The Pursuit Of Happiness

It is now three years. Three years today. I have been attempting to write over the past few months, only to find that life, as expected, unfolds daily. It was quite startling to realise that nearly eight months have passed since I last wrote here. Although I have been writing, the challenge has been finding the time to collect my thoughts and articulate them coherently. Reflecting on the time that has elapsed feels peculiar. As many have observed, years seem to pass in the blink of an eye, and this sentiment is especially true when it comes to children. They, and I guess we, have changed in so many ways. It seems ages ago now, but it was only less than a year ago that we were all sharing the same bed at night, a situation that was obviously required at the time as they needed comfort and security. The transition back to their own rooms has been a major change which has in turn changed them and has become another step in the continuing development of their own individual characters. They have grown and have adapted so well and I am constantly proud, and more than a little amazed, at the strength they have shown. Comfort and security are still paramount; it just manifests itself in different ways now.

Their change is inevitable and so too is my relationship with them. We have developed a routine and established rules, though these rules are neither written down nor frequently discussed—they simply exist. They are fluid by necessity, adapting as we evolve. I feel I am beginning to come to terms with the responsibilities of raising them. I remain under no illusion that there will be difficult times ahead still, as there are now, but for now, we are carving out our own path. The difficult moments that arise in the present we manage together and while I'm not sure if I am managing them correctly or even well, we get by and try to make our path as smooth as possible. Parenthood offers only one opportunity. Just one. While mistakes can be corrected or addressed over the years, the premise remains unchanged: we have one chance to do our utmost to raise them to best of our ability. One. And I am very mindful of that fact.

As I have said on numerous occasions raising two kids on your own isn't easy. Again, I don't say this for sympathy or clicks. It's just a fact. Everyday tasks for me take a considerable amount of planning and consideration. I've had to become adept at not only having to streamline my way of doing things but I need to be able to change my plans completely at times, something I do struggle with as I do like to have a plan. I can no longer afford to get stressed about the house being totally clean or whether they are getting their 5-a-day. I've, we've, had to just learn what works as we go. This way of thinking has obviously had an effect on me too. I find myself having to balance the things that affect us as a family unit and increasingly more as individuals due to their ever-developing characters. Perhaps I even overthink it sometimes, but things such as grief and grieving, time and healing, their future and simply being happy are never far from my thoughts.

When it comes to grief, I have observed that there is conflict between living in the present and keeping a connection to the past. Grief is a deeply personal experience and subtle distinctions shape the process uniquely for everyone. In my view, the primary factor influencing these differences is the concept of Moving On. I need to stress that I use the term "Moving On" broadly, encompassing a wide spectrum of meanings. For some it can simply mean a change of mind set or acceptance if you will. It can also mean moving on to the next stage of grief where the loss still hurts but less than it did. I'm sure there are extreme examples when it can even mean severing the past completely. For many any form of Moving On is inconceivable, feeling akin to a betrayal of the bond that existed, a bond that should remain unbroken. So some may find that they are never ready to move on with the next chapter of their lives or simply can't or possibly just don't want to. There is no one size fits all remedy. For me Moving On isn't about entirely putting the past behind me and forgetting all that has gone before, although personally there is more than an element of the former of the two. Moving On for me is more about acceptance. I realise that that may seem to some as being heartless and selfish but to me it is an inevitable, even necessary, consequence. I have accepted that Laura is gone. I cannot change that. While she lives in our hearts and has a certain influence on the way we do things, ultimately it is how I do things that matters now. The best way I can honour the memory of Laura isn't in mourning, regrets and sadness, but in raising the children to the best of my ability. It does me no good to dwell in that time, on this day, three years ago and I can't go back to the place I was last year when things seemed to be falling apart. I keep Laura's memory alive for the children, it is important to me that they know who she was and how much she loved them, so I will always talk to them in that way about her. She is their mam and that will never change. My version of Moving On doesn't lessen the love that once was and it's important to understand that the period of anyone's grief isn't a measure of love. Grief, like love, needs time. Maybe I am wired different but it is simply the way I have chosen to do things. I have known enough loss. It has tempered me. It has made me who I now am and who I now am is different from before. I am not afraid to say that I feel I am a better person for it. 

