This is not a goodbye but a mere see you soon ...

Afternoon one and all, 

Normally when I take half day I usually feel very stressed and under a huge amount of pressure to get everything finished and Thursday as lunchtime approached I did not feel like this. In a weird way I felt a odd sense of calm wash over me. I knew that I would be rushed off my feet in the few hours before I relaxed into the salon chair to have my hair done before meeting my family for dinner and reminiscing about some of the the times we had with Grandad and with each other. 

Unfortunately for me this would not be the case. Sweating in the sweltering heat of my Orange Vivienne that in ASDA car park, Mr. Warehouse and I called my Nanny Pumpkin to find out what time she was due to be at the restaurant this evening. After ringing through a few times she finally answered flustered and in a bit of a flap. On enquiring what was wrong I was told that after my Uncle and Auntie had landed from Ireland they had going to visit my grandfather in the funeral parlour at Nevilles. Following this harsh reality my Uncle hit the bottle. In all honesty I am still pretty impressed that he was able to do a whole bottle of brandy in the space of about fifteen-minutes. 

in a way it is quite easy for myself and the rest of the family to maybe forget just how how hard that kick from reality must have been. Both my Auntie and my Uncle live abroad and as a result there is an almost inability to connect with what is happening back home sometimes I think that some members of my family would be worth noting that whilst others have had time to process the news, others have not. Whilst I acknowledge that Granddad's death was certainly not out of the blue or something quick, the luxury almost of being away from constant conversation or updates about his progress or not at the case may be almost lends itself to the fact that they were sheltered almost from the reality until they landed on Thursday Afternoon. 

And so it was with a heavy heart that I gave up my mojito in a nice restaurant and instead opted for a healthy salad whilst everybody else in on Indian or Chinese takeaway. But I missed out on all the drama when I went to collect the food with my other uncle and Mr Warehouse. So the story goes that my father turned up and when he confronted my uncle in the kitchen of my Nanny Pumpkins house it all went to pot and my family started a slanging match. Now don't get me wrong, all families argue, but I just hoped that given the circumstances at the time that things would have been left and not acted upon or challenged at all in one way or another one for each and every one of us were in some sort of shock, upset or grief including hurting and anger. No matter which way you look at it that was not the moment to pick an argument for have a fight. After my father left and my other uncle, Mr Warehouse and I arrived back home with dinner everything was tense. Here's hoping that everything would be OK tomorrow for that was the last thing that we needed another point for argument. 

Waking up on the morning of the funeral with the sunlight streaming through the gaps in the hedge outside I just wanted to hide away and pretend that today was not happening at all. Hiding my head under the covers, Mr. Warehouse told me that this was a normal feeling and it would soon pass. Getting ready and heading down to my grandparents home, it's strangely had an almost wedding day like feel. With everything organised and things in place there was nothing left to do but turn up and hopefully try and enjoy what we could offer day whilst we remembered a great man. Throughout the morning as I helped people get ready and dressed, fed and watered, I can tell that Mr Warehouse was watching to see if and when I would crack. Truth be told I was fine and I had grieved for my grandfather many years ago. In a morbid sort of way I just wanted to get today over and done with so we could all start to move on. 

Arriving outside the church it was getting hotter and hotter. As the sun shone down on us standing there in our black glory I looked over to see my uncle crying which made me feel quite uncomfortable, all in the knowledge that there was simply nothing I could do to make his pain go away or for the feeling to get any better. I looked over to Mr Warehouse and he gave me a sweet smile. Soon it was time to go in and with this I stepped forward after my Grandma and my youngest cousins at just twelve and eight. I walked into the church alone and with nobody by my side. This was not how it was supposed to be. My brother should have been here by my side, and yet after all the trying and attempts made to get him to reply to my messages or even acknowledge what had happened, I walked alone. In away as I saw everybody look in our direction I realised that they were not looking at me or even my Nanna, but at the military draped coffin. I felt the lump in my throat get larger as I watched The Pine coffin being carried along the aisle the brass cross emblazoned on the back of the coffin was all I could focus my attention on and hope that I did not trip in this god awful heels. 

