Tag Archives: family

What does it matter.

01 Friday Jun 2018

Posted by in Friends, Life, Motherhood, Relationships, Uncategorized

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I’m on holiday in the South of France with the two youngest boys and my mum; the eldest ditched me to stay at home. Can’t say I blame him, I would’ve at his age!

We have had a lovely week. The sun is shining, we’ve swum, played games, sunbathed, read books. It has been awesome. I’ve read three books in 6 days and started a 4th. This never happens. I love spending time with my mum and kids. I don’t get enough of it.

Whilst I am officially on annual leave, I have spent a lot of time emailing and calling work over the past two days as I am changing jobs and had issues with my start date. I’ve done this laying by the pool in between diving in and out, or watching the kids attempts to learn to dive themselves.

Whilst I’ve been doing this the boys have been playing with their friends and my mum has been reading on her kindle, watching TV on her ipad or crocheting. She’s never without a crochet hook within easy reach. She is bloody amazing at crochet. She makes loads of fantastic stuff. She can’t help herself.

Anyway this evening on the last day of our holiday my Mum said to the boys in front of me “I have to say your Mum is always on her phone”.

For some reason this raised my hackles. I have fully participated in this holiday. It is my holiday too after all. Despite the fact that I drove for 14 hours to get us here, whilst they were all watching TV, or reading or crocheting in the car. I’ve swum, taken the kids go-karting, and climbing. I’ve read over three books. I’ve cooked every night (with help from my Mum, of course), but I was being judged because I was using my phone a lot.

Whilst it annoyed me immediately, it’s not worth stressing over and so I forgot about it until I was in the shower. Whilst I was washing, I started to think about how some things appear to be acceptable for others to comment on, but somethings not. For example, I never watch TV. Anyone who has been to my house knows that I actually don’t know how to work my TV. And I don’t have Sky or Virgin, just the standard TV channels. People always comment on this. “You don’t watch TV?” As if I have some affliction..nope I don’t watch TV, not on a regular basis. If I’m not working I read or I catch up with friends, that may be in person or on the phone or via text. I don’t sit and watch crap on TV.

But somehow it’s socially acceptable to sit all evening watching TV. Or all day, and to judge me for not doing the same.

Lots of people spend all their spare time knitting, or like my Mum, crocheting. No one would ever dream of saying to them in a slightly acusatory and judgemental way “Oi Doris, all you ever do is knit” or “Brenda, you are always doing those jigsaws, can’t you do something else”.

What does it matter to anyone else if I’m on my phone rather than doing something that they feel more suitable and appropriate? How is me being on my phone different to any other pursuit, such as reading or sewing?

I don’t get a lot of time that isn’t occupied by work or childcare or other life admin; I keep in touch with those I care about using my phone. Instead of buying newspapers I read the news on my phone. If I’m reading, I often do so on my phone. If I want to watch a documentary I’ll do it on my phone. If I’m working, I can often do it on my phone. I really don’t see a problem with that.

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Papering the cracks. 

14 Tuesday Apr 2015

Posted by in Friends, kids, Life, Uncategorized

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Since my last blog about splitting up with P I’ve been amazed at 2 things:1) the number of people who took the time to connect with me, to check that I am ok, to let me know they are there (thank you all), and 2) the number of people who said they were stunned. That they thought that we were a perfect couple. 

It’s made me think about how social media can allow us to share the life that we want people to think we have rather than the life we actually have with our friends and colleagues. I mean, we have all probably done it; we have a day off, at home with the kids, it’s been a hell of a bad day, they have spent nearly all of it fighting or arguing over important things, such as who is going to get to sit next to Mummy or who broke who’s biscuit. You wonder how you could possibly have borne these Devils, You are just about ready to kill them, and so, in desperation you make them put on their shoes and take them to the park. 

The only reason you are taking them to the park is the hope that they might put 100 metres between you and their constant bickering. This is not about fun, this is survival! It works, you can finally see the arguing but not hear it, and if you don’t look up you can pretend not to see or hear the constant whines of “Muuuumm, he, pushed/hit/punched/licked/looked at me funny!” Ignorance is bliss and so you sit back and enjoy the peace. And then it happens; they stop arguing for 1.5 minutes, the sun pops out for 2.5 minutes, and so you seize the opportunity to take a few pictures of them, in the sun, playing together like angels. 

30 seconds later they are back to bickering and arguing and generally being little sods, what do you do? You retreat back to the park bench, you ignore the yelps and screams coming from the other end of the park and you upload those few rare peaceful moments to Facebook, or Twitter, or Instagram. Look at how perfect they are, look how nicely they play together (Yeah right!). 

