldn't have brought me a more fitting present to remember her by, her horse patterned tea cosy. I had been with Eileen when she bought it and we had laughed over our British way of having tea as the drink to solve all problems.
Most of the time these days I cheat and use teabags (always in a pot though!). I remember when Teabags came out my Nana saying that they would never catch on and that teabags were just full of the sweepings from the tea factory floor! Not sure about that.
My daily tea time table is as follows;
6.30 am, get up, feed dogs, put kettle on and make first cup of the day
Tea is either Lapsang Souchong or PG Tips (I like Lapsang Soughing as it is smokey and a bit like the first cigarette of the day, even though I stopped smoking 30 years ago!)
10.00 am - my one cup of coffee, mostly just instant as I'm not a huge coffee fan and its more to have a quick drink after I have mucked out my horses!
Lunchtime - PG Tips, sometimes I manage to sneak in an extra cuppa during the day too!
Green tea or Ginger Tea or Mint Tea - mid afternoon
4.00 pm - After school cuppa
Always Earl Grey, which I do add milk to too!
8.00 pm - Last cup of the day, some Rooibos with milk, no caffeine for me after 5.00 pm otherwise I won't sleep.
Some of the best events in my life have been celebrated with Tea. The first cup of tea when we moved up to Aberdeenshire and into our new house after living in two flats in Glasgow. I had packed the teapot, kettle, tea and biscuits in a box that I had written OPEN FIRST on!
After the birth of our two older children the cup of tea and piece of toast that we were served at Aberdeen Maternity Hospital (Paul got some too!) will always be one of the most memorable meals of my life. When we had our youngest son in Calgary, Canada they didn't serve tea and a glass of water was not the same, we saved the cup-of-tea-celebration until we returned home the next day and drank tea in the garden of our Calgary home.
I have drunk more cups of tea at funerals than I care to remember, and on those sad occasions it is just the ritual of having a warm, soothing drink that perhaps keeps you from smashing the cup and saucer to the ground. I have essays to write about grief, and I'll probably be drinking a cup of tea as I do.
One of the first things I bought my husband when we started going out with each other was a Blue teapot from Habitat in Glasgow. He didn't have a teapot then, we then added mismatched mugs to our collection. It seemed like a fitting way to be starting our new life together, we don't have the teapot anymore but I do have a small pink milk jug that we bought at the same time. Not bad for 26 years together.
So Tea it is, and if you like me are a tea-fanatic here are a few of the places we have visited over the years that are especially wonderful for a cup of tea;
The Cutty Sark, Greenwich - Walk on board this famous Tea Clipper, built on the Clyde and now restored and sitting on the Thames at Greenwich and smell the tea as you walk through her hull and learn the history of Tea. You can sit in the tearoom underneath her hull, alongside figure heads and have quite a nice cup of tea too.
The Royal Yacht Britannia, Edinburgh - speaks for herself but they serve a lovely afternoon tea on board, in beautiful china too. A proper tea.
Dobrá Čajovna, Prague, Czech Republic - we stumbled across this fabulous Tea House in Prague when visiting 10 years ago. It was so lovely we went twice and also bought some fabulous Gun Powder tea leaves to bring home.
Places to avoid tea unless you can take your own are most of North America, unless when in Canada you can find a "British" tea place. The sad habit of being served a cup of lukewarm water with a bag on the side is very common in most of the States. If I am travelling now I have a travel kettle and will take my own teabags, sometimes the only way to get a proper brew. We also have been known to have a camping stove and tea supplies in the back of our car on family holidays so that a cup of tea is ready after a day on the beach or a hike up a hill.
Well, now I am thirsty and that means it is time to put the kettle on.
Cup of Tea anyone?
Ali
PS - How to make the perfect pot of tea - my way
Put a kettle of fresh water on to boil
Just before the kettle boils warm your chosen teapot with a swirl of hot water
Add two teabags - enough for two people and an extra one if there are more of us! We have soft water in Scotland and that usually brews fine
Wait for about 5 minutes or more but NEVER less!
Pour out into mug or cup and THEN add milk
Drink and enjoy x
Tuesday, 7 March 2017
The journey of grief, the price we pay for love
I first wrote this six years ago, but didn't publish it. It was and still is too painful and too raw even now coming up to 8 years since my brother died. The month of March is when my Mum's birthday is, it is when Mother's Day is and also it is Brain Tumour Awareness month. And at the end of the month I am organising a fundraising Tea Party for the charity Brain Tumour Research, to raise awareness of this devastating cancer and also to celebrate the life of my wonderful Mum, who died 11 months after being diagnosed with a Grade 4 Glioblastoma Multiforme tumour. I will be revisiting the thoughts and processes I have gone through in my grief over the next wee while, I hope to show what the deaths of my loved ones have taught me about living. But for now it seems that it is time to show how I felt when I first wrote about my grief.