Sitting down on the second row on the right hand side of the church, I familiarise myself with the pictures and images I had seen as a child of Jesus Christ and other holy sentiments. It certainly was a blast from the past as I remember the times from my childhood where things were a lot less stressful and there was a lot less drama. Things were simpler back then but I was also a child and this is what happens when you grow up. People die. After listening to my father's eulogy it made me feel so proud as he stood along his two brothers, telling Granddad's life story and explaining some of the myths and legends that surrounded the man himself. Listening to that piece about my grandfather and looking around at the people that the Sat listening to only made me appreciate him more for everything that he had achieved in life and even opened my eyes to a few things I did not know about him. 

As the service came to a close I stepped out from the church into the bright sparkling sunshine. Seeing some of my mother's side of the family come to pay their respects warmed my heart and made me feel as close to crying as I possibly came throughout the day. Everyone complimented me and my family on how beautiful and personal the service was. But it was not over yet so I had to say my bit too at the crematorium. Bundling back into my Viv, I raced across town in order to try and beat the traffic in order to get to the venue first. I wanted to make sure that I was not going to be late and that I had plenty of time to maybe rehearse or even look over my notes. I could not get this wrong. I had one job and this was it. With my grandfather yet again being carried into the crematorium for the very last time again I walked in alone after my grandmother and cousins. This is not the last few weeks have been leading up to. As I was 'introduced' and took the stand I knew that this was the moment everybody had been waiting for. What was she going to say and was it going to be appropriate?

Song Lyrics? Nah. A Poem? Nope. An extract from a book? No. I have wondered for weeks what would be a good way to start this off but somehow ripping off someone else’s writing, no matter how good it is just simply isn’t my style - Is it granddad?

What do I say? Truth be told, what does anyone say? Sorry just seems a bit bland. Your not sorry. Neither am I. I had some wonderful memories with my grandfather. I don't have anything to be apologetic for yet everything to be grateful, thankful and appreciative of.

   

We had some great memories though didn’t we. Like that time after your eye operation that you had to wear an eye patch. I told everyone at school that your fought off a bear or that you are secretly a pirate. I remember when, after a few weeks of being a one-eyed bandit, Me and Sean thought it would be a good idea to cut out pictures of eyes from the magazines and stick them on your patch. The real fun though came when we figured out that heavily made up ladies eyes were much funnier!

Or how about the time that time when we had a birthday party and I thought it would be really funny to throw marbles out the window with my friends to spook people. The frustrating thing is that it never worked as they would always bounce off your soft grey afro hair!

Do you recall that moment when we were on holiday? The towels we soaked from a day at the beach or the pool and we hung them on the back of the sun-loungers to dry off. But it was all too much for the white plastic frame for when you came along to take a seat the whole thing just gave way leaving you mangled in a heap of plastic and soggy towels.

There was that moment that we went out for dinner at a quiet French village. Dusk settling in and with the hilltop vineyards as our view it was perfect. That was until the young waitress came along with our drinks, tripped, and showered you with a mix of wine and fizzy pop. Oh lord your were so mad, but I think looking back on it the faces you pulled and some of the choice English phrases you told the poor lass only makes for a funnier memoir.

One of my favourite tales, and I am sure that this will become one of yours too when I tell it is the time you visited Uncle Dave and Auntie Bernie at their Irish country cottage. From all accounts Granddad was outside coming in and on a stone floor with crutches and the dogs at his feet it was difficult keeping his balance. I suppose in a way a big slobbery dog is the last thing you want when trying to negotiate your way to the sofa and yet there she was. But before my grandfather knew it the floor seemed to give way under his crutches after placing them on what we thought was doggy dribble. In a spectacular style and yelling to my Nanna all the way he fell over. For years Granddad you thought it was dog slobber you slipped on. I am sorry to tell you that it was not. It was a puddle of wee.  

Over the years as I got older and grew from a sweet child into an independent women we shared in a stories and anecdotes about travelling the world or my sometimes eclectic dating life. I always loved hearing tales of the good old days where my grandparents were young and walking on the moon was a myth thought up by dreamers. I myself hoped that someday I would have something as special as what my grandparents had. A love to surpass all others, born out of a pure organic romance that all started because my Nanny Pumpkin was paid to come on a double date with a friend! What I want to know was how much were you paid, because you had something with granddad that is priceless and eternally lasting. All I can pray for is that one day I can reach your level of marriage where playful bickering and comedic arguments only ended when one of you laughed it off. Or muttered under your breath, which ever the other one couldn’t hear.

