Dear Mum (5)

Dear Mum,

I am 30.

When you were 30 you had a 3 year old Cass, a 1 year old Little B and were pregnant with Mummy L. The problems that were to come down the line had not manifested themselves at this point in all our lives. These were probably your most glorious days and years - I wish they were longer.

For my 30th birthday Husband got me my first "proper watch". I adore it.

I already have a "proper watch". Your watch. It gets admired and complimented and I do love it. But I find it hard to wear. Such a strange thing to write but it is bound with such a complicated set of emotions.

At 19, when it and your engagement ring, came to me I really struggled. I was too young to wear jewellery like that. Under circumstances like those.  My jewellery was up to that point was relatively cheap but my own, with my own memories and my own reasoning. So I kept them safe and locked away. I would try them on when my own grief wasn't trying to choke me. Decide that they were still yours and not ready to be worn by me. Yet.
                     My Beautiful Birthday Present

I can wear your engagement ring more easily than your watch. It is beautiful and sparkles and I haven't ever seen anything like it on anyone else. I adore how unique it is. When it was given to you it was filled with love and hope. When it came to me it was filled with sadness, but it's relentless sparkle and reminder of what it symbolised make it a piece that I enjoy wearing. I look forward to passing it onto my daughter one day- when it is filled with love again and she knows nothing of the sadness that came to be associated with it.

Your watch is different.

It has a weight to it that feels strange. The way it sits on my wrist is impossibly like how it sat on your for all those years. It takes a couple of days of wearing for it to settle into my unconscious. I have also had to grow into wearing it and I think age has brought a confidence in my ability to wear it. I found myself trying to explain this to my brother in law. I am not sure I was able to make a coherent explanation of it. So I thought I'd write to you about it.

The story of how you got it is one I will never know. I confess at one point I thought seriously about selling it and replacing it with a watch of my choosing. When it came to it I couldn't. Loosing either piece would break my heart. But I would give them both away in a split second if it meant that I could have another day with you, here and now. So you could see what kind of women your girls have become, what has happened to our family since you passed and give me the kind of reassurance that only a mother can.

To ask you a question that I could have asked years ago but was too afraid to confront you with.

Why?

In all likelihood if we had that day together I wouldn't be able to confront you with about it. It would be just as it always was- enjoy the good while it lasts don't discuss the bad in case it contaminates the precious balance that you have found.

I wish I could understand why and what I could have done differently to save you.

Love, as always

Cass
xx





                                                                                                                                                       If only it were as straight forward  as this

Dear Mum (4)

Dear Mum,


This Easter I took Husband up to Aberdeenshire to see our family home. To visit my old primary school and walk around the village we lived just outside of. 


I cried. 


I didn't expect to but I did. 


I remember Dad telling us on a Monday night after Gymnastics that we would be leaving to go to Edinburgh. I remember you crying a lot. You were very upset at leaving, seeing our home all packed up and empty and bare. You seemed inconsolable. I think you told Dad to tell us alone - you were not going to be there when he broke the news. I am pretty sure now that was a deliberate move on your part. He didn't have your support.


I can only guess the reasons why. 


I know my reasons for crying. It was the last place we were a family. Properly. We were happy. All of us. 


I cried for that family. 


I cried for the waste of a life.


I cried for the loss of potential.


I cried for you.


And I cried for us- your Wee Angels.


I didn't need to knock on the door to know what the smells and sounds of the house would be like. We sat in the car, parked in a lay-by on a road across the river from the house. And looked on. The tears quietly and unexpectedly rolled down my face. 


Husband told me not to apologise and held my hand as the tears fell and the explanation and memories came.


Our old tyre swing still hangs opposite the house. Where it has hung since Dad and Uncle spent an afternoon hanging it and testing it thoroughly before 3 hyper-excited bouncing little girls clambered on it.


The games we invented in the garden, the woods and fields around the house all came flooding back. The feel of the ice cold water on our skin from the paddling pool in the summer. 


My childhood.


I was to grow up quickly when we moved to Edinburgh. You saw to that.


Love


Cass
xx

Dear Mum (3)

I put this up on Mothering Sunday by mistake- foolishly I forgot that I had set a publish date on it. Anyway it went out and I got caught out by someone who has had a chance to read it before I whipped it off-line. 


She then sent me a personal email which was very touching and caught me off guard in a Birmingham Airport lounge this afternoon (thankfully my boss was busy pilfering the crisp and cake stand in the executive lounge to bring out to his minion- manager your manager part 1!!). Reminding me of my 2011 resolution to be a bit more honest and open about some of the less bright and cheery things, so I am putting this back up. Thank you- you know who you are x


I guess the intention behind some of these Dear Mum letters is to put a bit of a shape around some of these thoughts and experiences. For those of you who are lucky enough to have both parents, alive, well and full of love and pride for your achievements give them a hug. Some of us don't and wont ever have that opportunity and it can be a hard thing to get your head around. 


So in part this gives a voice to my experiences and I hope it remains an honest account of the questions I wont be able to get answers to, or any understanding of why these events happened they way they did or explain why people react the way they did and do to this. 


It may be something you can identify with or something you get some comfort from. Not many people talk about loss or grief and the circumstances surrounding them can be difficult to come to terms with regardless of age.


In short if I am going to start these Dear Mum's then I really shouldn't pick and choose- well, I will but then again that is my prerogative, but I will try not to!!!




Dear Mum,

I am nearly 30 years old and I still have nightmares. I always thought that was the kind of thing you grew out of. They would one day just stop.

You remember I used to have them a lot as a young child and would seek out your protection in the middle of the night. Curling up in your lap, as Dad lay asleep on the other side, I was safe and secure and the sweet dreams would come back.

Now you appear in my nightmares. You are small, fragile, angry and accusing. Filled with hurt and hate and furious with me:

Why didn't you do more?

How could you have let me go?

How could you have let Little Sis and Littlest Sis down so easily?

You are your fathers daughter!

I sometimes wake up crying and depressed and guilt ridden.

I can go months, years even, without having a nightmare like this but when it happens it seems to leave me totally drained for days and I have to remind myself that there was nothing I could do. 

Nothing you could do yourself. 

Nothing anyone could do. 

I am not an easy bed fellow. 

But Husband incredibly seems to know when its happening and can soothe very easily with an "It is o.k, you're alright". 

And I am alright and it is o.k. and I fall back asleep with his protection keeping the nightmare at bay.

Then there is a cruel twist- the sweet dreams of you. You are there, laughing and conspiring some mischief with me to have fun. Full of love and cuddles and smiles and kisses.

The proper you. 

On reflection I am not sure which is worse.

This will be our 10th Mothers Day without each other and I will, as I did last year, leave a card on your plaque with a note inside- just for us.

Lots of love, always 

Cass

xx