Untitled for a while

I can hear your moans of sorrow and pain. They are so loud, my ears are ringing with pain. My hands, as hard as I press, can't block the piercing sounds.

I can see you, and as much as I reach I can't touch you. I just want to take you in my arms, rest your head on my chest and comfort you. But each step forward for me, is two steps back for you. I must observe from a distance.

I can speak but it doesn't translate. You don't understand what I am saying. I can scream, but it's not loud enough for you to hear. My voice never crackles. I won't stop.

I am not in the same pain as I was before. This feels like a never-ending sorrow. I had so many plans for you, for us.

It's dark yet light. Time stands still where I am, it doesn't exist. I am not here, and I am not there. This is the place people spoke of, but I don't feel stuck here. I am content here.

I will be with you as you build your own path in your world. Walking beside you with your achievements and standing tall as you calculate your next step with set backs. Although I cannot touch you, I will always be your biggest support.

Keep an eye on all those superstitions I would always claim were true. After all, they may be where I am. Coming back to you.

I got that call. I didn't know which way I should go first. I was at work, I couldn't just leave but I didn't want to be at work anymore. My mind wasn't on the job, my mind was racing down the road to you.

I made a call. I need cover, I'm leaving. Now.

I don't remember the drive. Perhaps it was autopilot, or perhaps my mind was spiralling for the worst outcome. I had no one to call, no one help me. It was only me in that moment.

I don't run, but I don't think my feet touched the ground from my car to your front door. I was met by two of the neighbours when I arrived. They were lovely and calm on the surface, but their eyes told a different story. I thank them, saw them out, and then I looked at you. In that moment I felt like a child again. Scared. Looking up at you. Not sure what to do to make it better, or what to say to take our minds off of it.

You looked at me, but I didn't cave. I saw you, sat only in a dressing gown that had been draped over you for your modesty. Together we figured out how to get you dressed.

You spent a lot of the next few days sitting in your living room chair. Not drinking much, eating less than you were drinking, and not always making the most sense with your words. It was okay, though, because I was soon to become a master at listening to what was trying to be heard instead of what was actually being said.

You would rock. Head bowed and above your knees. Feet placed flat on the floor. Red checked blanket draped over your shoulders. We hadn't brushed your hair on this day, I don't remember why. Perhaps you didn't want it brushed.

You often didn't wear your glasses. It was as if you had forgotten that you needed them to see. I had never known you without glasses. I had never known you without you.

It was hard. Harder than I had ever imagined it would be. It was my job, but I understood that there needed to be a distance between family and professional. Unfortunately, this wasn't possible right now. I was all there was. You didn't like strangers in your space.

We made it work though. I tell myself that we did. The sleepless nights where you would wake and dress to go out, shoes on and bag ready, at 3am. Every little stir, every creak in the night, I was awake. I don't think I slept for 5 days.

I was exhausted beyond the words in the English language. I would cry every day, sometimes multiple times a day. Being there for you was the best and worst time of my life. I would do it again. Those 5 days on repeat, for the rest of my life, even with the heartache and worry of the unknown.

You were disappearing, but you were still right there. You were still talking to me in the mornings. You were still stern with your decisions and words. You were still you. But, as certain as you were there, you were gone.

You couldn't remember what a seat belt was, and I didn't know how to explain it to you either. You didn't want to eat anything. You would hide your sandwich inside kitchen roll. You didn't eat your toast at breakfast. You've always had toast at breakfast. You didn't drink your morning coffee, and when I switched to carbonated flavoured water as you liked that better, you stopped drinking that to. I made you a chicken dinner, and you questioned the beef on your plate.

I was at a loss for words. My head was squeezed between remaining strong and using every bit of strength in my body not to crack and cave and break each time you said or did something that wasn't the you that I know.

I made decisions about your future, alone. I made decisions about where you were going to live, alone. I took you to your final home, alone.

I left you there, alone.

I would have moved the world for you if I could, but the one thing that was beyond my ability was keeping you here. Once your name is called, you don't get to stay. That's the hardest lump in the throat that is life.

You cared for me, nourished me and protected me when I needed it. So when you needed it, I was there. Whatever it was, no matter how small or large. Whether you wanted me to or not, everything I did was for you.

I didn't realise it would hurt so much for so long. I thought I was ready to talk about you without that winding-lump in my throat, but I'm not ready for that yet.

Maybe one day.

Social class once balanced on a great divide. If you were from an upper class family, you sat at the head of the table. If you were from a lower class-working family, you often didn't get a seat within the building. Society has modernised and social classes intertwine more now than they once did. There still remains noticeable differences.

Within health care, this divide can at times still be very loud.

I have found myself in positions where my tongue is past the point of glue and tape. Those who grew up with ladies maids, and cast iron gated communities and a certain level of protection, often still believe that they are above the working class.