But for me personally my fondest memory was the arduous task of him teaching me how to ride a bike. All the cuts and the grazes, all the tears and tantrums. I cant remember how many times I stomped my feet in a grump or walked off in a huff but my goodness there was many. I hated him for it but Granddad would always make sure I came back to my little pink bike with a basket up front, shiny new white tyres and frilly tassels billowing out of the handlebars. He taught me the surest life lesson that would see me through many a problem or difficulty, probably making me the person that I am today. When you fall off your bike you should always get back up and start riding again for the longer you leave it the worse it becomes when you do. And that is what we have to remember here today is that whilst it is hard and horrible to say goodbye, we need to pick ourselves up and get peddling again. For this is not a goodbye but a mere see you soon

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

I'm Getting Old

Good Evening,

So today I went to a funeral. It was not someone I knew terribly well but it was someone I had shared several happy memories with. But as I sat there, dry eyed and holding on tightly to Miss Tweedle-Dumb's hand tightly watching everyone around me fall to pieces as we all watched a silent and still coffin, I felt myself grow a little older. Gone are the days now of drinking in the park and mucking around at school. Today I think I faced the fact that whilst I am still young, I am not getting any younger. 

Growing up is tough, but I think one of the toughest things is seeing those around you slowly disappear. I once asked my Nana as a young child what the worst part of getting older is and she explained simply that as we grow older, the more often we have to go into the wardrobe and reach out for that Little Black Dress, each time getting quicker and quicker in concession. 

You see as we all progress in the journey of life we realise that faces change, as do people and their personalities. Some change for the better and some not so much. You yourself as you get older and maybe wiser will change too. And again, some change for the better and some not so much. People will come and go from life as changing as the seasons. Some of the characters you will meet along the road may break your heart and will be the ones that got away. I know Mr. Workaholic is for me. But then I look at the situation I found myself in back in Northamptonshire when I was in my happy little blissful bubble with him. I was twenty and more than happy to settle down with an itchy finger and an empty spare room I needed to fill. Looking back now, albeit through rose tinted glasses, I now know it was not where my life was designed to go and if given a second chance again to give it another shot, I am almost certain now I would decline. Since Mr. Workaholic I have had many a dating disaster including Mr. Carrots, Mr. Coffee and Mr. Sick - Although I am hardly sure you can call that one a date?! Not all of them were awful though. For example I have met wonderful people like Mr. Cheese, Mr. Coffee and even a stint with a couple of lustful lovers over Tinder. But none of them being that all-illusive 'One'.

You will have noticed that Mr. Warehouse has been excluded from the above. Now this does not mean we are getting married (Step away from the facinator!) but nor does it mean that he is another frog in my quest for a Prince Charming. It merely means that for the first time in a while I am beginning to accept that this may be 'it' - Whatever 'it' is?! And after only six-months or so into our relationship it's hard to say if Mr. Warehouse is my one and only. When you have had something so perfectly perfect before it is hard not to compare your feelings this time around to that of how you felt last time you were truly, madly,deeply in love. But I know now that it wasn't perfect as I once thought.

In the long run I honestly don't think Mr. Workaholic and I would have ever worked out. We were not wholly compatible - But then again who is? He never ate vegetables and all that graced his plate was beige this and beige that. Living on chicken dinosaurs and Carbonara flushed down with Redbull was not a healthy or sustainable diet. How was I meant to raise children around a father who ate about as much greens as a breeze block? And whilst we had a laugh and fooled around a lot with minimal arguing, there were some things in life that are just not meant to be. I am in a much better place right now than I ever was with Mr. Workaholic. I am somewhere whereby I don't have to rely on someone else or their income. I depend on me and only me. I pay my own rent, my own bills (Lets not talk about British Gas!) and afford my own things. On the other hand, Mr. Cheese in his own right was wonderfully charming, good looking and very affluent with friends and family in all the right places, but lacked basic skills in the bedroom as well as the "fun and frivolous" department. I could never really be my true self around him, only a segment of me. I knew both at the time and now that if I had continued any longer I would have definitely been settling for something, never to be completely satisfied. 