The point is, I didn’t bother taking photos of them arguing, and I certainly didn’t post them to social media. Anyone who looked at my profile would probably assume that my kids and I had a whale of a time at the park, smiling and playing together. Which we did. I mean those perfect 1.5 minutes of not bickering or arguing, in the sun were indeed perfect. However I unconsciously edited my day/life down to those few small moments in an otherwise poxy day when I uploaded those pictures to Facebook. 

 Too many people accept that what people portray on social media is the reality of other people’s worlds. And that is quite a scary thought. If I was friends with someone who was depressed or not coping particularly well, they may well be under the illusion that I am coping perfectly, that I manage to be the perfect mother/wife/girlfriend/sister/employee/whatever. What they may fail to realise is that they are only seeing the highlights. The best bits. The parts that I want to show the world. They don’t see the me, snot hanging down my face, sobbing down the phone that I am a failure, that I can’t cope, that I am too tired, too sad to deal with this crap; because that’s not they way I want most people to know me. So those times get conveniently missed out from my Facebook feed and instead you see the times I’m winning at life, you see the good and I edit out the bad. To someone who is depressed or struggling to cope this can make them feel a failure, they may see everyone else’s lives through the rose tinted glasses of social media and this can make them feel worse. 

And that’s how people form the impression that everyone else’s life is better than theirs. That they must be doing something wrong. They don’t see the cracks in the lives of their friends, they only see the paper that their friends have covered over the cracks with. But nothing is perfect, everything has cracks, and so you know what? Those 1.5 minutes of perfection, in the park, sun shining and kids loving me were the closest to heaven I’ve been for a while. And so I’ll carry on sharing those moments, however perhaps we should all bear in mind that what we see is not always a reflection of our full time reality, it’s the reality we’d like. 

Reinforcing the chain. 

12 Thursday Mar 2015

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Being away from people that you love is hard. It’s harder when you get news of their pain, suffering and illness. Every bone in your body wants to do something. Jump into action, help make it right, make them better. But sometimes you can’t. Sometimes the distance that you would need to travel is too great, other responsibilities too much or maybe it is financially unachievable. Whatever the reason, knowing that someone you love and care about greatly is not right and that you can’t do anything about it is heart wrenching. 

9 years ago my Dad moved to the USA.  He has had a few health scares over the years, most of which he has brushed off without any fuss to us kids. This week he was taken into hospital, and it seemed like it could be bad. We found out in the middle of the night (mainly due to the time difference) that he’d been taken in with abnormalities in his breathing and heart. 

There is honestly nothing to make you feel more impotent than hearing that someone you care about as much as your parents are possibly critically ill and yet being absolutely incapable of doing anything about it. I wanted to make sure they were doing all the correct tests, make sure they were doing them promptly, and then reacting on the results. Everything seemed to be taking far too long, for goodness sake, this isn’t anyone, this is my Dad; you need to fix him now. There was also a nagging in my mind that perhaps he is worse than my stepmom is telling me. She could be trying to protect me from knowing how bad he is. 

Most of all I just wanted to see him. Give him a cuddle and tell him I loved him. Of course, I’ve told him that I love him hundreds of times, but it suddenly became important to tell him so again, to remind him. I tried to think back to the last time that I saw him, or spoke to him: what had I said, will he know I care? What if that is the last time I ever spoke to him? The time difference between us often makes it difficult to talk at a convenient time, he may well call as I’m cooking dinner or putting the kids to bed. Did I give him my full attention? 

I imagine how I would have felt if that initial message saying that my Dad was ill instead had said something else, imagine if it had been worse news. Would I have been happy that I had done everything in my power recently to make my dad feel loved? 

This week has made me realise the importance of making sure that I strengthen the chain that holds our lives together. Not just with my dad but with everyone I care about.  I am going to make the effort, go out of my way to let people know that I care. There are a million ways to do it, and they don’t need to cost money or even vast amounts of time. I can call someone I care about for no reason whatsoever, tell them or show them through my words that I’m thinking about them, that they matter. A text or a Facebook message can do the same thing, sometimes it’s not about how or what you say to people, it’s the fact you have reached out to them in some way. I can send small surprises to people I love. I can offer to help them out, pay them a compliment, it doesn’t really matter how or what I do, the important thing is to let them know that I care. That they matter. 

Elephant in the room.