They will still speak down to individuals who support them through their most vulnerable moments, degrading their practice that others are most grateful for. They do not ask for help, but instead offer a sarcastic comment when assistance is offered.

"Would you like help with getting your watch off?"

"I can't do it myself."

"There's always a silver lining"

"Only worry when I do"

I'd say all of these things, but not because I necessarily believed them. I was raised alone in a house with 2 siblings. I became independent first. I held my own because no one was coming to save me from a young age. My resilience to isolation developed immensely and I soon learned that I could navigate this world alone.

I didn't want to be alone. I wanted love, affection and warmth. I didn't want to be my own rescuer and saviour, I wanted a knight to protect me. I didn't want to be independent as a child, I wanted a home that nourished and liked me. I didn't want love, I just wanted someone to see me.

I'd say all of these things because these words kept me grounded when I could have let go and spiralled with the rest of my collapsing world. These words, over time, instilled strength beyond explanation that allowed me to stand up to those who should have protected and cared for me, as well as the often shitty cards that I was dealt.

Even though I will still be screaming inside, on the surface I am calm with these words. To show emotion is to be weak, after all. My teacher wasn't a parent, my protector wasn't a parent, my best friend wasn't a parent. I was raised with 2 siblings, but I was alone.

I won't allow my story to continue. It stops with me.

We get what we ask for in this life, but not always in the ways that we expect. That has been a lump in my throat that took years to soften and swallow. I didn't deserve all that I went through; the hurt, isolation, pain, rejection, but it taught me how to live alone, how to navigate my world independently, and with time it helped me to realise what good love was and with that I began to love who I am, something I'd never done before.

The conversations are flowing with ease on the tables inside. Catching up with friends not seen in a while, there is so much to say, so much to share. It amazes how those who meet regularly still have so much to share, so much to soak in. The noise level slowly begins to rise.

The cars are parking in the street; One in, one out. Some perform manoeuvres as if it's in their DNA, others could do with a little more practice. The slow turning of tyres on the warming ground allow for just a gentle ripple as they turn.

The sun is awakening, the shadows are shortening on the ground below. The heat is firing through, sunglasses and hats are on. Shorts and sleeveless tops quickly follow. The yellow glow of the stone walls light up the main street as the sun casts itself upon.

The taste of egg in the morning waffles, when paired with bacon and syrup is pleasant. Fluffy and golden brown, with just enough squares to allow the syrup to bathe a little before soaking in. The bacon, smoked, and cooked just right; not crispy, and with a light shade of mahogany to colour.

A moment to take in the world around when living in utter chaos day to day.

Breathe in. Hold it. Let it out slow.

“Year 6 is your world right now, and it feels very big, but year 6 won’t be your world forever.” 

That’s what I told my 10 year old daughter after she came home from school crying for the 3rd day in a row. 

“But none of the girls talk to me. They won’t play with me.” 

At her age, so young yet, at times, so mature, it's a deep cut for her when all the girls in her class won’t be her friend. 

As a parent I know that friends come and go, and I am very aware that some people only come into our lives to show us that they are not welcome to stay. However, I can’t begin to explain to my daughter how small this will be in years to come. Her mind is so fragile. Her peers are so important to her personal development. She is heading to secondary school in a matter of weeks, and what if nobody talks to her then either. 

I worry with her. I don’t want my child excluded from conversations, or groups, or games because of something that happened in primary school. I dont want children having separate conversations when my daughter walks past, glancing over to make it look oh-so obvious that the discuss is centred around her. I don’t want my daughter to not want to go to school. A place that she has always enjoyed, and although found it challenging at times, has worked very hard to get her academia to the level that she has.

I could not be more proud of the daughter that I have raised. She has compassion, empathy and a very tolerable level of resilience. What she doesn’t have is the ability to converse her concerns to those who can support her. Her teachers. Her parents. Her wider family. My daughter has been through a lot of changes in her 10 years of life. She has experienced a one-parent household for years, and together we made that work. For a long time, we were all the other one needed. She adapted well to a man swiftly becoming a big and consistent part of both of our lives, and along with this came a house move. Following that came many house moves, a dog and a baby brother. The loss of some very lovable family members, who are missed daily, and the personal changes that her body went through at a young age. 

I am not the type of parent to go into school kicking and screaming because I believe my child is being bullied. I much prefer to teach my children the long game. Go into school and be polite, say hello even if they don’t say it back. Go in and have fun. Ignore the people who make you sad. Don’t grovel and beg for friendships, but don’t ignore them if they come to you either. Unfortunately, there is only so much of that you can ask your child to do. Even more so when you see it first hand. Ignored by someone less than an arms’ reach away. Then you turn to look at your child and their head drops, their eyes sadden and their facial expression looks like they want to be anywhere else but right there. That’s the moment I can feel my blood physically start to boil. There is no reason to be that blatant nasty to someone you were talking to just last week. That was it, I was going in.

I had already spoken with the class teacher on a couple of occasions, and I didn’t go to the head teacher because I didn’t believe in the class teacher. I went to the head teacher because I believed I would have a better chance of talking to her during the school day, and there was no correct construction of words that I could have put in an email to the class teacher. 

The head teacher was aware of an incident on Tuesday prior, “yes, that’s dealt with”, she said. 

And she was aware of a different, but similar, incident on the Friday prior too, “yes, that’s also dealt with”, she said. 

Great! We’re off to a good start. My daughter had said some things that aren’t necessarily appropriate for her age on Tuesday, and she apologised for that and was reprimanded accordingly at home. On Friday there was a separate incident, but it involved some of the same people as Tuesday. In this incident I believe my daughter was tormented and blamed for something she wasn’t a part of. Mostly because she said she’d stayed away from one of the children as they weren’t talking to her following Tuesdays incident, but also because she stumble over her version of events. She could recall everything very clearly.

So when I began to talk about the current issues, she was taken back at first. She believed it was all dealt with and the children had moved on to something else. Not naive, but expecting the children to have something different to fuss over this week, as they usually do.

Unfortunately this wasn’t the case. I began to explain how my daughter was being excluded from the girls in the class, by the girls in the class. The strategic small group pulls’ to the side with hush words that even I can’t work out, whilst looking on as my daughter walks past. The way my daughter is trying her hardest to convince us, as her parents, that she enjoys sitting by herself at play times, and explaining that she is beginning to not want to come to school as she's uncomfortable.

As a parent, these are all signs of bullying, and I won’t have it done to my child or any other. My daughter would be more than scolded if I had found out that she was portraying this behaviour towards someone else. They are children, they have the rest of their lives to be self centred ass holes. But I can't say that without a look of disgust in her formal presence.

I came away from that impromptu meeting with hope, albeit little, that something will be done to stop this behaviour within the class. Unfortunately, I know that the school can speak with the children, but they can’t make them behave any differently.

Head down, hood up.

Walk fast, don't stop.

Stay out of heavily guarded public areas.

Check the security cameras for each little movement.

Mind continuously running on the treadmill of fear.

Not fully switching off.

No relaxing.

Checking over the shoulder.

Data breach.

Laws ignored.

Privacy laid bare.

Concern for safety.

Worry for the future.

Reflection is a big part of moving forward, it helps to clarify learned tasks and information and helps the development of skills, knowledge and ultimately power (of the mind, not magical).

When I reflect back on our time together, lately there hasn't been much positivity that springs to mind. I'm trying to find it, but that's not what's surfacing for me.

I asked why you loved me 2 nights ago, and I still can't think of anything more than "you'll be there if I'm in trouble", like you're my guard dog. That's not fair.

I'm not sleeping when I'm next to you. I'm pleased I'm on a night shift because I may get some undisturbed rest here, albeit minimal.

I don't find you attractive. We both started the gym in February, but I think I was more committed than you at the time. I stopped in April to take care of our children over the holiday (it would have been a waste of money as I was unable to go) but you gave up on it.

You said you were happy in your body yesterday. I don't know how to look at you and not find you unattractive right now.

There are other things that I can't tell you, but I know I need to tell you. It's just about finding the right words, the right time. Having the energy to defend my opinions and findings, because I'm so exhausted from everything.

Not everything, but most of the things that you do I find irritating at the moment. You tell me you'll do something and then stand 'buffering' for a few minutes before getting started. I don't need a running commentary of your day step by step, I just need to know that these are going to get done at a suitable rate.

I don't sit down most days, I don't have the time, but you always manage to find the time to sit in front of the TV. I expect the house didn't get mopped tonight like you said it would, but was Line of Duty good?

I know I could be better. I know we should be better. We've been down this path before where we don't communicate and the volcano eventually erupts. I think the children are picking up on my emotions. They certainly hear my rants and comments about you. I don't mean to be like that, I'm just frustrated.

You're so caught up in your bubble of your work sucks, you don't have this and that, and you need this and that, that I feel that you forget I'm here running myself flat every single day to make things much easier for everyone else.

When you tell me you've 'squared up' to someone at work my mind goes into over drive panicking in case you lose your job - where can I pick up hours to cover your half of everything?

We are meant to be a partnership, but I just feel like we are roommates (literally) right now. Something has to change because I don't think we'll make it this time, and I really want us to.

Platform black shoes, baggy jeans with the chain on the side and deep midleg pockets. A mid-sized strappy top and the straightest of straight hair style. A face of no make, but if there was it would have been minimal, but all the same noticeable because of the deep shades around my eyes.