Whilst the intellectual conversation surrounding politics, literature and other current affairs was there with Mr. Workaholic and Mr. Cheese I was lacking in other areas and although I am not stating that for a second Mr. Warehouse tick's every box, he does try and that is worth more than anything I could ever ask for. Today and the past week or so has really opened my eyes to the world a little and in a way I have come to the conclusion that one day it will be my funeral, and someone will be standing up there on the pew reading out my life story. I want to know that I will have lived life to the fullest and trying not to regret or dwell on what could have been, only looking forward in anticipation for what is to come. And so I end this weeks blog post in a somewhat thoughtful and reflective mood, leaving to ponder the possibilities that tomorrow will bring. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

The Passed and the Present ...

Hey You, 

Hope you are well and that life is treating you a tad better than it has this week. Safe to say I am beginning to think that this time of year is always when something usually goes wrong. Last year it was Mr. Suicide and everything coupled in 'A Week From Satan Himself ... ' and this year it seems that there is something wrong with old people. With a Great Auntie buried this week, my grandfather in hospital, Nanny Tweedle-Dee poorly and Miss Tweedle-Dumb in mourning for a close elderly relatives passing I am beginning to think that I shouldn't be drinking the water around here!

Now I understand that some people find my sense of humour a little dry at times and on the odd occasion darker than most, but I sometimes struggle to explain how I feel or my emotions surrounding death. And god forbid if I was to ever give advice about death or the woes that supposedly go with it. Fact is that luckily, or unluckily, at the ripe old age of twenty-two and ten months I have not had anyone particularly close to me kick the bucket so as to speak. 

I have had a few distant relatives or old family friends funerals that I have had to attend, hell, I have even cried at a few but suffice to say that my grandparents all bar one are all still alive and kicking and I still have most of my family left, or at least the ones that have not disowned me yet. It is always awkward when someone speaks to me about death as from such a young age I have been aware of it and its permanent lifestyle mark it makes. When you are a part of a military family like I have been it is easy to learn that one day, sooner or later, that person that brought you up and gave you all they ever could will die. They won't always be there to catch you and I think that is maybe a thesis I carry to this very day. Watching my father cry a few years ago at a close funeral ripped through me, knowing that anything I say or do just isn't enough to take his pain away. Seeing my father fall apart as he croaked out words of happiness as he was so sorrowful made my own heart physically ache at his mourning. It seems the closer they are to you and the ones you know, the deeper and more stinging the wound. Nothing puts life into perspective more than watching grown men shed a tear for the loss of someone great and that was represented no better place than a funeral I attended this week. And those that know me and regularly read will know that the fact of it being on my mothers side of the family just knots my stomach ever more so. 

My Great-Aunt had always been in the background of our family portrait but as I got older and became more wiser about the dynamics of my family set up I could somewhat understand why. With her own life, family, grandchildren and up until a few years ago her husband life as usual took over for everyone but my Great-Auntie still remained the backbone of my mothers side of the family until her health started to deteriorate a couple of years ago after her husbands passing. Sitting at my desk a few weeks ago I was shocked and stunned to hear that she had left the living world as we knew it but nevertheless knew she would be at peace with her husband and late daughter. Wanting to pay my respects I asked the family if I could come and pay my respects quietly before the funeral as my attendance to such event may not be likened given the guest list which was to include my own god-forsaken mother. I was welcomed with hugs and kisses, handshakes and pats on the back as I arrived at the small church in Luton. Whilst never happy affairs I seemed to lift spirits slightly with my presence and the ability to tell a good few jokes seemed to be warmly received. Spending most of Tuesday night talking with close family members, my youngest uncle mainly, I was told that I would be welcomed on the day of the funeral and totally kept a watch over in case a certain someone decided to swoop in and cause trouble. 

