unhappy endings…

Heya Bab,

It is rolling up to two months since I got home and there is still much I can’t quite say. There are things I want to write but so far I can’t even speak them without a round lump rising up in my throat and emotion adding extra tones like cornflour, thickening out my voice.

I have beginnings, so many beginnings on note pads, post-its, the doodle pad on my phone. But they don’t even close to speaking it. I want to do justice to where I’ve been and that makes me a tough auto-editor. War demands a genre that I can’t write and there is a lot of paper in the recycling bin.

Perhaps some of it will never be said but in me it is written. There is a kind of comfort in that.

Mum has been a star. Since I’m home I see her fear more clearly. Famously she called me there to say I was crazy, she had no clue what would make me go to such a place but that she loved me. Now I get it. Then I’m not sure I had the energy to. She is being gentle with me like I didn’t know she could and I’m grateful. Sometimes we don’t fight for days at a time. You’d be chuffed.

The other day we took a drive, and sitting on a garage forecourt watching pouring rain wave merry seas across the windscreen, I suddenly realised that I’m ok that you’re dead. That sounds like an odd thing to say and once it would have felt like a terrible thing to feel. But this comes long after all of that and it just is. There is a peace that comes after the tears and the certain conviction that I can’t get through another day, and the fear that I’ll forget you or miss missing you. I would have never believe that but my my isn’t it wonderful?

Now, here, in these days the pain has mostly long passed and there is just love. Love endures, real, laughing, silly, strong. I remember the way you’d shout at drivers who cut you up, ever colourful in your five part curses. I remember the way you’d fold your arms when you thought I was wrong. I remember your smiling sad dog eyes and I know for sure you’re dead not lost. That you won’t be, couldn’t be, can’t be.

So that’s where I’m at, sitting still with the knowing that nothing is lost and nothing need be quite perfect to be quite alright. As it is is plenty good enough.

Right now with my stopped up words and full full heart I’m glad to be reminded of that.

Love ya,


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One Response to unhappy endings…

  1. What a wonderful tribute to your parents…who they were and who they are. You are an awesome testimony to their love. I don’t know from whence your writing ability flows, but you owe a tribute to yourself and whomever for that, too. I love hearing that you are okay in mind, body and spirit. xxoo

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