I guess I am open for criticism, even judgment, in that respect. I get that there may be people who don't like how I do things but in essence the only one that can judge me is me and the only people I need to answer to are my kids. They are fundamentally my life, that will never change. But that investment in their wellbeing, development and future doesn't come at a price. I have come to realise that investing in them is also investing in me. The one thing that I learned from last year is that I have to live my life to help me be the driving force in theirs. Time is the same for everyone. I have concluded that making my life better enriches their lives too. I need to be happy and in turn they get the best version of me. How can I show or teach them the lessons that they have to continue living, to hold their heads high and that they can overcome even the hardest challenge, if I'm not willing to embrace that ethos myself. Bad things and setbacks happen in life and the measure is how you deal with it. If I teach my kids anything it is to understand, recognise and be proud of the inner strength they have displayed over the last few years and when they do that, I hope that they will understand that they will be able to accomplish anything.

So, the question I asked myself when I was down in The Fog was will I ever be truly happy again? It's a fairly simple question. I think everyone who has lost someone asks themselves the same question, from heartbroken teenagers to those bereaved. But then rather than asking myself will I ever be happy again, I asked instead, what is happiness? If it is just a general feeling of well-being and contentment then I'll take that every time. I'm not so naïve to believe that I can go through the rest of my life filling every day with joy and happiness but what I won't do is deny myself the opportunity to strive for that ideal. We all know that life is short. Some know this more than others. So when the universe gives you the opportunity to appreciate how precious life is then grab it with both hands. And when you have even the smallest amount of happy in your hands, open them up and share it. Fate has truly opened my eyes and given me what feels like a second chance to live, to grow, to learn, to understand grief, to embrace love and to pursue happiness.

And that is precisely what I intend to do.

“The meaning of life is to find your gift. The purpose of life is to give it away." Picasso 

Every Now and Then

I have been trying to write this for about a month. It's difficult at times to write about myself without sounding like I'm just writing for sympathy or to come across as selfish or judgmental of others. I have also found finding the time to write harder to come by recently too due to working and striving to find that elusive balance to life. When I first started writing this blog the aim was to do something for the kids; something they could refer to, something that I hoped would answer their questions, something that would put a frame around our behaviours and attitudes. I wanted to leave something behind for them. I wanted them to have something that would tell them of the kind of people their parents were. That hasn't changed. I hope that in the future they will read this and understand why I was so grumpy, why I sometimes lost my temper, why sometimes I appeared tired or sad or both and why I actually did the things I did. 

It has been two years now. Two years since we became us three, since we became me. Much has changed in that time, as you'd expect it to have. There have been many trials and many challenges, many ups and downs. There have been hard times. tears and tantrums (and not just from the kids) but there have also been smiles, laughs and the occasional adventure. We continue to adjust and embrace our new normal. I have always tried to do what I thought was the right thing for us and them and I'll continue to do so to the best of my ability.

The kids have both grown so much in the last two years. I guess that is a fairly obvious observation as children tend to grow up fast but their individual characters are developing at an alarming rate and the knock on is that I seem to age two for every one of their speedy years. At least. They have made the transition back to their own bedrooms, which is a major step for all of us, after being in with me since Laura passed. I am incredibly proud of them and I hope that one day they will read that and know how much I mean it and I absolutely know that Laura would be too. We did good.

Aden is still the caring, thoughtful boy he always was. He has always been very emotional and struggles to articulate any frustrations that come with growing up in a manner that doesn't involve getting angry on occasion. But I guess that is all part of the growing up process and he seems to be rapidly morphing into a 10 year old teenager over the last few months! His hair is longer now, which I quite like actually, I just wish he'd understand that it needs a little tidy now and then, just like his room! He's doing very well at school and is confident and happy amongst his peer group. He has really grown and has filled out a bit and is slowly gaining his independence, albeit with that same air of caution that he has always had, which I think is actually a bonus as it pays to be measured and careful. One of the best things about him is that he always eats what I put in front of him...

Hallie, on the other hand, is, well, Hallie! She is as gung-ho as she has always been. She is a beautiful soul and although her and Aden differ in so many things still, they do share the same caring and thoughtful manner. Hallie is never short of a cuddle and kiss. She's very patient and deals with Aden's occasional moods with an almost nonchalant manner. Her creativity has really came on leaps and bounds and is at her happiest when crafting. I get worried when she says she hates being the only girl and it near broke my heart the first time she said it but we are working on it. I only wish she wasn't so picky with food! It's a real worry for me and I hope in time she'll stop being as picky as her mam and she'll start eating anything just like I do!

Again, I cannot emphasise how proud of them I am. They really are very special. How they have dealt with the last few years is simply quite incredible. I am under no illusion that we still have a distance to go yet but we have done pretty good up to this point. They are never short of hugs or requesting them, by Whatsapp if you are Aden or by means of a wonderful piece of art if you are Hallie. 

Me? I'm the same but different. I think it's evitable that I was going to change. In many ways, I guess I had to. I am now a combination of the person I have always been and the person the experiences of the last few years have made me. I am now more open with emotions and feelings, those emotions and feelings that the Past Me, the Pre-Trauma me, The Pre-Mask me, would have hidden or suppressed more. The New Version Of Me knows how short life is and is determined to live it. I have always been pragmatic and that part of my character has served me well and I have faith that it will continue to do so. However, being me now can be quite hard to reconcile at times; there is a lot of guilt, overthinking and second guessing but I feel that I need to start living my life again and, from the outside, rightly or wrongly, I have another chance to do exactly that. Life is different when you actually realise how short it is. It is one of lifes great ironies that to truly appreciate the one life we have we need to experience loss. The reality is that I am here, in my mid 50s, healthy and in fairly decent condition, so I presume that I have 20 (hopefully) good years ahead of me. 20 years to be the best me for my children. 20 years teaching them to embrace life and be the best they can be. 20 years to be us and 20 years to be me. I hope this new version of me is an improvement and the kids benefit from who I have become. My sole aim in life is to be the best version of me for them. When my brother Patrick passed away from cancer in 2008 his son, who was 18 at the time, said in his eulogy at the funeral these simple words: "he was my hero". That is what I aspire to be to them. Isn't that what we all aspire to be to our children in one form or another?

