Some things never change.

Good Evening, 

One week ago I sat here writing to you from my sofa, anxious in anticipation for my grandmothers funeral. I was dreading it and more than most for a multitude of reasons. Now I know that no one ever looks forward to funerals, but this one will be especially fraught with emotions, and, as with last time, the tension and anxiety will be riding high. I laugh to myself now as I write this to you, it seems that funerals, whilst are not the happiest of occasions, always seem to be dogged for me with huge anxieties and bouts of doubt and uncertainty about myself. And this time will be no different. 

As with Granddad's funeral just over two years ago now almost to the day, I recall waking up on the morning of the funeral. I could see the bright May day beaming in through the spare room window across the hallway. And just as before, I wanted to curl up in my duvet, hide away and pretend that today was not happening. Instead, I pulled myself from slumber, my Puppy for once being kinder to me this morning and not jumping on me as he normally would, affectionate little licks to gently encourage me to get up and along with the day. Isn't it funny how animals sense these things, especially so when they come and cuddle up next to you on the sofa as you write this?

As normal, or at least as normal could be I dropped Mr Warehouse at work and headed home for a strong coffee and mind-numbing telly. Soon enough though it was time to get ready. Dressing in a black long-sleeved soft jersey wrap dress, nude tights and black heels I was all set. Hair in a plaited nape bun and fascinator fixed in place I got in the car ready to go. The journey was quiet as I thought about the attendants, my mother and brother, both of whom I had not seen since the last family funeral when I first started dating Mr Warehouse. Its been five years.  

"I suppose," I thought, "on a positive note, the Coronavirus pandemic means she can't come within 2-metres of you". I smiled at the thought. Soon enough we were approaching my Hometown and as we turned into the neighbouring street of my old family home I saw the hurse pull in front of us. Mr Warehouse asked if that was Nanna, or if it could be someone else, but as the vehicle in front took a left, I was certain she was making one last visit to the church before heading home. As the car slowed coming into Nanna's house, Mr Warehouse rested his hand on my thigh and gave me a sweet and gentle squeeze. Stopping the car he motioned if I was OK. I would be, I just needed to get today over and done with, as we all did. 

I could see some familiar faces amongst the people who had come and seen her off. Neighbours, friends and family all there for one last goodbye. My eyes fell to my Nanny Pumpkin and Uncle Africa from Ireland who was now staying with my Nanny Pumpkin (don't ask, easier not to get into it). Immediately I made a beeline for them as I knew they were my safety net, there for me and my family. I spoke with Uncle Golf a little and his younger brother, my Uncle KON. I went to see how my Auntie DD was holding up and my cousin too. At only just a teenager, this was a lot to handle. I can't imagine the pain he must be going through, especially after seeing her pretty much once or twice a week since he was born. The shock of seeing a coffin in the flesh (excuse the pun, but Nanna would have appreciated it) for the first time can be overwhelming and a bit much, especially for someone so young. 

My fiance and I took him aside for a second to console him, showing him the beautiful flower arrangement I had made on behalf of the grandchildren, my brother included as he sheepishly stood in the background with my mother, too ashamed to raise his head above the parapet I expect. After speaking with Auntie DD several weeks ago, It had been suggested to do something similar to my Granddad's funeral. Obviously, I included my brother, texting him last week to let him know of the plans and if he would like to be included he was more than welcome. Of course, he never replied, and of course, I still put his name to it as he was and still is the grandson of the dearly departed, despite not showing an ounce of remorse for not showing himself in the final few months and years of her life. I only wish he could man up and just be apart of this rather than hiding in her shadow. 

As 1pm approached we all headed into our cars, out of the way of the biting cold that she [Nanna] had cast over us from Scotland. Pulling away from her home, my thoughts turned to the next part of today. At the graveside, I was going to say a few words as I had divulged in last weeks blog post. Since there was going to be no church service due to the Coronavirus outbreak (even after Boris' announcement yesterday) there was a need to pack the occasion out and make it feel more than just a box and hole situation. As expected, my poor cousin was in no fit state to say anything let alone put words together in order to form a sentence in front of everyone and so the suggestion of something lighter about our time as grandchildren with Nanna was definitely best left to her memorial ceremony and celebration hopefully in a few months time when all of this is over. 

Pulling into the Cemetary I could see my father's car which gave me great comfort to know he was here, mostly because of the "am I, aren't I" conversations we had a few times over the last few weeks. Regardless of if he came or didn't, there would be backlash either way. My father would have been ridiculed for showing his face and coming if he had turned up and equally would have been bad-mouthed had he not come to the funeral of a woman that was once your mother-in-law. My Dad, accompanied by his new wife, was there to support me and my Auntie and Uncle's as well as my brother. Standing in the background I was glad of his presence. 

Moments later, in the freezing cold with the sun shining, I read from the freshly printed pages my monologue as posted last week. It went down well. Very well in fact, my uncle passing comment about not being about to follow such a touching tribute which I thought was lovely, especially considering how much I pawed over it and fretted about its broadcast. The moments slid by as we watched her be lowered into her final resting place, next to Granda, and soon we all started to dissipate into the Cemetary. 

All was well and we bid goodbye to close family and family friends with promises of meeting again once this Lockdown had lifted Mr Warehouse and I headed for the car. Uncle Africa wanted to speak with my mother and brother, alone, and so had asked if I could take my Nanny Pumpkin home. This delayed my catch-up with Miss Tweedle-Dee, something I was going to need after all this, but I was happy to assist as I knew that some stern words would need to be had. Although just before we left, my father made a bold move by walking in their direction. Before I knew what was happening (and truth be told I still don't) I heard my mothers voice ring out across the small parking lot. 
"BACK OFF" She bellowed, screeching at my father and holding a firm hand up in protection. Of her? Of her son? Who knows. All I do know is that my father only wanted to speak with his son and offer both him and his ex-wife his condolences. 

Sadly it seems as all the years have rolled by, the anger and searing pain are still raw. My brother is still hurting and my mother is still her old self, melodramatic and over the top. I just wish that we could all be civil. Enough time has passed for us to all get over ourselves and just accept that in certain situations we need to put things like this aside. Obviously, my mother never got that memo and instead embarrassed not only herself, but also my brother, who seems to have grown just as bitter and hateful as she is. Some things never change ...  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

No amount of anxiety can change the future

Afternoon one and all, 

Normally when I book holiday from work I am excitedly anticipating all the fun and frolics I will have on my day off. Maybe I will be getting my hair done, maybe I will have a nice lunch out somewhere and will I get a lay in? However, it was on this occasion I did not feel so merry. The funeral was booked and the date was set for a fortnight from today. 

Originally I was sort of hoping that we could hold out until this whole COVID-19 Coronavirus is over with, making way for a proper and personal funeral service as normal. However on checking with the Co-Op Funeral Care website, at this stage, it’s not clear how long restrictions may be in place and therefore guidance is that funerals should take place rather than be delayed indefinitely, a view which my Auntie-DD and Uncle-Golf have taken. The website continues that it’s highly likely that funerals carried out in this time will not be how you as the family or the person who’s died would originally have wanted the funeral to be. 

In an article about what is different about funerals now, the Co-Op Funeral Care website, explains that under government advice the Catholic Diocese have stopped taking services and are closed until further notice which means that a church service can not take place as Nana would have wanted, although, in lieu of this, a short service at the graveside with a small number of mourners (between 20-30 at the moment) is possible. 
The website also delicately explains that whilst at this time, mourners will not be able to assist with handling, carrying or lowering the coffin, the coffin will be moved using a wheeled bier. In order to comply with social distancing, the Co-Op Funeral Care website explains that for them at least as a Funeral director, they are no longer going to offer the use of limousines and ask you to use your own transport to the funeral. Heartbreakingly I also learnt through the website, that although we would have preferred Nana dressed in her own clothes, Co-Op Funeral Care is unable to do this at this time and instead use a high-quality dressing robe, however, this may be different in our circumstances since my Grandmother was not a victim of COVID-19.  Regardless of the funeral director, for everybody’s safety, most are limiting the number of mourners attending funeral services and that anyone from the higher risk groups (Over 70s, pregnant, immunocompromised) should not attend. Unfortunately for me however, the guest list will include some of my least favourite people. 

I can barely remember the last time I thought about my mother let alone saw her. It has been months since I even heard her being mentioned and years since we met, let alone talked. Now I don't doubt that there are many mother and daughter relationships that have arguments and falling-outs, heck I wouldn't be surprised if some have even completely cut all ties as I have. I am certain to bet on it. However nothing in my head, be me a mother myself or not, cannot see any reasonable explanation for what my own had put me through, both before and after throwing me out onto the streets with nothing but torn bin-bags of belongings and ripped hopes for the future. Pregnancy, Drugs and Drink. No matter what it was I would always try my best as a parent, regardless of anyone or anything else - My children would and will come first. Each. And. Every. Time. 

It seems to me now to be so strange that my mother came from my loving grandmother who turned out five wonderful adults with huge academic and career achievements. My Auntie-DD had bought and owned outright her own house by the time she was my age, give or take a few years. My Uncle-Golf studied hard and graduated university in Scotland. And yet she was the letdown. I can recall the countless number of times I had made breakfast in bed or bought flowers and chocolates as a daughter, a child, only to receive very little if anything back. Detailed back at the beginning of my blog in 2015, I exhumed my past and wrote it all down, aptly entitled "A Mothers Love: Part I" & "A Mothers Love: Part II" showing just how much we never really had a bond. 

In the years that have passed, learning from family, friends and long-standing people who knew of my mother well; they're own tales and interactions are foretelling that her personality was fully enabled of causing havoc, even as far back as childhood. Sadly it seems that the festering dislike for me which lead to me being thrown out at seventeen had to come to a close somehow and in a way, I suppose I am the same as others in my friend groups - For I wouldn't be the person who I am today without her. That doesn't mean to say though that I forgive her for what she has done to me and my fragmented family - It is just now I am older I can appreciate that indifference is far more empowering than hatred or anger.  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Little Puppers All Grown Up!

