Make Believe

So I sit watching the rain...Part 7

Its been a while hasn't it since I've done this whole blogging thing. At least a few days... that's fucking ages for me lol!

This last week has been the biggest rollercoaster of my life. Its been a little over two weeks since my mum died. I've gone from feeling robotic and angry to sobbing and back again. Throw in some happy moments that I felt guilty as fuck about, which then led me to feel an incredible sadness. I'm not going to label it and call it depression because I know it fucking isn't. I still see the light shining in the distance I just don't have the energy to get there just yet.

I love how people who know me deal with it too, or should I re word that and say how they deal with me dealing with death. I have the bog standard "I'm sorry for your loss" to hugs, to cards, to well my favourite to date which has to be the brilliant people distracting me and making me look to the future. You people? Those that are making me laugh, teasing me, just treating me like a normal person and not this broken husk I've become in the two weeks? Your giving me hope I get to come out the other side of whatever the fuck this crazy journey is!

So in amongst the confusion of how I feel about it all and once I had stopped sobbing for 5 minutes I found writing wasn't giving me the comfort I needed. I sat in front of the laptop and there was nothing, no words. I had all these thoughts in my head and I couldn't even write them out. Total and utter brain block.

The clearing of my mum's flat left us all feeling worn down. How strange did it feel clearing and sorting all these familiar possessions in an unfamiliar home? No matter how many times I went there I never ever got over that fact. It just further opened the wound of her leaving my Dad and setting up afresh over a year ago.

As we expected it was a huge task. I tried to make light of it whenever I could, especially more so whenever I looked at my Dad and saw just how torn and broken he really was. Her junk cupboard soon became "the cupboard of doom" for many reasons, it was stacked to the rafters with stuff, all kinds but mostly about 20 years worth of all paperwork that ever existed including receipts from Woolworths and vet bills from pets long passed. Also the fact that spending any length of time in there really did leave you with a true feeling of doom and gloom.

Packing up any of the rooms was a huge task. Every room had every bit of furniture that could ever fit in there. Each piece of furniture was filled to the brim. It surprises me she could even move around the flat for the sheer amount of crap everywhere.

I thought that maybe some of the rooms would be easier to deal with but nope, every single one was hard. Packing up her bedroom came with new challenges. Mostly as I managed to creep myself out a few times with the fact of knowing she died in there and how she died in there. I really don't deal with the whole death thing well do I? I know people will tell me its all part of the life cycle but on a daily basis how up close and personal do you get with the whole thing?

The final day was the worst, we knew we were close to being done but it was the final push to get it done none of us had. Still it got done. I had moment I kind of lost it. Having the door open meant the neighbour spotted me in the hallway and immediately grabbed me a chair and a cup of sweet tea. Made me sit down. Such good people.

I got to know them quite well over the few days we were there. It seems they knew what I needed. They saw just how I was coping, well wasn't coping! Handing over the plants to her and admitting I was rubbish with them she smiled at me and said of course she would look after them. She laughed a little and told me her daughter was the same and not to worry.

An afternoon of phone calls soon followed with dealing with 50 million companies. Internet etc. "hi, I'm just ringing to say my mums dead don't send her any more bills" More robotic manners from me to get me through.

The housing association soon got a mouthful when they demanded we meet them there on Tuesday. Grabbing the phone from my Dad and ranting, even more swearing. "Tuesday is the day of my mums funeral, no I'm not fucking doing that day and if you cant do any other day I will post you the fucking keys, I don't fucking care" words to that effect.. maybe add some more fucking, this fucking that in there to be extra certain. After that I did all the phone calls.

I've done all the paperwork so far, I'm so glad that she had such a small estate and didn't own her own property. Just this has been enough to drive me slightly insane. It still surprises me how some companies are amazing and others aren't.

So, what have I been doing to make sure I actually get out of bed in the fucking morning? I've gently pushed myself into a routine. I'm working out again, mostly as we lived off takeaway's of all kinds I NEED to! I'm sewing again, again I need to earn money, I have bills, lets be adults.

My main saviour? MUSIC. