My Blog Bubble

  I can’t stop hearing those words “Gulliver is dead”. Out of the blue, completely unexpected, most certainly unwelcome.   I didn’t want them to be real. I wanted to un-hear them. I wanted that phone to be as far from my ear as possible. I threw it onto the bed and just kept on murmuring those horrid words. I got up and walked into the hotel bathroom.  The grief swamped me abs pulled me to the floor. How was this possible. My boy. My beautiful boy. Dead. Give. Forever. And me - so far away. The grief wracked my body and overwhelmed me.  Pull yourself together. Stand up. Open the door. Get dressed. Go down to breakfast. One step at a time.    I walked barefooted to the restaurant. I stared blankly. Confused and struck dumb.  Trying to be strong but crying all the time. Red eyes we finally made it back to the yard. Deep breath. I opened your stable door. There lay my big handsome giraffe. Tongue out (as always). First time I saw you laid down. Last time ...

Sometimes I think I have got it all together and that I am going to be OK.  Other times I find myself crying as I am driving along.  And there are times like now I can feel my stomach churning and my entire body shouting "I'm not ready yet". I have had the pragmatic conversations.  We have spoken wills and funeral services.  I have even looked at coffins and scatter tubes.  I know where Mum wants her ashes to be scattered and the type of hymns she likes.  I have asked if I could read a poem and if my daughter can attend.  I can do all of this but I cannot accept that it is going to happen. I can say that Mum has had a good life and had the opportunity to travel.  That we, as a family, have had more years than we thought we would be graced with.  Never did we imagine Mum could fight off the MS as she has done. Never in a million years did we see this happening and am I ready for it?  Am I heck as like.  I feel like I hav...

I originally published this post on 13 December 2016, a year before my son was born, and four years ago today.  I thought, with the anniversary of Mum's death on the horizon, and with losing two friends to this disease in recent times I would re-publish these posts (minus the fundraising bits for Pancreatic Cancer). I thought long and hard about writing something knowing Mum doesn't like to talk about these things.  However I think that everyone now knows and, being selfish: for me this is cathartic. Much like my #100SadDays blog I don't want this to be all doom and gloom.  I want to talk about how it has made me feel and how it has affected everyone; including my beautiful mum. I have written about #cancer before; it isn't a new subject for me.  I have spoken freely about how I feel about it and how it has affected both me, my family and my friends. I have said that it doesn't "touch" people as so often is coined: it rapes and kills and blights...

Here is a little insight for you. Tonight we managed to pop out for a beer before getting the kids and after doing the horse.  Whilst there I had two whole beers and chatted to other people in the pub. I then spent the entire journey home having to remind myself that people don’t want to talk to me.  I am fat I am boring.  I am ugly  I am repetitive.  I am a let-down and a useless Mum.   So do I stop having beer; going out, or being me?

I simply cannot remember the last time I wrote a Christmas letter - a tradition I had started and planned to continue throughout my life.  Not only was it a toast to Mum (she always wrote a great Christmas Letter) but people always liked to recieve them. Well somewhere along the way I stopped doing them.  I know I have posted one as a blog post before and here I am again.  It isnt the easy way out but it is a more environmental option (and a good one for someone without access to a printer)!  My reason for stopping in the past was that I felt I didnt really have very much to say; my letters always seemed to say the same thing - there was always a drama with work (and this year is no different).  However 2020 has been a year that no one will forget and as such I thought I should commemerate it with the return of the Crimbo letter! Just before Christmas last year Alex, the kids and I moved in together to a lovely house in Farnignham.  It meant that Christmas ...

As a teenager we lived next door to a lady with depression.   She and her husband were lovely people, they would always stop and chat, but sometimes she would retreat and we wouldn't see her for months. Instead we would only see Ernie on his daily walk. Then suddenly she would be back beside him with long hair (Gladys always had short hair). I didn't really take much notice but can remember my mum commenting about Gladys and her long hair meaning she had been depressed.   Now, looking back, I can see how they were connected. How Glady wouldn't want to leave the house and thus her hair would grow and she would look unkempt when she did reappear. I get it now. Growing up depression wasn't really something I knew much about. I know members of my family have suffered with it but it just kind of passed me by. After all we all have sad days or  short periods. Well that's what I thought. Just get on with it. Keep smiling.   However my short periods would get longer...

 I was driving along this morning feeling rather down in the mouth (odd saying) and thinking about what Christmas is going to look like for Joe Public and all the local businesses.  I realised it is going to be so different and hopefully something we won't have to experience again in our lifetime.  It also got my thinking about what it feels like to be in lockdown. And that is when I realised that being in a period of depression is like being in Tier 3; there are people next door going about their lives in Tiers 1 & 2 and then there is you.  Locked up with no idea when it will end.  Not able to go out and have fun.  Not able to do what other "normal" people can do.  It isnt like lockdown - as that is soemthing everyone is put through; this is just for you; your own little Tier courtesy of your mind.   I know it sounds daft but so many people cannot understand mental health problems and even those that have them find it difficult to explai...