Heyy, 

Lounging on the sofa at Momma Warehouse's house that she shares with her boyfriend, it was like being a kid again and coming back home (I imagine haha). Coffee was made for you and barely mentioning the fact you liked the coffee percolator earned me one that they had hidden in the backroom somewhere. Roast dinner to follow with heaps of food and pudding to drown in. This was living the life right? 

And so as the conversation turned to wedding stuff, dresses, outfits and hen-do's, I happened to be constantly distracted by my little bundle of fluff. In less than a month Frankenstein would soon be a year old and as he rough-and-tumbled with his sister, a short-haired double of him and looking more like a Dachshund than a Jackapoo, I knew that getting him was one of the best things in life. 

I will never forget that Tuesday evening, as Mr. Warehouse and I had prepared ourselves for bed with our eldest Pooch as we normally did, turning off the telly, closing down the lights and going into lock down making sure all doors and windows were shut. It was about quarter to ten at night when the phone rang. I looked at Mr. Warehouse as I showed him the caller ID. It was his Mom, my future mother-in-law. Worried I answered and before she even had a chance to explain I promptly told her that this was about the time that people call in the night when someone has died. 

"Do you want to see some puppies?" she said simply and calmly like some sort of child molester. I mean, of course I did. Immediately hitting redial to facetime her. No sooner had she accepted the call I saw a bundle of fluffiness. A little white girl with patches of brown and black splodging her body, another smooth black and tan puppy and a third wirey black and tan fur baby. Instantly I start freaking out. 

"I am being serious" my future mother-in-law continued, stern "We're leaving in five minutes and were taking one of the girls so which one do you want?" 

Suddenly everything seemed real and I focused my twilight mind from puppies and cute faces on a screen. Like a child to her parents, I turned to my beloved fiance and pleaded with him to let me get one. After a few pushes, he seemed to give in reluctantly knowing I would probably do whatever I would want regardless of what he had to say. After further talks, we discovered that it was a friend of a friend who used to breed toy poodles who gave it up to look after her sick husband at home who was rapidly deteriorating into dementia. Unfortunately one night back in early December the Husband had let the breeding stud in with the family pet, a Jack Russell terrier and she fell pregnant. several months later and around Valentine's day a surprise, or nine, were delivered. The lady herself knew nothing about it as she had been so busy with Christmas, New Year and looking after her husband and home she had neglected to notice her dog's belly growing. 


With the unexpected litter now twelve-weeks old they were already a month passed being legally allowed to leave their mother and so she took the decision to find them homes. One of the first questions I asked my future mother-in-law was how much. Bearing in mind that the Toy Poodle / Jack Russell mix would already be a popular choice for families as they are intelligent, active little things, small enough to be around kids and hypoallergenic so great for allergy sufferers. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The reason being is that not only was it a terrible accident because her poorly husband had not known that they no longer bred dogs, but also that as a result of this expenses had already been stretched by extra food and what not. The added vaccinations, chipping, insurance and everything else that normally comes with a new puppy would have financially not been possible for the poor lady and her husband and so she wanted to give them away to families that would love and care for them as she had, making sure they were their forever homes. 

Within a few days there I was, gazing out of the window at the setting sun. I had been waiting all day for this moment. Truth be told, I had been waiting for this moment for pretty much my whole life since being a toddler. Seeing the blue rickety old van pull into the street I came running down the stairs, the pit of my stomach flipping nervously as it filled with anxiety and anticipation at what was to come. 

"They're here! They're here!" I squeaked excitedly at Mr. Warehouse as he too peered out the window at the arriving vehicle. 

Opening the door I stood patiently at the front door with the rest of the family, like a mother ready to accept her newborn. Ushering me over to the van I peered in and saw the sweetest little bundle of tuft. Black and tan, with a white belly I scooped him up and took him into his new home. Welcome home our little Frankenstein - An homage to my love of all things spooky, Halloween and macabre. That but also the fact he was made by mistake and pieced together from two different breeds of dog. 

And since that moment we really have been through hell and back. My practise baby has well and truly tested my limits and pushed me to extremes I thought were not possible with a small tiny fluffy. From the early days, it wasn't easy. Mr Warehouse were on the back foot when it came to training after getting Frankenstein at twelve-weeks we had already lost a month of the most crucial period of a young dog's life. Sleepless nights ensued as my Fiance and I tackled the Satanic Separation Anxiety, from yips and howls to barks and cries. But it didn't just stop there as when we went to work we would be constantly worried for the text that would come through from the neighbours, politely asking if we were coming home soon as our little monster was kicking off. 

Nearly a year since he was born I can honestly say it is not for the ill-equipped or the faint-hearted. Puppy ownership is hard. Owning a dog is difficult, but one of the most rewarding things I think I have ever put my time and effort into and I don't know if I could be more in love with my little man if I tried!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

An Olive Branch?

Evening, 

Following my visit last week to the wonderful island of Ireland after my grandfather's departure, it was certainly a visit to see family and recuperate that I think both Mr Warehouse and I definitely needed. But back home in the struggling spring of Mainland UK and with most things organised for the funeral including piecing together an all black outfit that would be appropriate for a funeral whilst still maintaining at some class and decorum about me, there was very little left to do. 

And yet I had to still try and get a hold of my brother. When it first happened, my granddad's death that is, I hoped he has some sense in trying to get in contact with the family, including both my mother or fathers sides. But what with Mr Warehouse and I travelling to Ireland, contacting my brother had slipped my mind in all fairness but as I said last week, in a funny sort of way I had made my peace with my Granddad and his demise, all I wanted is for my brother to have the opportunity do the same and make an informed choice. Last week I supposed that only time will tell. I didn't have to wait long. 

Following my return from County Kilkenny, I called round all family members, hoping to get an update or to find out that maybe given the circumstances my brother had contacted anyone, even just to send a card or to call and give his condolences and sympathies. Nothing. At the very least I thought he might reach out after all these years to our grandmother who had lost not only the love of her life but also the father to their children who eventually grew into the family she now has. But no. 

After speaking with my mother's brother, my Uncle Golf, I was informed that he to had not had any communication from my brother at all since the beginning of the month. I was disappointed to say the least. This was certainly not how our parents raised us and far from what I would expect my brother to act as an bow fully grown man. Talking more my Uncle Golf decided that my brother and I needed to talk and would be most unfortunate circumstances needed to talk and at the very least discuss the details for the funeral and what we both might like to say about our memory of our time with him. And so with this information and coupled with my brothers mobile number, on a evening after a heavy gym session I decided to give him a call. 

Was I nervous? Yes! Was I Anxious? Definitely!  Was I scared? No, he was my little bro! OK well I was a little bit but I think that all of those feelings are fairly normal when you have not spoken to someone who is meant to be one of the closest people in your life in the last four years. I suppose it is kind of morbid in a way that the last time we spoke it was at another funeral. honestly speaking I hope that it was not going to be add another but here I was. In my kitchen. In my flat. Dialling his number Mr. Warehouse stood by me stirring the pot of risotto watching it boil and bubble. It began to ring. With the dialling tone continuing I expected a voicemail to hit soon. 'Maybe he was just like his big sister putting his phone on charge and ignoring it for the whole evening?' I thought. But I barely had a moment to think about that before a deep manly voice answered the phone in a jovial tone. 

"Hiya" The young man said. Shocked, I had not expected my brother to be so receiving and happy about me calling. But oh how wrong I was! On hearing my voice my baby brother proceeded to tell me to "Fuck Off"! Stunned by his outrageous behaviour and inability to control himself and show a bit of respect, I had only a few seconds before he hung up the phone. Attempting quickly to return his call, it went almost straight to voicemail. Leaving him probably quite a lengthy and rambling on voicemail I followed up my communication, although brief with my brother, on a text message. 

Hi Sean it's me, your big sister. 

I know that you don't want to speak to me so I thought I would message you instead. Obviously I'm hoping that you know this already but if not our Granddad passed away recently. On behalf of myself, the family which you are apart of even after all these years but most importantly Granddad himself we would really like to see you. 

I understand if you do not want to come and see myself, dad or anyone else in the family for reasons I can only assume, but at the very least I think you should go and say goodbye to our Granddad one last time. I have enclosed the details below that are on all of the families social media pages as I am not sure if you have seen them. If you have not then you now have all the right information in order to make an knowledgeable decision about what you would like to do for yourself and I hope you do the right thing as a lot has changed in all these years. 

I have spoken to other family members and they have all said that if you would like they are more than welcome to offer you a lift to and from the funeral, crematorium and wake and this is including myself. 

If you end up deciding that you would not like to come to the funeral for whatever reason, personal or otherwise, then at the very least call the funeral directors and they will be able to organise a time for a personal viewing of the body so it is just you and Granddad where no one else will be allowed in. 

It's up to you at the end of the day but I would like to hope that you would still go and pay your respects to our grandfather who loved us unconditionally and irrespective of our parents and what they did or did not do. 

When everything is said and done, I just wanted to make sure that you had a chance to make an informed decision for yourself as an adult. I love you and if there is anything else I can do or that you would like to discuss them please call me. My number hasn't changed. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

If Your Prescence Adds No Value, Then Your Absence Will Not Be Missed

Hiya, 

This time last week I was writing to you all from the grandeur and beauty of mine and Mr. Warehouse's room at the Hotel Victoria conveniently located along the Cornish coastline, right in the heart of Newquay. This time next week I shall be writing to you all hopefully poolside from mine and the Tweedles apartment in (hopefully) sunny Lanzarote, Canary Islands. Oh what a jet setting life I lead! But all that holibobbing doesn't fix some things which was evident this week. 

After not hearing anything from my father in weeks since calling him in agony asking for his help and not receiving it I had refused to answer his pathetic attempts at conversation and apart from a few crumby phone calls when he wasn't already preoccupied that I ignored I had received nothing - Not even an apology. Friday afternoon though, I got a text message asking me to talk to my Dad and explain why I was upset with him. 'Thank fuck for that' I thought 'Finally he gets it and understands why I was (and still am) so upset with him'! I replied something that I thought made the point but also explained that I would not let this ruin our relationship anymore than it already had been. 

"I would have thought it was obvious why I did not want to speak with you after the last time we spoke I had asked for your help when I was in severe pain and you didn't help me at all. No I acknowledge that by the time you got to me I could have got to where I needed to go to get help and be back at home all by the time you had even reached my flat, but what I cannot understand is that after knowing my financial situation what with Mr. Warehouse being out of work as well as the current medical difficulty I was in also, you still chose not to help me. This is not the first time that I have asked for your help and it had not been received, but I can assure you that it will be the last as I will not be asking for your help anymore as I simply cannot rely on you as a daughter should be her Dad. I am still upset and angry but I will see you this weekend I am sure at the family BBQ, but just know that whilst I will be civil and polite to you, your priorities are in all the wrong order and some changes need to be made. xxx" I wrote, emotional but glad I was able to say everything I needed too. Fifteen minutes later I received this reply:
"Right. Now you have had your little rant and said what you want to say - Believe me, my priorities are in good order, but I am deeply embarrassed by you and your actions. I have done everything to assist you and help you where I can and by the best means I have available, and yet you still throw shit in my face. My girlfriend and her family has shown you nothing but love and gratitude from day one and it is YOU who chooses to ignore them and that you do well. She tries to call or text you to give you advice from a female perspective, but you are rude and fail to see that others care for you as well as me. You are all about yourself and what you can get from others. I love you to the end of the world and back but you still wish to make my life hell after the divorce. I thought that WE had put this shit to bed years ago, but there it is sitting under your radar ready to throw at me again. As for you being ill, I was VERY concerned as it was me that called you everyday to see how you were, but you never answered and you never call me, do you? I could not have taken you to the hospital any quicker that a Taxi could have. YOU MADAM have a wonderful boyfriend who loves and cares for you and I could have done nothing to help other than what I did - Sorry it was not enough. You should take a long hard look in the mirror and think long and hard about what you want from life and who you want to spend/share it with because from where I am sitting I am very happy. I don't need enemies in my life but if they are there I know how to handle them. What I love in my life is my partner, daughter, our families and a few choice friends."

Shocked and stunned at what I was reading I drank my coffee as I waited for Miss Stuu to collect me and go to Dinner with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee who were shopping in Milton Keynes. Calling my Auntie for advice she backed up everything I thought about myself, the situation and my life as I know it so far. But as I discussed it round the table with my girlfriends I knew that something was not right. Getting home that night I fell into Mr. Warehouse's arms and sobbed, explaining what a terrible message I had received and why my life was so pants when it came to parental guidance. 

Your Parents are meant to be there throughout everything. Like "Fuck - Mom, I'm Pregnant!" or "Dad I really need your help - I'm in serious trouble" it would always be your parents that you turn to first. Whether its because you have spent all your food money in the first week of Freshers or because you got arrested for doing something unlawful, your parents should always be there for you, supporting you in any and every way they can, be it mentally, emotionally or even financially. That is there job - Right? At least that is what I thought anyway. Obviously I am incorrect in my way of thinking. Now yes, I do acknowledge that I am twenty-four, but I still need me Mam and Dad. Doesn't matter how old you get, there will always be an excuse to go out for some shopping and a cheeky afternoon tea with your mom whilst you bitch about the girls or how shitty your ex was. There will always be a time where you Dad endearingly threatens to beat up a purely-platonic, male-friend of yours, just in case he breaks my heart. Not for me. 

It used to make me so sad when I watched programmes about weddings and saw ladies planning their dream day with their mothers or having girlie pamper nights watching chick flicks with lots of naughty treats. Slowly over time I have had no choice but to accept that my friends and co-workers will have this, but I will not. Over time I have understood this is something through no fault of mine I cannot have. Or at least I thought so. But now with my Father also acting in a way that is progressively shutting me out as the years go on I am starting to wonder if it is me? What did I honestly do wrong to deserve this? What in a past life of mine did I do so wrong that I was dealt not just one lemon, but a whole fucking truck load? 

I have other friends and family members around me that can fill that space, but the principal is that they shouldn't have to. He is my Dad and should step up and be one, not pushing me aside until it suits him. Sometimes I am grateful that my baby Brother (although at twenty this year he is not so little anymore) is not involved in this mess, for if our Dad can barely stretch his time to see or help me then what hope would he have?! In a way I think I can handle it and deal with it on a level, but why should I? Why should I have to put up with the lame excuses why he can't see me or why he isn't able to help me out. No more. Suffice to say the BBQ the follwoing afternoon was a tad frosty and whilst we spoke a few words to each other I was not in any way going to stick my neck out on the line and offer an olive branch.

I will never know why my Dad is "embarrassed" by me and my actions or how I "still throw shit" in his face after the divorce or even how or why I should be seen to make an effort with someone else's family when they rarely bother with me and quite frankly have no reason to include them in a life that has never included them before a few years ago. I love my Father to pieces however I now realise just how selfish and self-obsessed he has always been, even from a young age and that is not going to change just because we all got another year older.  

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

How Can You Be Sorry For A Loss You Never Really Had?!

Good Evening you lovely people! 

So since last week I have had many a moment to self gloat, internally of course, about my successes as a bring-of-sleep-to-children, despite being told that only a few hours after Mr. Warehouse and myself left, the little monster awoke, undoing all my hard work. Nevertheless I am sure there will be more opportunities to send babies and small children off into slumber for my womb has yet to be rented out. 

This weekend in the UK we celebrated mothers day, showering our Mummies dearest with chocolates, flowers and gifts galore with some effort being made by more than others. However, with all its nice sentiments and all is just another day for me. However, I never really gave a thought to it all until there I was, sitting in my old local Wetherspoons in Dunstable, ready to have a proper catch-up with my Tweedles, Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb, that I really understood why I get funny looks around this time of year. Asking about cookery and what Miss Tweedle-Dee should cook for her family and beautiful Mommy for mothers day, I reeled off a few ideas I would have for myself if I was cooking for a few. At the end of the reeling, both Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb lay quiet. A few moments later after looking at them both over my sweet latte, Miss Tweedle-Dumb apologizes for me not having a mother. Now yes, essentially it is very selfish and somewhat childish of me to cut her entirely out of my life (my mother that is, not my dear Miss Tweedle-Dumb), but in the grand old scheme of things, having her taking up even a single percentage of my time is a waste of it, and quite frankly the older I get, the more I realise that we don't have much left. The less drama, hoo-haa and bi-polar split-personality bullshit from someone I should be calling mother is easier to let go than trying to cling onto. 

But scrolling through my Facebook news feed this morning on the commute into the office I relived some painful moments of my childhood. Status' and Tweets, one after another about how amazing and instrumental this one woman is in their lives. Pictures detailing the Afternoon Teas, Spa Days and dinners out as well as all the other fun that comes with having a mother in your life can be. Now I don't doubt that there has been some blows in their lives together, not pictured in the huggy-Selfie in Nandos. But none as big as mine, I'm certain to bet on it. In my head, pre-children obviously, I cannot see any reasonable explanation for what she put me through, both before and after throwing me out onto the streets with nothing but torn bin-bags of belongings and ripped hopes for the future. Pregnancy, Drugs and Drink. No matter what it was I would always try my best as a parent, regardless of of anyone or anything else - My children would come first. Every. Time. 

I recall now on the countless number of times I had made breakfast in bed or bought flowers and chocolates as a child, when they were being given to someone with a heart that was as black as storm clouds and as cold as the icy winds of winter. Detailed last year in 2015, my somewhat harrowing writings aptly entitled "A Mothers Love: Part I" & "A Mothers Love: Part II" shows just how much we never really had a bond, and learning from long standing family friends, family and people who knew of my mother well, they are foretelling that her personality was fully enabled of wrecking lives and endangering people even as far back as childhood. Sadly it seems that the festering dislike for me and all I stood for had to come to a close somehow and in a way, I suppose I am the same as the others in my news feed, for I wouldn't be the person who I am today without her. That doesn't mean to say though that I forgive her for what she has done to me and my fragmented family. No, now that is something unforgivable. 

Sometimes it seems though that as I get older, and possibly wiser, I realise all the times that as a girl or as a women, you will need and want your mother by your side are forever long. From getting your nails done for your Sweet Sixteen to scouring the High Street for Prom Shoes and consoling you over a crappy boyfriend who has just dumped you, all things I have had to deal with myself, not to mention my parents divorce and the wedge it has driven between myself and my little brother. In the future I suppose I shall have to let go to the fact that I shall never pick out my dream white dress for my wedding with her, nor shall I experience her hardiness during childbirth or of her teaching my children how to bake and play. All these things I shall never experience but in a way never would have even if she was in my life. 

Never one to dwell on these things though I shall be spending my week looking forward as usual to the weekend for I shall be spending it with some very special people in a very special way! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Sleeping Like A Baby

Hiya, 

And so, a week on from Dublin and Southern Ireland's trip ending, the holiday blues have set in and already I am desperate to start planning another holiday, especially with work friends (I say friends with some people in mind being the loosest of such) off to France and Italy in the months and one colleague in Paris at the moment. Yes I am severely jealous and I don't care! I suppose I would have had to end up learning to drive at some point, I do not really fancy being a bus-wanker for the rest of my days on this earth! And besides, at least then I could bundle Mr. Warehouse and his puppy into the car of a Sunday afternoon and go out for the day, seaside's, forests and day trips all at our disposal once I can drive! But sadly for that to happen I shall have to sacrifice a few holidays in order for that to happen. 

Getting back to public-transport-hostage life as it is now though, this weekend itself has been relatively hum-drum and between finishing work on Friday and returning to my desk it has been spent mostly in a onesie and with puppy cuddles at Momma Warehouse's home in Marston Mortaine. A few countryside walks and lots of snacking was just the way I wanted to spend my weekend before pay-day when I am too broke to pay for life! One thing that did brighten my day was looking after Mr. Warehouse's youngest nephew. At a little over eighteen-months old he is probably, no, certainly the most adorable thing you have ever seen and his impression of an elephant is something to behold! 

