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

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