02 Monday Feb 2015

Posted by in Emotions, Friends, Relationships, Uncategorized

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Death is nothing at all… That’s a line from a popular choice of readings at many of the  funeral services that I have attended. The thing is,  death is a big thing. It’s that elephant in the room, the thing we all know is coming, and yet we try our best not to acknowledge.  We ignore it,  we try not to even speak it’s name, we say someone has passed on gone to meet their maker, become an angel. Very rarely do we say someone is dead, it’s euphemisms all the way.

The thing is, we need to deal with Death. We need to accept it,  after all,  as a friend of mine says, good health is just the slowest possible way to die!  It’s an unfortunate truth. No matter how much we don’t like it, it is one thing we can guarantee. 

I have recently been faced with Death and the dying fairly frequently.  I’ve been working on the ambulances and have seen a lot of ill people. Most of these are old people,  people who have lived full and varied lives,  and are proud, strong and fascinating human beings.  All too many of them have been reduced to the remnants of the people that they once were. Some may be unsteady on their feet,  and so have fallen and injured themselves, or just don’t have the strength to get up. Others may just be weak with age or exhausted from breathing or heart conditions,  many have dementia. 

But it’s not all elderly people who die. My 7 year old son came home today with news of a school friend who died at the weekend. Younger people die too, no matter how much we want to ignore it. And it’s heart wrenching and horribly sad,  and doesn’t bear thinking about,  but think about it we should. 

In my mind, death shouldn’t be taboo. It should be a subject that we talk about, without dread, we plan so many things in our lives, but very few people plan for their deaths. We leave this most important part of life to our family and friends,  people who, with the best will in the world are the least likely to be in the frame of mind to make rational, life or death decisions. 

My Nana was probably the person who I have been closest to that has died. I loved my Nana fiercely,  and she loved us all fiercely back. None of us would ever want her to be in pain or distressed.  She was very ill,  she had been fairly I’ll for a long time. She had COPD and was on oxygen constantly, but she was still firing on all cylinders and bossy as hell!

Then one day, she got a chest infection,  and was admitted to hospital. Despite treatment, she didn’t improve.  The Dr’s wanted to withdraw treatment and in that moment,  I would have done anything to save her. Even in the poor health that she was in, I wasn’t ready to let her die. It wasn’t about her. I was selfishly thinking of myself, i didn’t think that my Nana was suffering and would hate to be like this. I just felt that I could not let her go. Luckily I was able to cry it out,  talk to my friends and family and ultimately, it wasn’t up to me to let her go. Probably a good job,  as I don’t think I would have had the strength. I’d want them to keep her alive, not for her but for me. My Nana slipped away quietly in her sleep early one morning soon after.

The funny thing is that after she died I felt relief. Not that she was dead,  but that she was gone without suffering:  she never lost her mind to dementia, or her independence. She died after a short illness and was peaceful. It took my mum and aunt a lot to allow them to withdraw treatment but ultimately it was the right thing to do. Nana would have hated to be a burden and if she had survived she wouldn’t have had the life she was used to.

And that’s why it is important that we face that elephant in the room, that we talk about death and dying, and give our loved ones an idea of what we want or don’t want to be done to keep us alive. It’s not fair to leave a grieving loved one to make decisions on your life or death completely in the dark. It’s not fair on them,  and it’s certainly not fair on you. As humans we are ultimately selfish.  We don’t like pain,  and the pain of losing someone we think we can’t live without is too much. Some people can’t put that aside and think of the other person.  And that says nothing about them,  and more about being human.

So we should all make our feelings clear. Talk about them,  write them down.  Be unequivocal.  Speak about death, and life,  and the conditions in which we would choose death over life. How much should we be prepared to let Dr’s intervene to prolong our life?  If we lose our ability to choose the best for us,  who do we trust to choose it instead. What do we want done with our bodies when we die, are we leaving them to medical science?  Being buried, cremated?  How do we feel about organ donation?  All of us,  none of us, or only some parts? All of these things are important, they mean that we know what will happen to us, and it takes the guilt and pain and decision making away from a loved one who is in an impossible situation. 

So I’ll start it now: if I get dementia,  or have a stroke or any other condition that means I have no mental capacity and no hope for recovery,  I would like treatment to be withdrawn.  I would like my family with me and I’d like to die. If I am able to,  I would like any of my organs to be donated. I don’t mind if I’m buried or cremated but I’d like a grave that people can visit if they want to. And most of all,  I want my family to know that it is my choice and not theirs. There is no guilt,  it’s what I would want.