Feeling positive I left to meet Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb for some drinks and more talk of Vegas and Reading Festival. To cheer me up after saying goodbye to Auntie Chrissie they presented me with a value range Iron that I am chuffed to bits about and some chocolate to make me smile. Over the moon with my gifts I departed that evening in the knowledge that within the next twenty-four hours I will be within touching distance of the women I should call Mommy. Donning a black ensemble I came into work early to catch up on what had up until that point been a manic few days. Multiple comments were passed in the few hours I was in the office about how good I looked. According to my colleagues a black and a melancholy attitude suit me. Feeling positive about the whole thing initially I set off for the church not knowing really what to expect or anticipate on arrival. As usual though I was late, although I did bear in mind that its a funeral and she isn't actually going anywhere so it would be OK. And it is OK to say this as I know that my dearest Great-Auntie would have find that hilarious. Stumbling into the church I quietly sat at the back, sang to hymns I didn't believe in and wondered why at such a time as a funeral it all seems to be god this and Jesus that. A little selfish I think given the fact that their not the one lying in a beech effect box at the end of the aisle. Nevertheless I went along with it knowing that this is what Auntie would have wanted. As the funeral came to an end I knew the big guns were soon to be raised and I should prepare for a battle against the vehicle that bore me. 

As the coffin was carried out by a mixture of children, grandchildren and nephews I couldn't help the tears rolling down my cheek. A part of me for a few moments had wished that Mr. Cheese could have been there to simply support me but I knew that some day I would have to face things like this alone. Unfortunately no matter how much I wanted Mr. Cheese to hold me, cuddle me and to tell me it was going to be all OK I knew he would be preparing for a holiday with his family I should have been joining him on. Following the coffin out of the church was the family that seemed so distant too me sometimes. My Aunty, Nana and Uncles all passed as did my not-so baby brother, our wailing mother in toe. Thinking I had got away with it I wiped away more hot tears from my cheeks and smiled as I thought of the memories I had with the deceased some of which have inspired me to write now. Only I hadn't got away with it and it had seemed that I had been rumbled. Feeling a hard tap on my shoulder I could see the steadily moving procession had stopped so my mother could face me. Reluctantly turning to face her I stood strong and powerful as she crumbled. 

"Come with us Abbey," She blubbed as she tried to usher me in front of her and to join the queue of mourners. I declined, turning away from her as I had done so many times before. Pulling and grabbing at my arm she tried to pull me to the front of the now growing and line of spectators. Feeling as though time was dragging on I declined a second time as she brokenly croaked how I was family and should join the following. A million thoughts and phrases ran through my head as she tugged at me again. Feeling that I was blushing with embarrassment and anger I turned and barked at her that I was not under her spell any more and that I would pay my respects when I'm ready and come out when I am done. Feeling stronger and prouder of myself than ever before I watched as she was pushed along by the crowds wanting to get out into the happiness of the sunshine. Letting out a sigh of relief I could tell that there was more to come. 

As the funeral, burial and wake continued well into the late evening I kept my distance from my mother for fear of being lured from family and into a blazing row. The stifling heat drew many of us to the bar and to mingle at other tables which was helpful given the company at my initial table was not of profound quality I would wish to indulge. I spent many hours spilling my tales of life since the events surrounding my parents divorce and other such events and was even able to give a few good jokes making the occasion of a funeral a little less morbid. Noticing that my mother was due to leave I threw myself outside into the afternoon sun to speak with Miss Tweedle-Dumb hoping that I would distract Mother enough so that she could leave without approaching me although I knew that phone call or not if she wanted a fight, she wanted a fight. Thankfully she stayed respectful and upon my return the broomstick and it's owner had left. Soon enough it was time for me to leave and with promises of seeing my everyone soon in better circumstances I revelled in the fact that yet again I came off the better person in all of this and all within the knowledge that maybe cracks were beginning to appear in what my mother had told her family. Leaving the church hall I had been to so many times before I felt good about myself, which is unusual, especially after a run in with one half of my gene-pool. 

I couldn't help notice in hindsight people engrossed in deep conversation with close family members of mine whilst gazing at me in wonderment and joy. I later found out that it wasn't just me who was telling people of my pent house apartment in Bedford and my managerial position or my world-wide blog, it was also the family I rarely saw. Singing my praises and constantly telling me I had done well for myself made me feel like despite everything that had happened, this year and beyond, that I was doing alright for myself. As well as being constantly on a proper 'big-up' from my family I was also being poked by familiar faces as to when my wedding day will arise. After telling all prospective enquirers that I have yet to find Mr. Right they assured me that he will be lurking somewhere and that I wont be single before long. Somehow I can't see that either, but going on my first few dates as a single-girl, I'm asking people not to start buying up hats and facinators just yet as this girl has plenty of living left to do. And when the market is as large as is it why settle at twenty-two! 

'Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx