Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Emotion, Empathy, England, Family, Fatherhood, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Nottingham
When I was in Nottingham recently, I walked a lot.
Not simply because that’s what I do these days, but because it had been 18 months since I was last there and I sensed it would be even longer till I’m next there.
I walked around the streets I grew up in, down the roads my friends grew up in … through parks, past shops, along roads I’d only ever driven past when I was older. It was quite an emotional thing and I was left realizing how lucky I was to grow up in West Bridgford.
I never properly understood that.
For me, it was simply where I grew up … but because I’ve now lived in many places, across many countries [and because it was very sunny when I was there – ha] I appreciated what a special place it was. It is.
Of course, a big part of that is how much it has developed over the years – filled with cafes and independent shops, where previously there was just a ‘hot potato’ cafe and a Boots Chemist – but still, it always felt a haven to me. And in many ways it still does.
Not that I have any intention of moving back there. Maybe once I did … but no more.
The place, as much as I like it, is one filled with ghosts and memories – and while there is a lot to be said for that, I don’t know if I would ever be able to look past that if I moved back.
But it will always be important to me … it will always be a part of me … because it holds the house I grew up in. A house filled with love, memories, laughter and pain. A house where my parents ashes are scattered around their beloved garden.
I drove past the house a few times when I was there.
And I looked at it, feeling it was calling out to me.
A lot has changed since I lived there, but it still has the garden planting pot attached to the house that my Dad built and still has the note we left in the garage when we sold it. That last bit was added to the terms of the sale. That they couldn’t remove it for 20 years … which, having visited it 18 months ago, they have thankfully respected.
I loved that house.
I loved that street.
And while everything is the same, everything is different.
Which is why I was so happy when I went to pay a visit to the cemetery where my parents funerals were held.
Neither were religious and neither had their ashes there, but it was obviously a significant place for me – even if associated with deep sadness – which is why I had ensured I honored their life by having plaques made to be placed on display.
One for Dad in a beautiful rose bush.
One for Mum in a bright sunflower bed.
And then, for both of them, this …
A bench in the grounds of the cemetery, looking out onto the gardens.
It was very emotional finding it.
It felt very personal being with it.
A reconnection to my parents, my childhood, my home.
I’d looked for it – and the rose/sunflowers – last time I was there but couldn’t find it.
The cemetery is vast and would take days to walk everywhere, so was sad when I went away empty handed. But this time, I was determined and while I still couldn’t find the flower plaques, I somehow stumbled on the bench and it made me so happy.
Suddenly my parents were in the present. We were all together again.
And given so much has happened since my Dad passed in 1999, it was a moment for me to bring them up to date and introduce them to the life their beloved son has managed to pull-off. I say ‘pull off’, but the fact is, they gave me the lessons and encouragement that helped so much of it happen.
I miss my parents.
I miss West Bridgford.
But what this visit reinforced to me is you can take the boy away from his roots, but you can’t take the roots away from the boy.
And I’m so, so grateful for that fact.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Bird, Bonnie, Cats, Comment, Family, Happiness, Home, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, Otis, Rosie, Sky
I’m back.
But I barely survived.
Part of that is because my trip was full-on.
The other part is having a puppy is even more full-on.
Seriously, it’s like having a baby all over again. Fortunately, we loved that period of our life so it’s not too bad … but bloody hell, it’s also pretty demanding.
A few months ago, I wrote about how people in agencies should be taught ‘the art of conflict management‘ … but now I think the other skill we should all be taught is puppy training.
If that doesn’t teach you how to be patient and calm when facing a barrage of noise and needs, nothing will.
That, or go work in China, hahaha.
That said, it is lovely having a pet in the house again. As I wrote before, while Rosie was a small cat, she filled the house with her presence and personality – and while we still have had Otis’, Sky, over these months, it hasn’t been quite the same.
But now, with Bonnie, the house has a new energy in it.
Sure, it’s slightly manic and lacking any degree of peace … but that’s a small price to pay to have life bubbling again. No wonder my Mum loved it when I came home to visit her. Not just because she was very happy to see me, but because my friends would come around and suddenly the place was a bustle of noise and laughter … a rewind to what daily life was like when Dad and I were around.
I get it. I just wish I could tell her that I do.
What’s interesting is we didn’t meet our dog until we picked her up … so we were totally reliant on the breeder being smart with her recommendation. Not because we were being picky about its looks … but because in addition to being a family pet, she has to be a trained support dog for Otis, hence temperament is key.
Thanks to the training she’s received from the breeder – and us – so far, it’s been good, but like Rosie it will definitely take some time until we find our own unique rhythm.
Finding the rhythm is a magical thing.
Some of it comes from ritual. Some from the environment. But most of it comes from the interactions you have and keep having together.
But when you find it, it’s special because it evolves into a sort-of invisible bridge where you can come together in the middle … with the knowledge to understand the unsaid. To interpret different sounds and signs.
It’s why that quote at the top of the page made such an impact on me when I read it.
A reminder that one of the most powerful ways to know how much someone has impacted you, is to look for those traits in others. Not so they become who someone was, but because they show you the best you can be.
So welcome Bonnie. Thank you for what you’ve given us already.
Filed under: Comment, Dad, Death, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad
I know, I know … I said I was away for a week – and I am – but I couldn’t let today pass without me acknowledging it, because today is the 10th anniversary of my Mum passing.
I’ve written a lot about this over the bast decade.
From what happened … to how it messed with me … right thought to how it changed how I do things and look at things.
And while all those things are still there … a decade later the feelings are far less connected to darkness and far more about the light.
I have to say, I am so relieved.
Mum was a wonderful human.
Full of compassion and curiosity.
Driven by a real sense of respect and justice for all.
For a very gentle, quiet woman, she was a force that you felt through her actions, her choices, her emotions and – when necessary – her words.
But most of all, I think of Mum as an incredibly dignified person and nothing reflects this more than how she prepared for what she feared most.
You see Mum was going into hospital for a heart valve operation.
It was a pretty common procedure, but at 83, she was aware things could happen.
She’d already delayed the operation by a few months to ensure I could be with Jill when Otis was born – another example of her selflessness – but even though things had initially gone well, sadly the condition of her heart was far worse than expected and within an hour of coming out of theatre, it ruptured and Mum died.
I’m so, so grateful I was with her and that she knew that.
She’d told me a few months before that her greatest fear was that she may die alone – like her sister-in-law had tragically experienced.
And while I would give anything to have her back, knowing I was there – as I was with Dad – has definitely helped me deal with the loss.
But it’s what happened after she passed that reaffirmed one of her greatest traits.
Her dignity.
Something she valued very much. Even in death.
You see, when she had died, we were going through some draws back at her house. In there, I found a book she’d been compiling featuring all the account numbers associated with her, all the contact information of her friends, and a compilation of stories and articles that she wanted me to see or know if the worst happened.
To do that both blows me away and breaks my heart …
Blows me away for the incredible generosity of wanting to ensure in my darkest hour, I am not being further impacted by the complication of trying to find or access information.
Breaks my heart because not only did it represent her acknowledging the potential of her death, but that she did it alone.
I don’t know how she felt doing this, I just hope that any emotional struggle she felt was softened by knowing she was doing something that was important to her. Important because I – as her only son – was her world.
She never left me in doubt of that. Ever. Even when we had little disagreements over the years …
Because the undeniable fact was she loved me and I loved her.
And I still do.
I’m so grateful and honoured she was my Mum.
Which is why, as much as today is a connected to something deeply sad in my life – she’d be very happy to know, the feelings I have today are far more associated with love than tragedy.
For all she did.
For all she was.
For all she continues to be in my life.
I love and miss you so much Mum.
Give Dad a big kiss from me.
Rx
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Craft, Creativity, Culture, Emotion, Family, Love, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents
As you know, I love music.
I play it.
I make it.
I listen to it.
I used to make my living from it.
I work with people who play to millions while they do it.
Music is, in many ways, a version of oxygen to me.
However, while I like all manner of music … from heavy metal to opera … there are some bands I don’t really connect to. One of those is Radiohead.
Don’t get me wrong, I appreciate their talent and there are music/songs they’ve written that I feel are genuinely masterful. But do I think they are worth the reputation that so many people hold them to?
Hmmmmmn, probably not … which I appreciate is entirely subjective rather than anything approaching a considered point-of-view.
And yet, I recently saw someone perform one of their songs – the admittedly iconic, ‘Creep’ – that has had such an impact on me, that I literally burst into tears at a specific point of the song, every time I listen to it.
And I’ve listened to it a lot.
I should point out that while I have always liked that track, it’s less to do with the song and more to do with who performs it and how they perform it.
It’s this [with my tears starting at exactly 2 minutes 8 seconds ]
Oh my god, I’ve just listened to it again as I am writing this and the tears are streaming down my face.
Now I should point out I have form at crying to music.
My Mum used to tell me that when I was very young – like 6 months old – I would cry at classic music that she’d put on the record player. Not because I didn’t like it, but because I was overwhelmed by the emotion of it.
And here I am, aged 54, still doing it.
There are many reasons for it.
First it’s just fucking beautiful. Proper, proper beautiful.
It’s both so simple and yet so layered …
But it’s also how two totally different musical styles bend and blend into some sort of harmonious rapture.
Where different orchestrations seem to be going on their own paths and yet, at some point, come together.
Not mechanically, but with almost a slow motion to them … making the impact of it even more majestic.
But, if I am being honest, as amazing as that is, what really hits me is this is Son and Mum.
It makes me emotional just thinking about it.
Not just because it makes me miss my Mum so much, but because both of them have come together to create something special for each other. And I do think it started that way.
The son believing his Mother’s voice was incredible. The mum wanting to support her son’s musical talent.
A genuine interest in what each other is interested in.
No judgement.
No criticism.
Just interest and openness while being able to stay utterly true to who they each are.
And by doing this, they’ve taken their separate world’s and created something together. Something special. Something that elevates their relationship because it has opened the door to new ways to share and express their love that maybe they previously never imagined.
But it’s even more than that.
Because running all the way through those 3 minutes, 25 seconds is a celebration of love.
Not just because they’re bonded by blood, but because you feel the deep sense of pride, respect and adoration of who each other is and what each other does.
It’s similar to when Pink Floyd guitarist, Dave Gilmour, turned up unannounced to a pub in Brighton to support – and sing – with his daughter Romany and yet it is also very different.
Because where Dave and Romany sang a song that was a relatively faithful rendition of the original [not to mention something you imagine they’d done together in private for years – which is said with love, not judgement] the version of ‘Creep’ is something else.
A mash-up of totally different musical styles.
A creation of something not heard before.
Something that not only takes the song to a completely new place, but demands all who listen to it open their eyes and ears to a musical style that they may of never heard before or most probably never considered would be something they’d like.
But how can you not like this.
How can you not be moved by it.
Because while the song is about low self esteem, loneliness, and the struggle to accept yourself, it inspires, radiates and ignites pure love.
The sort of love surely everyone hopes they will one day get to experience, create, share or remember.
And that is what my tears are for. And that is why I’m so grateful for them.
Remember to tell the people who matter to you, what they mean to you.
Have a good weekend.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Age, Attitude & Aptitude, Bonnie, Childhood, Comment, Dad, Daddyhood, Death, Family, Fatherhood, Jewellery, Jill, Love, Loyalty, Mum, Mum & Dad, My Childhood, My Fatherhood, Otis, Parents, Relationships, Resonance, Respect
On Friday I talked about the ring that had replaced my lost wedding ring.
A wedding ring that had been made to combine both my Dad’s wedding ring and the one given to me by Jill.
I wrote how this new ring had – thank god – been able to incorporate some of Dad’s ring [that I’d had left when I had it resized] as well as some things from Jill’s ring [that she kindly donated to me] so that it was something of real significance and sentimental value to me.
I treasure it.
It’s far more than the metal it’s made of.
But recently I saw something that reminded me why it is so significant.
This …
I don’t know why, but the thought I will [hopefully] know Otis more as an adult than a kid completely fucked with me.
Of course he will always be ‘my child’ but being the person I see every day … the person I watch growing up in front of me … the person he turns to for laughs, help, advice or an audience … the person who loves and hugs his dog … is something I treasure deep in my psyche and soul.
As I wrote before, while all parents know their kids grow up fast, what makes it tolerable is that as they develop … they learn or express new things that you adore, which helps offsets the sadness of seeing the old things you loved, fall away.
But there will be a time where you don’t get to see this growth every day.
Where you aren’t their World, you’re just a part of it. One associated more with the past than the present.
Back in 2016, I wrote about that – based on an brilliant article in The Guardian – and fuck me, if it was hard to deal with then, it’s even harder to accept 9 years later as we get closer and closer to a time he will move on, that you know is coming but wish wasn’t.
That doesn’t mean you don’t want your child to have their own life.
To forge their own interests and passions and journeys moving forward.
But the idea of being relegated to ‘observer’ is hard, even though – as my parents showed with me – it is one of the greatest gift you could ever give your child.
The values to live.
The lessons to progress.
The encouragement to explore.
The freedom to build write your own story.
What brought this all to a head was a video I watched of Michelle Obama recently, talking about her Mum.
“Wow, this went fast”.
Not just watching your child become an adult, but life.
And as much as Mae West said: “you only live once, but if you do it right … once is all you need”, the reality is life does go fast.
What makes it more bizarre is that as you get older … as life passes-by slower … it all seems to accelerate at the same time.
Which is why it’s so important to treasure and value what you have.
Not take it for granted.
Not get swept up with the things that – in the big scheme of things – don’t matter.
It’s taken me a long time to learn this.
It’s taken watching my wonderful, brilliant son grow up to really understand this.
Despite watching my amazing Mum and Dad pass, it’s Otis who has helped me appreciate time and life.
Not just with him, but with everyone around me.
Which is why that video of ‘knowing your child more as an adult than a kid’ hit me.
Not because that is bad, but because the moment is so special.
And while growing up is a good and natural thing – which I have obviously been trying to come to terms with for a long time, given I wrote this about Otis becoming an adult back in 2021 – it’s still a reminder that you rarely know you’re living the time of your life, until after it has passed.
It’s why both those videos may have been uncomfortable reminders.
But also beautiful gifts.