Now most of you that know me on a personal level will say that I am not a maternal person in any sense of the word - I mean seriously where would I have got it from even if I did have some?! In fact my lack of nurturing instinct is a constant running joke with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and in all fairness next to them I would be the first one to throw my hands up in the air and run away from any interaction with small children and babies. In fact I recoil in horror when someone offers me up their new born and expects some sort of compliment in return for their swarking red bundle of scream and poop. Quite frankly most babies to me all look the same and whilst I would like to say that there is a definitive answer and to agree with the rest of the broody women in the room that "Yes he has got your great grandad's nose" I just cant see it and refuse to tell all newborns apart. 

I think of the idea of children is a good one, you know, keep the world going with new generations and all and also I suppose sex is good for making you happy and keeping you thin (Obviously not having enough sex at present since I have gained several pounds in the last month - Mental note to make more effort in the Bedroom department) although for me the idea of children, my own especially, is that they pop out at around six months old, cute and fat with not bloody guts and gunk on them from labour and with a cheeky few words or actions in their remit. Unfortunately I doubt motherhood is like that, but I suppose there is always adoption ... I joke, I joke!

But anyway, I digress, So here Mr. Warehouse and I are, looking after little baby (*insert cute elephant noise from said toddler*) and soon enough its time to say goodbye to his Mommy and Daddy as they were off out for a nice meal whilst we babysat. 
As I started to distract Baby with yet another round of 'This Little Piggy ... ', the phrase "Cuddles Dadda" were asked for a more than a few times before Mommy and Daddy made a quick getaway to the car. Now this got me thinking, if I was in their shoes - Could I put my son down and leave him whilst I went out for a meal?! The direct answer is yes, and of course, maybe rather harshly, I would jump at a chance. Having a normal adult conversation that doesn't centre around Iggle-Piggle and not having to make air-plane/choo-choo noises to eat something with a spoon or fork would be the idea of parental bliss, something childless-me probably takes for granted along with lay-in's and nights out on the lash! 

A few mind-numbingly unbearable moments of In The Night Garden later, Mr. Warehouse and I decided it was time for bed and strangely letting me take charge I was instructed to take Baby upstairs, give him his bottle and read him a couple of stories before switching on a calming night-light and leaving the room. Doing it by the book and reading some informative stories of how three little kittens like to have their bedtime routine, it was time to leave the room and let the baby cry it out. Feeling awful I knew that Mr. Warehouse felt worse just by the look on his face. Mr. Warehouse's Baby Nephew had only just learned to try and say his name (after smashing mine first go a few weeks ago) and now all he kept crying and screaming from his little box room was for his Uncle's Cuddles. Heartbreaking as that was we needed to give Baby time to self soothe. Seven-minutes of sitting with the TV on mute, watching on the baby monitor this little sleeping bag of fury roll and screech around the cot I took it upon myself to go back in. Scooping the little monster into my arms I panicked, alone and unequipped in a dark room, Mr. Warehouse had chose to stay downstairs. As I took a seat on the edge of the rocking chair and gently rocked back and fourth, soothing Baby with my Shh's and letting him drink from the bottle again he was soon dozing off to sleep. grizzling a few times as I went to put him down in the cot I rocked him again until he was eventually on his one-way train to the land of nod. 

Quietly slipping down the stairs I felt like a new Mom, weird I know. But what was weirder was that a few moments later I was brought to tears as Mr. Warehouse congratulated me and thanked me for being able to deal with the situation and succeeding in putting my first baby to sleep ever. Thinking about my lack of role model I could feel myself welling up inside and even before my beloved boyfriend had the chance to second that I would make a fantastic mother, hot salty tears were streaming my cheeks. Feeling silly he pulled me in for a cuddle and we spent the rest of the night in a "lets pretend we're parents" style, although without all the nappy changing, toe-stubbing baby toys and milky-sick duties. 

Relieved to be back to my normal one-bedroom flat of untidiness and chaos, I am glad that I did not, like many, many of my friends, have children early as I think I would have more than regretted it in the long run. Right now I am happy to be a cool 'Cuz' to my three boisterous cousins and to Mr. Warehouses Niece and Nephews I can be the equally cool 'Uncles Girlfriend', despite being constantly referred to as Aunty on more than one occasion! 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Life Should Be Lived

Evening One and All, 

Life and it should be lived. 

This exactly what I told myself when a certain someone pinged into my inbox Wednesday lunchtime. Reading the message and slamming it back down on the already unstable table in the small kitchen at work I noted a concerned look from Mr. Warehouse. Knowing I was unable to lie to him successfully I began to explain myself and my sudden outburst. My African Babybel had text me. I was angry. What made it worse was the now dulling affection that I had for him still lingered. Explaining everything I was judged immediately and told to block, dispose and delete Mr. Cheese from my life. Easier said than done but actually over the past fortnight I have found it is getting easier. More-so now that I know he isn't a ten minute drive from my bed. 

Lets face it. What was really good about it? I am sure that I don't need to divulge to those that are regular readers that between the sheets was chillier than I would have liked, especially for a couple less than a year into a relationship. It wasn't great really was it. Mr. Cheese was never the man I would marry, my baby-daddy or the person I would spend my golden years progressively hating but continue loving. No. It was a nice thought that I stumbled across many a time but something I knew was unachievable. I wish it was different but it is not. Miss Tweedle-Dumb said to me the other day something that hit a nerve and something that I never had thought about before. She said that "Mr. Cheese never loved you like you knew love before. Mr. Workaholic was your everything as were you for him but with Mr. Cheese it was never even close". I fully understood what she was trying to say and in all honesty I think it was true. Mr. Cheese never loved me, despite how much I wanted him to. But on the one hand maybe that was a good thing, protecting me in the long run from myself and my own ideologies. 

Wednesday Afternoon was not wasn't the first time I had heard from Mr. Cheese and it certainly would not be the last for as the sun set on a Saturday evening another dreaded ping sounded my eardrums. Light conversation ensued and with it some tit-bits of information on how life was in the waste-land of Ghana. I could tell that he was missing home and also my company but this had to stop. I did something I had promised myself I would not do. And as I began scratching at the surface of my smartphone, I wrote:
"I really didn’t want to do this but I feel now that I have to in order to gain some control of the situation. I love you and you will always have a piece of my heart but I can not carry on like this. I need to move on. I desperately wanted it to work for us but it was you who ended it, not me. You only have yourself to blame. I am sorry that things didn’t work out for us but that was your own doing and now I am afraid you will have to deal with the consequences of your actions. There is not a moment in my day in which you are not in my thoughts but you gave me up remember and I can’t continue with this any longer. I will always be here for you and your family should you ever need me but I cannot and will not wait forever. I deserve more than this. I'm Sorry."

And with that my wings came yet again. As strong as they were before I finally renounced Mr. Cheese and found myself rising above his egotistically hedonistic reply. I did deserve better. "If Mr. Cheese can't love me then he shall have to let go so that I can find someone that will" I thought to myself. Yeah! Fuck you man! I thought as I continued with my new obsession - American Horror Story! If Mr. Cheese couldn't satisfy me in every way then why the hell am I still getting hung up on it. I need to build a bridge and get the fuck over it! 

Feeling empowered I turned to my growing little black book and primly placed at the top of that list (at present anyway) is Mr. ToyBoy himself! Ever since our blissful First Date a few weeks ago I had been desperate to see him again. Sadly though the messages have been fleeting and it seemed almost as though our second date was just a bunch of words said to end our first encounter on a favourable note. Approaching this subject with tenderness I asked Mr. ToyBoy why it was that we were postponing our Second Date a third time. Bracing myself for an honest rejection from someone nearly four-years my junior I opened the text. To my surprise it was completely on the contrary. Compliments and apologies aside, between the lines Mr. ToyBoy seemed almost upset at not being able to keep to our earlier appointments and was feeling anxious in wanting to go on a Dinner Date with me. So we have agreed that whilst we have both been busy with work, friends, family and school - I mean college - we will hopefully rearrange our date for the weekend after my birthday. After all rescheduling is what I do for a living.

Rescheduling however will not be on my to do list come Friday night when my weekend of celebrations continue. Whilst Thursday will be the day in which we all mourn another year towards my death, Friday will be party time as myself and a whole bunch of guys and gals from work will be hitting Bedford Town Centre to get down and get funky with the best of 'em! Saturday morning I plan on waking with a size-nine in my bed and after shoving him out the door I shall nurse a fuzzy head whilst sipping fresh coffee and snaffling up the rest of my Subway like a slob until my girls arrive. Dressed to the nines in what I hope to be fancy-dress, I shall yet again be set loose onto the streets of Bedfordshire in the hope that many shots shall be swallowed and many a man shall be flirted with. Sunday Morning will be a time for reflection as I shall bid farewell to the partying antics for another year and head back home to my Grandparents house in Luton to visit family and take sanctuary in a good old roast dinner with all the trimmings and a good old chin-wag with Nanny. 

And whilst I am excited for the merriment, I am also well aware of a phone call from someone less than festive. Mother shall be calling. Something I know she takes great pride in doing every year. Not only for the fact that she can spoil one of the only days in the year I get to take pleasure in but also the fact that together with my Father she birthed me and so has a small role in my creation which she feels the need to reinstate every year. I am however prepared for it as I always am. I shall be at work and my schedule is looking busy with meetings all day, a steady flow of paperwork to get through and other activities to keep me occupied I am positive that I will not let her burden my day any more than the minutes she wastes breathing to me words of many happy birthday returns, all laced with poison and hate. 

And so I must dash. I have a million and one things to do before the euphoria begins and one of them is sorting out what I am going to wear on Friday along with the theme for Saturday, preparing food and drink for Saturday night, doing the washing, making sure the toilet is scrubbed and ensuring that those roots are touched up! So much to do and so little time - I wouldn't have it any other way!

'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