A new Decision

When I was in my late teens a few years ago, who am I kidding, a decade or three ago, I began to write childrens stories. Nothing fancy, not even very good, they were for my own amusement, occasionally I allowed friends to see them.



In October 1983 a very important lady left my world. I was devastated to say the least, that sunday morning I walked from one end of town to the other and back again, finally ending up at a friend's family home. Even at such an eary hour on an Autumn Sunday, my grief stopped me from staying wrapped up in my warm cosy bed, the bed I had only got into a few brief hours earlier. I felt selfish, I was so wrapped up in my own distress that I was not ready to comfort my mother in her hour of need. I had sat on the stairs and sobbed even before the news was passed on. I knew without being told you see.



The very fact that the phone had rung at 6am on a sunday was warning enough, but hearing his voice on the line, cracking up as he asked to speak to my mother. There was only one thing this unexpected call could mean. Like many men, especially in those days, he didn't like to talk on the phone, preferring to let his wife do this for him. But on this sad occasion he had no choice, his wife was gone, taken from him in the night, he was the only one who could do this. It was his duty and his need to be the one to tell his daughter that her mother was nolonger by his side.



My sadness was so consuming that it tainted my joy in writing, I could no longer continue to amuse myself by writing. Over the years I wished I could again pick up my pen, but it just was not to be. Then in January 2007 it began. I wrote a fantasy, I enjoyed writing it. My friends enjoyed reading it so I wrote more. Over the past 18 months I have written a number of pieces. Not as much as I would like although I have a growing store of beginnings, locked away in a file called creative writing. Last September I joined a creative writing class and really enjoyed it. I stopped going at Christmas when I began to work full time hours, I needed to give myself time to get used to working longer hours. I enjoy my work so the longer hours don't worry me but I do get tired.



I had been pondering whether to go back to my writing classes. I have now made my decision with the help of my grandpa. One of the pices I wrote for the class last year was inspired by the retirement home where he was living at the time. I enjoy that piece which was so different to anything else I had written. Now that my Grandpa has died I could give up writing as I did when my Granny died but instead I am going to write more than ever.


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Tears and Flowers

This morning along with my mother we travelled down through the New Forest to visit the little village church where my Granny was buried in October 1983. I was just 21 when she died, I was very close to my Granny, they had been due to visit us for a few days but she died of a massive heart attack during the night just a week before their proposed visit. The first thing I wanted to do when I heard the news, was to phone my Granny and tell her about this awful thing that had happened. Of course I couldn't ring her to tell her of my loss because she was the one I had lost.

I had inherited my love of writing from both my Granny and my mum. My Granny had a number of short stories published when I was a child, apparently she had a small income from her writing. In my late teens I had begun to dabble with a little creative writing of my own, just for my own amusement. But when she died so did my desire to write, I wanted to continue but somehow the flame had gone out. I didn't start writing again until January 2007, which was when I first began allowing others to read my work. I have made a decision to go back to writing classes and continue writing.

Today we visited her grave, we had meant to do so when we drove back from Bournemouth on Bank Holiday Monday, but didn't as we hadn't brought any flowers with us. My grandpa had done his best to tend her grave until he had to give up driving aged 90. Mother and I visited the grave when we could sometimes together but mostly alone. I think the last time I went was on the day of G's cremation 3 or was it 4 years ago. We left some potted flowers and I tidied up the headstone as best I could.

On the way we had talked about the funeral this coming Friday. It won't be a religious affair as unlike my Granny, my Grandpa didn't believe. So it will be a few pieces of music with a few words from mum about her dad's life then the hard part, I shall be reading out some of my memories of this man I am proud to be related to. My brothers will also do the same.

One piece of music my mum would like to play at the funeral but won't because listening to it has her in floods of tears is this one by one of her most favourite artists.

Neil Diamond ~ Hello Again

At the moment I am not feeling too great as I came down with a head cold on Friday, obviously my guard was down and the stinky rotten germs managed to get in under my defences. Maybe thats just my way of allowing the tears to escape. Considering that I am such an emotional person I find it very difficult to release any emotion in these times of sorrow, I don't cry or get angry, I was the same when my dad died prematurely aged 55. I was the same when I had Cancer. But when I have a head cold the tears stream down my face as though from a tap with a dodgy washer that just won't quite shut off. I guess its just another example of my upbringing, the British Stiff Upper Lip thing. Having to be strong, not collapsing in a heap in times of sorrow. My head tells me that I should allow myself to grieve but nothing comes. Maybe I have built a wall around my heart that keeps me going, yet I can read or watch something sentimental and I'm a sopping heap of tears why is that?