December 2011
Yesterday was my late brother's birthday, he would have been 44 years old but sadly he died 2.5 years ago. Yesterday was also the second anniversary of my Mum's death, she was 67 when she died from a terminal glioblastoma brain tumour.
They both died too young.
About 6 months after my Mum died and a year since Stephen my brother had died, I attended a grief counsellor. I explained how I had been feeling and she said what I was experiencing was normal. Normal! surely not? How were people managing to cope, to deal with everyday life while grieving? Grief consumes you. Her advice to me was to write how I felt down. So I did, along with reading books on everything from life after death to visiting a psychic (which strangely was a very positive, reassuring experience).
What is written below was what I wrote in my journal after visiting the counsellor. Re-reading it now I can say that I have coped, life does go on but it's still hard. Writing this is a small way of moving on too. I miss them every day but now the happy memories are the ones that I have rather than the sad ones of losing them.
Thoughts on Grief
Grief can't be planned or scheduled.
Violently, it sneaks up on you and punches a hole through your heart,
takes away your breath
and leaves a lump in your throat
Or, it comes and stays a while,
wrapping a thick foggy blanket of sadness
and melancholy
around you.
Invisible, of course.
Only the individual knows how their grief feels to them and it is hard for others to see and understand. You can go for weeks feeling normal, yes perhaps you are 'getting over it', life does move on and is to be lived, and is too short but then grief descends and opens up the rawness and pain you have within.
When I was 17, 27 years ago, I had my first encounter with experiencing the death of a loved one. My boyfriend and first love died after being fatally injured in a car crash. He crashed his car on the day of his 18th birthday.
I have no idea how I coped, nobody spoke to me about it. Friends ignored me, people crossed the street away from me (really they did). No one knew what to say. I was asked to be strong and carry on. I was aware of feeling as if what had happened was a bad dream. Perhaps some conspiracy had occurred where he had really just left us and moved to Australia (or something). Being unable to talk to anyone, I ended my teenage years rebelling, on a self-destruct mission, which I'm very happy I didn't succeed with.
Every day now, I suffer from another loss, my dearly loved brother who tragically died of a painful cancer, undiagnosed until too late to save him.
And I am angry, so very angry about losing them both. A parent's death at any time is a rite of passage, the natural progression of life that our older generation pass before us and as sad as this is I accept it. To be able to die having lived a long, happy and fulfilling life leaving behind our children and their children is what we expect. But, my Mum shouldn't have died at 67, that's too young but Stephen dying at age 41 is the hardest loss. He had so much of life to live and it is so fucking unfair that he didn't. My loss is an intricate one, my brother and I were both adopted, not related though but we formed a small unit of 2 and we experienced a world growing up in a home with our adoptive parents in a way only he and I understood. And now he is gone and I am alone to deal with our father, who somehow managed to come through his prostate cancer to survive when my Mum and Brother didn't survive theirs. I am so angry about that. And that probably is another blog post altogether.
My wee brother (he would laugh at that, my over 6ft, Glaswegian, biker, tattooed beautiful brother was never 'wee' except to me) should still be here and I rage at that. I am furious that he is not still here with his wry humour and his wonderful laugh.
Grief is the price we pay for love, and when there has been great love, the grief is visceral and leaves great tears and scars on your heart.
and I have to stop writing now, the tears are too many, my loss is too great
December 2011
Yesterday was my late brother's birthday, he would have been 44 years old but sadly he died 2.5 years ago. Yesterday was also the second anniversary of my Mum's death, she was 67 when she died from a terminal glioblastoma brain tumour.
They both died too young.
About 6 months after my Mum died and a year since Stephen my brother had died, I attended a grief counsellor. I explained how I had been feeling and she said what I was experiencing was normal. Normal! surely not? How were people managing to cope, to deal with everyday life while grieving? Grief consumes you. Her advice to me was to write how I felt down. So I did, along with reading books on everything from life after death to visiting a psychic (which strangely was a very positive, reassuring experience).
What is written below was what I wrote in my journal after visiting the counsellor. Re-reading it now I can say that I have coped, life does go on but it's still hard. Writing this is a small way of moving on too. I miss them every day but now the happy memories are the ones that I have rather than the sad ones of losing them.
