Archives for the month of: May, 2013

From time to time, I refer to my mum as a tank. She is the master of pushing through barriers. There is more of my mother in me than I care to admit. I was feeling rough, walking into things and having strange sensations; like I was passing out, without the falling on the floor bit.

Yeah, I’m grieving. This year has been tough, trying to find work and it being cold and lonely and then the three months of making sure that I spent as much time as I could with Nan. So, I expected to be tired. The thought of moving house and applying for more work on top was making me feel queasy.

But after the last time of nearly falling over. on to a small child. I thought that I had best go to the doctors. They tell me, I have Labyrinthitis and that is what is affecting my balance and my ability to talk in proper sentences.

Nan’s funeral is next Thursday, the only day I work. I’m thinking teaching homeless kids how to decorate might not be so pleasant after a funeral. No work no pay though, then the universe steps in and says, “Ticker, you are ridiculous. Take some time off. Here, have Labyrinthitis.”

What did I do? I used some of the time that I didn’t have to plan, decorating the new house, being driven on by the tank (at my request). Crying, packing. Staring. Walking into things. Painting, treading on glass, crying, painting. I think that when this next three weeks is over, I should have a holiday.

I loved the two months working full time, but I missed being able to write. I can’t imagine how I used to think I had no time prior to my Nan being ill and yet I found time to travel four hours, three days a week on top of working full days. When the moving and the job searching is done, I’m going to have masses of time.

That will be a bit like a holiday. Won’t it?

Anyhow, I have turned one of my dreams into reality. I am moving into a really nice area. A really nice area. I’m just sad that it was too late for Nan to see. She would have been so happy that I was moving closer.

I’ve been listening to Laura Mvula, particularly Diamonds…

Here have a poem I just thought up…

I have a heart, broken heart.
Concrete encased heart of hurt,
Broken apart by loss of love,
Lonely, lacking light and air,
Breaking the casing chased,
A shadow away and showed
In dreams of hope.

Om mani padme hum

She Don’t Stop – Laura Mvula
MsFat Booty – Mos Def (seemingly only for the line “I know I can’t afford to stop for one moment”)

Two months that should have been fun and joy, turned into a test of endurance. Two more weeks of steaming through, the fatigue, stress, pain and the none. stop. travel. all around West Yorkshire. by bus. often having to wait half hour or an hour for a connection. I couldn’t stop. I wouldn’t stop.

She don’t stop, she can’t afford to stop; has just been stopped.

I played She don’t stop and the difficulties of driving myself on these few months hit me. I cried. Trying to push out and suck in breath at the same time, like I had been winded. Heavy deep sobs and throaty gasps. I pushed away from the desk, I felt like I wanted to lie fetal on the floor, but instead I knelt.

Was I going to pray? I didn’t. Instead I pushed my knees into the kickboard of the sofa, bringing a pillow close, folding it, positioning it, I had no idea what I was doing. I was holding the cushion, pressing my cheek against it. And then it happened. I cried. My whole body shook, almost convulsing. I was letting go. I was stopped, only to let go.

I only realised that I hadn’t been breathing properly until I heard my fast and shallow breath. I thought about work in my position. They will have to prepare for me. That’s if I go in this week at all.

Stop.

Pause.

See; sofa, fabric, books in the back ground.

Breathing, in my position.

I remember the necklace that she bought me for Christmas. I go and get it. It is an opal in a teardrop silver setting with a small diamond. On the back is the inscription; ‘I am with you still, with each new dawn’. I am breathing heavy again. I sent her a text to say goodbye. The last time I saw her I only told her I loved her.

Om Mani Padme Hum every Wednesday for the next six weeks.

What happens if I forget?