So when I started writing this I said it was mainly for the kids and secondly for me, then for anyone else in a similar situation. Recently I have thought more and more about the latter category. Leaving the kids something from me after I am gone was, and still is, one of the main drivers but I have come to realise that there are so many people out there on their own struggling day to day. Their circumstances may differ slightly but the issues are still the same and more often that not, come with high levels of individual stress and anxiety. I wasn't being naïve in thinking that I am the only single parent in the world but it takes on a more personal aspect when you appreciate how tough life can actually be as a single parent. I like that social media acts as some sort of time capsule for the kids, something they can look back on and see what was happening but I also appreciate that, in the main, we only post the good stuff and no-one gets to see that the great majority of the time, the day to day stuff is a real struggle. Social media, in that respect, is a metaphor for life; despite how it appears, no-one gets to see behind the scenes. No one gets to see or perhaps doesn't quite realise, the constant chore of the everyday tasks; the organising, the cleaning, the planning and the general hardship that is single parenting. The majority of the time I am probably high level multi-tasking (yes, a man, multitasking) but I am blissfully unaware that I am doing so. It's both physically and mentally exhausting and there's no break from it. There's no "can you take over for an hour while I chill out" or even "can you cook tonight". Doing all this stuff is hard. From the moment I wake until they sleep at night it's a constant struggle to balance life and the kids. The little things that most would take for granted are so time consuming. I try to prioritise things and although a day in the life of me isn't easy, I manage. Sadly, many don't but conversely, many do, and actually excel. No-one wants a medal for this or even recognition, just awareness I guess. I recently read something someone wrote called The Mental Load. The article outlined the challenges of motherhood, the constant project management and organising and prioritising. The writer of the piece admitted that it's not the doing that is wholly the issue, it's more the continually thinking for those that rely on you and therefore not having any time for herself. I feel like this is exactly what it has been like for me these last two years. I feel too that many people don't understand the fundamental hardship of having "200 tabs open at the same time and switching off may result in losing them all". This isn't a judgment on anyone, it is simply an observation that people don't really understand something until they have truly experienced it themselves. Just like when people would say "you got this" and "don't sweat the small stuff". Whilst that is an appreciated sentiment, it isn't the best advice to hear. I live the Small Stuff. The Small Stuff has to be done daily lest it turns into something Bigger. Plus who else is going to do it? The writer also begs that same sentiment; she would like, just for a change, for someone to make a decision, to write a list or know what comes next. I have felt the direct consequences of all of this recently. I have no real advice for anyone in this situation apart from seek help if you need it. You are not alone. It's difficult but I've decided to give some time to me now and I'm trying to find some balance in my life. It's difficult as it seems almost selfish, even though I know it ultimately isn't. I am learning to make decisions regarding The Small Stuff and actually prioritise when it needs doing or if it actually needs doing at all. It's a change of mindset and that's the biggest challenge. I think our future happiness depends on it. It just seemed so alien two years ago to think of this actual future, never mind say it out loud, but I need to accept that my future is different now from how it looked then. Back then Laura would have to force me to talk about this current future but I didn't want to know, I found it too difficult to talk about, too difficult to perceive. But that future is here. No-one has any idea of what the future holds and as I have said previously, I try not to look too far into it but I know the decisions I make now aren't irreversible. So those decisions I will continue to make until the kids are truly independent, in the hope that both me and the children learn from them and refer to them to give us the best chance on our journey. I hope, in time, the children will realise that what I did I did for us and them. Although we live in the here and now, every now and then I will consider the then but will stay here in the now. As the now is what will shape us and our future.

One Life

"How will I cope?" I asked her. I was older than her so there was always a good chance that she would outlive me but I was comfortable with that as she was better at all this stuff than I was. Considering she had just been told she was dying she was, or at least seemed to be from the outside, very calm. It wasn't shock either. She was simply being Laura. How will I cope seems a wholly selfish reaction in retrospect. I only thought about me and whilst there was an element of that, in my defence, the main crux of my concern was the kids. How will I cope raising two kids on my own? How will I cope with all the emotions they are going to feel; the sadness, the frustration, the fear. How will I cope financially? How will I cope domestically? How will I cope with the task of actually living the rest of our lives? 

There were many conversations that followed, many I will never share. Conversations about the kids future. Conversations about my future. Conversations about a future without Laura. Conversations about finances and everything else that life generally covers. Conversations in a situation that no one should be in and conversations that no one should really ever have. Conversations that the great majority will ever understand as it's simply impossible to imagine those conversations. Tearful conversations in the middle of the night. Steely hard business conversations in the cold light of day. Emotional, raw and frankly terrifying, these conversations had to be brutally honest, we had no time for vanity or selfishness. Time wasn't on our side. There were also the many occasions where conversation was just too difficult to actually have; subjects were initially brought up or simply alluded to but we just couldn't talk, it was just too difficult. All these conversations were difficult in a myriad of ways as they were based on an awful present and an unknown future and, as much as you can prepare for all eventualities, nothing is a given. No one knows the future, as we had found out on that day in January 2022.  And again, a few short months later, in June 2022.

It has been nearly two years into that future. I have learned much about myself. I have learned that despite my concerns that I can cope. There have been times when I have doubted my ability to cope and I have no doubt that I will feel that way again many times in the future, but over the piece, I have coped. It has been a struggle and will continue to be a struggle. I am under no illusion that there will be really difficult times ahead, after all, parenting is fundamentally meant to be a two person job. There will always be times when I make the wrong decisions but that rule applies to everyone, so the second biggest learning for me is not to judge myself too harshly. After all, I have come to realise that I am the only one that can judge me. Regardless of anyone's thoughts on afterlife, I simply don't acknowledge that there will be A Reckoning. For me, we live and then we die and what you believe is your business. I believe that we will only be judged by what we leave behind in our legacy and our deeds. Yes, the house isn't as clean and tidy as it used to be and I'm not as totally organised as I have been or even should be. But will the kids remember that? Probably not. What I hope they will remember is that I did my best, and that, plus the honest contents of my heart and soul, is what I will leave them. I have the same emotional, physical and financial concerns as everyone else and sometimes those concerns can feel overwhelming but by surrounding myself with people who care, that concern lessens. There was a time when I used to care about what other people thought, but I don't as much anymore. This isn't self centered or selfish or ignorant, I simply don't have enough physical or mental energy to waste on anything but myself and the kids. I am only looking for positivity. We have One Life and that One Life is all that truly matters. Are the kids happy? Am I happy? These are the only two real questions that concern me in this life and that right there is my biggest learning and also my biggest aim.

"How will I cope?" I asked her. 

"You will cope", she replied. "Not because you have to but because you can. I trust you to always do the right thing by the kids."

No one understands more about life and love and living than someone who knows its true value. And in that moment, and in those conversations that followed, she was the only one in the world that knew that value. That lesson will never be lost on me.

You have One Life. Live it. 

The Fall, The Fog and The Universe

So then I took the step. My whole body was shaking so much that keeping upright and balanced was near impossible. Tears of worry and doubt were blinding me and the overwhelming feeling of fear made any forward progress unthinkable. I began to realise that this was just all too difficult. I tried so hard to proceed but I misjudged the step and lost my balance. I could have tried to regain my balance but all those feelings of despair were just too much, so for the first time in my life, I gave up. I gave up and fell. 

Initially I fell into a fog. The fog was familiar, like a recurring dream. It was the same fog I had been walking in all this time. Even though I had my eyes wide open, and on the outside my purpose looked clear to others, the fog was mine and mine alone. My fog only allowed me to see a couple of feet either side of me and that, at the time, felt adequate. I had the children close, so I didn't have to look beyond the fog or plan or take into consideration anything beyond it. However, there were whispers calling me in the mist; words of advice and help, even comfort. They echoed the self same thoughts in my head, they were exactly the same thoughts that I had been ignoring all this time. And I had ignored them as there was safety in the fog. I was in a comfort zone and I didn't need anything else. I didn't need to leave the fog and I didn't need to wake up from the dream. The words I could hear were clear but the message confusing, or made confusing by my own reticence and apprehension. Who actually are you? Where do you want to go? Do you need help? You can't do this alone. 

Then I continued to fall. I fell out of the fog and and into a dream. In that dream I lay on my bed. Unable to move, my body was having an argument with my mind. I had managed, only an hour beforehand and seemingly against all odds, to get the children ready and get them to school. I was now back home and went straight to bed, utterly exhausted by the physical and mental effort that it took to do the morning routine, a routine that had become second nature to me for the last year and a half. Two weeks previous I had been diagnosed by my GP as having anxiety and depression. "You are exhausted", he told me. The voices from the fog came back to haunt me. The voices that had offered help and comfort. The voices that I had ignored. I didn't give me any time and now here I am, with nothing left to give. Empty, hollow and at the lowest point, I was prescribed citalopram to help with the feelings of anxiety and depression and referred to therapy. I lay there on bed, my thoughts jumbled and irritating, confused and sad, conflicting and frustrated. The drugs heightened the feelings of despair and uselessness. This is what they do before they start to work the doctor and the internet informed me, as did others who had been on similar medication. I simply couldn't function properly. I was scared I was going to lose it all; everything that I had been trying to achieve, everything that I had built, everything that I had accomplished in the last 18 months. It was slipping away from me and my body and mind simply couldn't, wouldn't, do anything about it. Never in my life had I experienced such crushing feelings of despair. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I had no motivation. I was falling apart at the seams. I felt like i was on the very verge of a complete breakdown. The tears that I had been constantly crying had even stopped now. My body was empty of those now too. I had nothing left to give. 

I had fallen from my high wire. And as I fell I had to let everything go. I tried to hang on to it all but I knew that in order to save myself that I needed to freefall. Anything I was hanging onto would make the crash to earth worse for me and even more worrying, dangerously worse for them. So I let go of it all. 

I closed my eyes, unsure if it would come quickly or I would be falling for a while. I just had to embrace the idea that this part of my life was over and whatever happened next was meant to happen. 

Then I stopped falling. Quite suddenly. It wasn't a hard crashing back to earth. There was warmth. There was love. There was care. The feeling took me by surprise but at the same time I had half expected or hoped that it would be like this. It was my safety net. It actually worked. I should never have doubted but there are times when the fog is so thick that you simply can't see beyond it and to put trust in that notion was a huge leap of faith. The voices that had called on me beyond the fog were now real and had identities. However, the safety net wasn't what I expected. Parts of it were always there, as I knew they would be, but there were parts missing. I felt sad at their absence but I understood why those missing parts weren't there. It wasn't their time yet and maybe they were providing a safety net for others plus the advice and help they had given had still shaped the net. There were also new parts. New and uplifting and wholly unexpected parts. I embraced all of the complex tapestry of it, even the parts that were missing as I knew that they are all part of the whole. I learned and felt comfort in the whole. There is a theory that The Universe puts people in your life, for good and bad, so we learn a little about ourselves. My safety net has that in abundance. Comforted and armed with that knowledge, I was lifted up and placed on my high wire again, faith restored with a new balance and new mindset. 

So here I stand, once again, on my high wire. But it's different now. I now know what it's like to fall and I now know that my safety net is a palpable and real and beautiful thing. Experience should always teach us how to cope and adjust and learn. I thought that this part of my journey would take longer but it's testament to those I have around me and their love and care and help, that I am back up here with a renewed sense of purpose. The journey and the process is still a long one, that will never change, but The Universe has given me reason to be hopeful, reason to smile and reason to truly appreciate the love that I feel. And that love fills me entirely. It makes me happy. And happy is all I want to be. Isn't that what we should all aim for in life?

What Do You Want Me To Tell You?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I'm not awake in the middle of the night?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I'm doing fine and things are alright.

What do you want me to tell you?

That you aren't my first thought when I wake.

What do you want me to tell you?

That my sorry patched up heart cannot break.

But I can't tell you contents of that sad heavy heart.

And I can't tell you that my universe has torn ours apart.

I can't tell you that there's no music that can ever heal my soul.

And I can't tell you that it was you that made me feel whole.

I can't tell you how I feel about the mistakes that I made.

I can't tell you all of the things that I wish I had said.

I can't tell you of sunsets and slow kitchen dances

Or tell you that I wish for just one of those second chances.

The memories fade but they are still imprinted on my heart.

The onslaught of my emotions I had to impart.

Buried deep, lost their meaning, you had to let go.

But I can't, it's too much, my heart yearns for you

So

What do you want me to tell you?

That I don't need you or struggle without you?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I'm not the same man you once knew?

What do you want me to tell you?

That I can deny all the love I hold true.

What do you want me to tell you?

If you'd listen then I would just tell you.

The Mask and The High Wire

In the beginning I thought that the future was similar to that of a high wire balancing act and all I had to do was make my way along the wire, holding only a balance pole with Life at one end of the pole and The Kids at the other. Of course every so often there would be times when I would have to stop as the balance of Life and The Kids would cause me to wobble. Once I felt I'd gained some semblance of equilibrium I would gingerly continue on. Never once did I consider that the one thing that would endanger my high wire act would be me. It seems that I neglected to take into account how integral my own mental welfare would be to this whole act. And an act is what it is. Everyday is one big act. I believed that the act would get better and easier with time and practice but sadly that isn't the case. Everything just gets harder. The theatrical mask is slipping and wearing thin. The act is wearing thin. Balancing is becoming harder and when I cast a furtive glance below me there doesn't seem to be a safety net. 

This is not the first time I've been here. I have had these issues before, we all have, but not like this. I have never felt so little in control of things as I do now. I feel that I'm only just keeping all this together. Only just. 

Firstly though, I need to recognise how I got to this point. Over the last few months I have felt the threat of the dreaded Second Year on my shoulder. It doesn't have any real discernable form, it's just a lurking notion that things are going to get more difficult. All the while I have managed to stay positive through the love and support of friends and family. They have kept me emotionally balanced. There are ever present stresses; The DWP, for example, constantly put pressure on me to get another job as my 9 hours at school doesn't satisfy their algorithm. They don't take into consideration that when I'm not working I'm being a full time parent. I know there are other single parents that hold down jobs and look after children and that my situation isn't unique, but to me it is and I struggle. For the DWP, it's black and white and I find the pressure of that only adds more worry. So given that I struggle to get everything done with the hours I already have, I, rather naively, decided that I'd apply to do a Level 2 Teaching Assistant course online. I did this to appease the DWP and it's also something I really want to do but within a week I realised that the 18 hours study I had to do was just too much. I suddenly started panicking about the workload. I had felt that I had overreached and the realization that I couldn't do it as well as my job and look after the kids, was strangely too hard to bear. This then became the catalyst to the floodgates opening. I flicked a switch. I opened Pandoras Box. I couldn't put my finger on it but suddenly over the space of a few days everything changed. I lost my appetite, I couldn't sleep, I was shaking constantly, I had completely lost my motivation and I felt frustratingly lethargic. I couldn't go to the toilet, I constantly felt nauseous and my head was continually sore and stuffy. I was having overwhelming feelings of sadness and, most telling of all, I felt like I was being a burden to the friends that were trying to help me. I felt trapped. I felt there was no escape. I felt like I was falling to pieces and while I was trying to hold all the pieces in place, I was also trying to hold the mask up. The Mask was still preventing me from opening up entirely to anyone. The sheer folly of this was only exacerbating the issue. It was hard to tell anyone this, not out of pride, but more because I couldn't explain it. I needed to do something, so I made the decision to book a doctors appointment. After a lengthy discussion he unsurprisingly diagnosed me with depression and anxiety. 

So here I am, The Second Year has arrived. The First Year was full of firsts; things that kept me busy and occupied. But all the time every one of those things were slowly draining me, I was using up all my energy on carrying on and hiding behind The Mask. I am now running on empty. I didn't devote any time to Me, to allow Me to recharge. I gave so much into keeping it all together that I seem to have run out of everything entirely. Then on top of that there is the crushing realisation that there is no quick fix. This is long term. The high wire has just gotten longer and more treacherous and when I was up there, concentrating so much on The Kids and Life on my balance pole, I forgot to check my own balance. Sadly this is still the case as I write this down. All those feelings are still here; overwhelming me, draining me, making me cry suddenly and for no apparent reason, causing me to lose sleep, confusing my thoughts, distorting my love, stealing my motivation, making me want to hide away, and that same feeling of being a burden that is stopping me from sending a message of help to a friend. Anytime I try to get a little positivity, something happens, just a random thought or doubt and I'm back there again. I'm trying so hard but my emotional state seems to be snowballing out of control and I don't know how to halt it. The doctor suggested medication and/or therapy and has given me time to come to an informed decision but in the meantime all those feelings are still here. And it's crushing me.

The mask was there to cover the turmoil, to project confidence, control. The mask was meant to make things easier while I made all the adjustments I had to make. But instead it just made things harder. The longer you wear it, the heavier it gets. And the heavier it gets, the more you lose of yourself. I thought I was brave putting a face on but it isn't brave at all. The bravest and best option is often the hardest one. So this is it. I've took off The Mask and I'm asking for help. I simply can't cope on my own. I will still be walking the high wire but I need that safety net. I need to know it's there.

All the while I just want to be happy again. I'd even be content going back a couple of months so I could perhaps see the change and adapt better but you can't reinvent history. There is a certain inevitability about this that I need to embrace. The me I want to be and could be seems so very far away. But I will get there. I've inched my foot out tentatively and I can feel the wire oscillating under it. I'm checking my balance. I cast a quick glance at Life and The Kids at either end of my pole and I check my balance again. The pole is shaking. I am shaking. I can't remember a time when I was so afraid, that all this responsibility for everything mattered so much. For the first time in forever I check to see if there actually is the safety net that I so desperately need. 

And I take that step. 

The Lesson

As I've mentioned before, most days we look at Facebook memories on Laura's phone as the kids like to look at the photos on her page. Her page is obviously still active and she is still a member of quite a few Facebook groups. They are mostly local interest, celebrity or lifestyle based. However, one of those groups is a Secondary Breast Cancer group. When I open her page there is usually a post from that group at the top. I only ever briefly scan that post and I never open the group up properly. There are two reasons for this. For one, it simply doesn't feel right. This is a closed group for women with SBC to share their concerns, worries and fears with other women in exactly the same situation, so I feel like I would be eavesdropping on their private affairs. The other reason is simply that all of their stories would break your heart. These woman have metastatic cancer, it cannot be cured. They know, like Laura did, the finality of their situation.  However, the common thread I see, beside the incredible bravery of these women, is the struggle they have with help, in respect to both asking for help and dealing with offers of help. 

Now, it's hard to write about this without sounding critical but the idea is to make you think. This has been on my mind for a long time now and it was a topic of conversation with my counsellor. Please read it and take on board what I'm saying without guilt, remorse or regret. On many occasions situations like these are new for everyone involved and unfortunately we only learn lessons from hindsight.

We all know someone in need. Sadly, I have never been so aware of so many people I know with cancer but It doesn't have to be cancer, someone you know needs help.

So.

There were times, especially after Laura's secondary diagnosis (today marks that 2 year anniversary) and also after she had left us, that we were inundated with messages of help. "Anything at all, just shout or let me know". The thing is, and I know this to be true of both myself and Laura, asking for help isn't an easy thing. I expect it is the same with many others. This isn't always down to stubbornness or pride, it's just that it's hard, for me personally, to categorise that help. I know what I struggle with and it's the every day things; housework, walking the dog and just your good old common motivation. These are things that everyone struggles with so it hardly seems worth shouting about. However, Laura simply wanted normality in her life. She didn't really want grand gestures. She wanted a cuppa, a biscuit and someone to pop by and talk about the every day stuff. Not cancer, sympathy, pity or general awkwardness, just friendship and a smile and a bit of gossip. This proved difficult though as generally people, unsurprisingly, couldn't see past the harsh emotion of it all. I've said this before but "you got this" is not what anyone with SBC wants to hear.

Now a bit of advice if I may. That someone you know that is going though a hard time, whether it be earth shattering or earth moving or simply a issue that may not seem like much but is being underplayed, go see or call them. May I suggest that that help isn't of the aforementioned grand gesture variety, but just a simple thing. Suggest going for a walk, go for a coffee, make them a cup of tea. Maybe a Tunnocks Teacake too. Those are the things that are most likely required. Read the room. They probably don't need you to walk the dog or do the housework, although that can be discussed and be a result of being in their company. You will know in your heart if you listen, truly listen, what that person is comfortable with. 

Now this is the important bit: if they refuse because they don't feel up to it, don't give up. It may simply be that; they don't feel up to it. Try again tomorrow or the day after. Never presume that because your help wasn't required one day that it's always going to be that way. Keep trying. Again, if you truly care-Don't. Give. Up. Of course, there is a fine line here, but the benefits far outweigh anything else.

The last thing I want to do is sound judgmental or ungrateful. I don't want anyone who was close to Laura to feel bad in anyway. Don't overthink it. It was a first for everyone and the love and support was unconditional and gratefully received. But would it not be the best thing if we learned something from it, something we could pass on? I still get messages of support and help to this day and it means the world to me. It has also made me see things in a different light. I feel I have to pass it on. I no longer sit on a message to someone who I think I should tell how much I appreciate and love them. I make it known. Go see that person. Drop them a note.

There are lessons here. For everyone.