Portable CD player with the auxiliary cable attached for the headphones. Holding it as flat and still as I could. Wanting to throw myself around, stomping my feet to the music as the words resonate and cut deep. The power that the words had as they travelled up that aux line to my ears.

At the bold age of 8 I didn't know that I was listening to an album that would later soundtrack my early teens through to adulthood...and beyond.

22 years later and I still know every word to every song on this album. The words, the stories, they still resonate with me. They still have the ability to numb the pain, anger, and sadness, in the same way that they could each time I have needed this type of loud, screaming, emotional release before.

I had to teach you how to manage, and understand the value of your money.

I tried to teach you to keep calm, not everyone is worth the fight.

I tried to teach you how to communicate with your children using calm words and understanding, instead of instilling fear.

I thought we were a team, united and strong. But,

when I was having to leave my thought path and hop onto yours because you had ignored me again

when I was financially rushing to your rescue each month because the lessons I thought I had taught you about your money hadn't stuck,

and when my practice on parenting didn't align with your short temper,

It was okay because you said "I'm sorry" and "I love you".

When you called me a "silly cow" with malice in front of my dad because you didn't want to do something I had asked to do,

It was okay because you said "I'm sorry" and "I love you".

My hearing, my body and my mind are in the song. I can feel the composition flow over the edges of my body like a weightless cloud of coloured smoke. The colours that explode from the music. My mind is controlled by the voice singing the words. The words are resonating, they are slotting into the gaps in my mind.

After 47 years you may expect the visual love to subside, and the words expressed once a day at most to confirm that they are still present. However, this relationship took a sharp turn off the regularly safe track 8 years ago when she began to forget things.

Before they knew it, they had no paid employment and he was her full time carer. She was diagnosed with dementia, visual impairment and diabetes to name a few. He was, and still is, a very private individual. A former pilot with 2 adult children together. He spent the majority of his working years flying all over the world, trying to give his family all the things he didn't have growing up. Little did he know, that all those things he did out of love for his family back home, would come back around and result in resentment of not being present from his children.

I could not give an opinion on his wife's interpretation of events, nor would I ever want to, as I have only known of her and him in a professional environment. However, the way she looks at him, the glances that turn into long loving stares and the full knowing smile that takes over her whole body when he holds her are not something to argue with. Regardless of their lives before now, she holds little to no resentment towards him and her love for him is still flourishing.

"Hello"

"Hello, it's your mum"

"I know. What's happened?"

Yes my tone was blunt and harsh, but I didn't have it in me to be cheery and warm in my tone. There were only 2 reasons she would call, that I thought of in that moment. Either my brother was hurt, or my grandad was dead.

My grandad was dead.

I hadn't seen him in a few years. 4 to be exact. The last time that I saw him my son was still growing. He'll be 4 very soon.

I gave my condolences on the phone and that's when my voice cracked. Then her voice cracked. I started to sob. She was already sobbing.

"I'll let you know of the funeral plans when I know", she wept.

"Okay, thanks, bye."

That's all that I could say and I hung up sharp.

I don't have a relationship with this person who identified herself as 'mum'. I haven't had a conversation with her in many years, and at the family funerals I've gone out of my way to avoid her or turned my body sideways to her as a way to let her know I'm not interested in any conversation.

I've been in the process of buying my first home since May 2023 as this is the first time I saw the site and fell in love with my desired plot. It's set away from most other things, in a cul-de-sac type style area of the site but it is a good drive through the modern day rabbit warren. It's now March 2026 and I've been set back once on the date and twice on their finishing errors...so far. These are stressful in their own right when you're trying to get ducks in a row to move out of a rented property where the estate agents are asking when the keys are being returned (I haven't given written notice yet, calm down), I need a cleaner to come in and do all the cleaning that I won't have the time to do. I need to arrange a snagger to check out the house and the flooring to go down. I need to hire a van, I need to plan my work time off as my partner won't get any due to recently taking on a new job I need to arrange care for the children as it appears it'll likely be all hands on deck during the Easter break too.

I have buying,moving and organising stresses...but now mix in 3 family deaths all in the space of 2 years and 7 months, therapy for the grief, and the erratic emotional rotation of fight or flight which starts the moment I wake up and often keeps me up in the early hours.

I'm not sure if there are enough self-help/grief podcasts out there to teach me to regulate my emotions between therapy sessions at the moment.

In my world where questions are circling all day, every day, from the children about when we're moving. And my plans that were so structured and organised on moving are becoming more and more like wet spaghetti with no direction. My personal calendar is changing day to day, with the constant requirement to be on my phone to change appointments, cancel meetings or squeeze someone in within the couple of hours that I have.

I am forever exhausted between night shifts, and full days of training, going to the gym to try and keep my head space calm and clear, keeping up with all things school, trying to be the best partner I can be, and fighting the overwhelming urge to drop everything and run away somewhere that all of these things don't exist.