Just to let you know Margaret Thatcher died. I don’t believe in heaven or hell but if you do happen to bump into her in the afterlife, I’m sure you would be kind due to her dementia even though I know how much you utterly hated the woman and the devastation she wrought on the mining community you hailed from. Your dad was a miner but died before she came into power- I think you were glad of he never got to see what happened to the village you grew up in.
I don’t think it’s nice to crow over someones death, I’d be sad if anyone was happy you died, even if you did have a knack of
deliberately rubbing people up the wrong way sometimes.
I’m not happy she died, if anything her dying has bought my own grief for you up. She was always in the periphery of my childhood and so I remember happier but hard and worrying times in the eighties growing up. I remember being very scared when the Falkland war started as I was convinced I’d have to be an evacuee, and we were about to get bombed! This was despite the fact we lived in rural Midlands. My primary school history lessons clearly had some kind of an impact.
I also remember we all knew she stole our milk but then I never really understood that one- we had to pay 10p for a carton of slightly warm milk or a glass of apple juice at breaktime and when in year6 me and a few other girls were made milk monitors and were allowed a free drink for our troubles- except we kept nicking more and more milk and juice and the profits went down. Given I also wanted to be the next woman prime minister in Y6 maybe she had had more of an impact on me than I thought….
I don’t really remember joining you in solidarity on the miners strikes but I still have the picture from then (and you assure me I met and charmed Arthur Scargill aged three or four!). We still have the jigsaw somewhere made from this picture that mum got from saving up coupons from marmite jars. She would never let us actually do the jigsaw incase we lost a piece. It was recording history!
Anyhow. You’ve gone, She’s gone, Joe’s gone, Both sets of Grandma and Grandpa’s have gone, Becci’s gone, Sam next door went yesterday, one day we will all be gone, ashes to ashes and all that.
Death- bit shit really.
Miss you dad.
Dear Birthday Beano,
I am decoupaging my father in laws old trunk into a toy box for the girls covered in your fabulous comic. I bought random selection of 17 on eBay from 1981 1982 and 1983. They arrived in the post today, to my complete surprise there was one from the exact day I was born!!! Given you were only produced once a week on a Thursday, then the odds of me getting a Beano out of the 17 I received from the exact date of my birth were slim (I had no idea I was born on a Thursday or the Beano was issued on a Thursday) and to get this treat on today of all days made a very hard day (first anniversary of my fathers death) a special day. I don’t really believe in ghosts but I’m comforted by pretending it’s a sign from Dad.
Thankyou Birthday Beano. You shall occupy pride of place on my daughters’ new toy box.
(for security reasons not actual birthday Beano)
Time ticks on,
Never waste a moment
Seize the day
Baby is born
Toddler turns 2
Life goes on
Daughter avoids grief
Life goes on
Baby turns one
Anniversary of fathers death.
Tomorrow about 9.30am ish
Time to pause
Time to grieve
Toddler will turn 3 next week
Life goes on.
Time goes on.
First Christmas without you. Mum and bro seem to be having fun chez. Curds.
Mum keeps nicking all my Baileys that Bro bought me (since you can’t buy me my annual bottle anymore he has taken over the tradition). Bro is fine helping with dinner and girls adore him.
Girls are being poppets, Omble is not in the slightest bit interested in Christmas but likes the wrapping paper, and Oddler has turned into present demanding brat from hell but now they have run out she is very happy with her presents- I think LordC doing his usual trick of dragging presents out to make them last was winding her up (That and the sugar mouse mum gave her for breakfast!), just like you used to with me and bro! 🙂
Strange not to talk to you today. Miss you. Love you.
Hate to break this to you, but have put your red tummy control pants on outside your blue lycra tights, and um let’s face it, that’s really a clear sign of a woman not actually coping at all.
If you just admitted that you being so SUPER all the time is a total myth, that would be lovely as I’m sure the rest of womankind might then ease off the pressure on themselves to try and be perfect all the time.
Posted in LadyCurd
They say bereavement is a journey, one that never really ends but has easier paths and harder paths. I’d say since my dad died I stuck my roller skates on, load my backpack up with more and more stuff to keep me busy and preoccupied from grief and got my head down and tried and skate through it as fast as I can.
Except I wasn’t looking where I was going. I’ve crashed into a wall, and fallen flat on my arse, the contents of my backpack are strewn around me. I’ve realised that although it was the only strategy I felt I could adopt at the time (I had a three week old baby she took priority, then she got easier, so I took more & more on at work to keep me busy and distracted) it was not a sustainable strategy.
So I’m stopping to rest for a while and I’m taking some time to sort through my backpack, getting rid of some of the items causing the most weight and stress, working out what’s most important, before picking myself up to continue with this journey. It’s scary because I am no quitter and some of the things in the back pack being got rid of will cause difficult consequences for other people and I really really hate letting people down.
Actually admitting I’ve crashed into a wall is quite embarrassing for me too, I’m usually the perfect superskater, I don’t ever stumble or fall, I just carry on, but heck on the otherside of the wall is a giant drop. So I’m glad I’m stopping now and sorting it out with a bruised bum and pride rather than carry on hurtling on and ending up with a broken neck/brain.
Think I might stroll the next part of my bereavement journey. Allow myself to cry that I can’t see my dad over Christmas, that he can’t see or celebrate Omble’s first birthday (he never met her) or Oddlers 3rd Birthday which falls exactly a week after the anniversary of his death. I need to get through all these milestones properly, carefully and finally allow myself to grieve. Properly, with the help of my family, friends and a bereavement counsellor, not by ignoring distracting and hurtling on.
So where are you in your bereavement journey and how are you choosing to journey?
Lots of love
I just read your gripping debut novel:
I know you have your position to maintain as a patriarchal consumerist toy but I know this is the real book you would have written if you could have:
Lots of love