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On this day, 6 years ago, the world lost a part of it's heart. My mum was a woman who would always listen, who loved and always cared for those around her. I celebrate her life today, instead of mourn my loss. Today is extra reason to love more, take less and live to the fullest. May you rest peacefully mum. I love you with everything I have - especially after this time. It does not diminish - it only strengthens. Xxx

In the spirit of this I will tell a story of my mum.

My mum was the go to girl, she was the one I could talk to who understood me, accepted me and loved me unflinchingly and unfailingly. I wasn't perfect and as a child I would scare the bejeezers out of her. Other days I would irritate her. When I was three I had a friend – Warren, who lived opposite me. Our mum's got along well and during the summer they would hang out on the flat roof, whilst we played.

One such day our mum's were completely engrossed in conversation and Warren and myself found ourselves in my bathroom. I looked at Warren and smiled and suggested being like grown-ups. He looked at me puzzled – I returned the idea to him and said, well our mummies wash our hair, lets be like them. He grinned. I realised we needed to wet our hair, and tried to turn the taps to no avail. Faced with this quandary I put all my three year old ingenuity and problem solving skills to the test and came up with a fairly genius idea.

Catch the water from the flush of a toilet – it was clean before it sat at the bottom, in my mind and so I used that reasoning to use the water. Hair wet I looked around for the shampoo. I picked up the first thing to come to hand (after quite a bit of climbing I must add) and put it on both out hair. It didn't foam. So I put more on it – still no foam. Must need more water was my reasoning. Lets put it this way - thirty minutes went past and my mother came in, to find the top half of the house flooded. And the “shampoo” still hadn't foamed. As for what was in my best friends hair, and mine – well it wasn't shampoo, that's for certain. It was bathroom strength cream cleanser. My blonde hair had never been so blonde!

Lets put it this way. My mum saw the funny side in the deduction of what had happened. And for years afterwards managed to tell the story. One other thing, because of the story telling to anyone who would listen, or the showing of baby pictures – including a rather large one on permanent display at my parents house. I do not have any qualms with showing my baby picture as can be seen below – this is my mum (Aged 36 years – now you know where the lack of aging comes from with me and myself as a baby!)


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I have been dealing with issues I haven't been able to describe. 

Tonight I was helping a friend with a journal article for a writing journal, she has been writing for and looked at one of the issues and saw a poem about mental health and it sparked something.

I ended up writing 3 poems about the things that in normal conversant language I have had the most difficulty with expressing.

I dunno if they are very good in a technical sense, but they express what they are intended, so they are successful to me.


About depression

About depression )

About losing My Mum and what it means/meant

Mum )

About my relationship with my dad - who lived with me my entire life (I am lucky and I know that.)

Daddy )
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A while back I used my own recollections of my mothers passing as the fontispiece of a novel. I have since discarded the idea. But what follows is an accurate recollection of the events from after we arrived at the hospital until the wake. I thought I would share them here.


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April 2011

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