Thoughts on Grief
Grief can't be planned or scheduled.
Violently, it sneaks up on you and punches a hole through your heart,
takes away your breath
and leaves a lump in your throat
Or, it comes and stays a while,
wrapping a thick foggy blanket of sadness
and melancholy
around you.
Invisible, of course.
Only the individual knows how their grief feels to them and it is hard for others to see and understand. You can go for weeks feeling normal, yes perhaps you are 'getting over it', life does move on and is to be lived, and is too short but then grief descends and opens up the rawness and pain you have within.
When I was 17, 27 years ago, I had my first encounter with experiencing the death of a loved one. My boyfriend and first love died after being fatally injured in a car crash. He crashed his car on the day of his 18th birthday.
I have no idea how I coped, nobody spoke to me about it. Friends ignored me, people crossed the street away from me (really they did). No one knew what to say. I was asked to be strong and carry on. I was aware of feeling as if what had happened was a bad dream. Perhaps some conspiracy had occurred where he had really just left us and moved to Australia (or something). Being unable to talk to anyone, I ended my teenage years rebelling, on a self-destruct mission, which I'm very happy I didn't succeed with.
Every day now, I suffer from another loss, my dearly loved brother who tragically died of a painful cancer, undiagnosed until too late to save him.
And I am angry, so very angry about losing them both. A parent's death at any time is a rite of passage, the natural progression of life that our older generation pass before us and as sad as this is I accept it. To be able to die having lived a long, happy and fulfilling life leaving behind our children and their children is what we expect. But, my Mum shouldn't have died at 67, that's too young but Stephen dying at age 41 is the hardest loss. He had so much of life to live and it is so fucking unfair that he didn't. My loss is an intricate one, my brother and I were both adopted, not related though but we formed a small unit of 2 and we experienced a world growing up in a home with our adoptive parents in a way only he and I understood. And now he is gone and I am alone to deal with our father, who somehow managed to come through his prostate cancer to survive when my Mum and Brother didn't survive theirs. I am so angry about that. And that probably is another blog post altogether.
My wee brother (he would laugh at that, my over 6ft, Glaswegian, biker, tattooed beautiful brother was never 'wee' except to me) should still be here and I rage at that. I am furious that he is not still here with his wry humour and his wonderful laugh.
Grief is the price we pay for love, and when there has been great love, the grief is visceral and leaves great tears and scars on your heart.
and I have to stop writing now, the tears are too many, my loss is too great
Saturday, 4 March 2017
My favourite colour is
Blue.
Blue makes me think of the sea and the sky.
It is the colour of my childrens' eyes, all inherited from their father.
Blue is the colour of all my darlings' eyes, they are transfixing, passionate, merry, moody and never cold.
My true love's blue eyes light up when he's enthusiastic about something. They sparkle with mischief when he is laughing, they focus with intensity when he concentrates and then glow with pride when he is with our children.
I love the fact that our three children have his eyes too, my four beloved blue eyed people. Only I have green eyes.
Our boys have bright blue eyes, soulful and open.
Our daughter says her eyes are not blue, but grey, she is lucky, her eyes do change colour. Sometimes her eyes are that pale, high in the sky blue and other times they are the soft, steely blue of the sea on a grey day. Our daughter has the eyes of a wolf, one of my favourite animals.
The eyes are the windows to the soul and what beautiful souls they are.
My heart belongs to blue eyes.
The colour of water and sky.
I love the colour Blue.
Blue makes me think of the sea and the sky.
It is the colour of my childrens' eyes, all inherited from their father.
Blue is the colour of all my darlings' eyes, they are transfixing, passionate, merry, moody and never cold.
My true love's blue eyes light up when he's enthusiastic about something. They sparkle with mischief when he is laughing, they focus with intensity when he concentrates and then glow with pride when he is with our children.
I love the fact that our three children have his eyes too, my four beloved blue eyed people. Only I have green eyes.
Our boys have bright blue eyes, soulful and open.
Our daughter says her eyes are not blue, but grey, she is lucky, her eyes do change colour. Sometimes her eyes are that pale, high in the sky blue and other times they are the soft, steely blue of the sea on a grey day. Our daughter has the eyes of a wolf, one of my favourite animals.
The eyes are the windows to the soul and what beautiful souls they are.
My heart belongs to blue eyes.
The colour of water and sky.
I love the colour Blue.
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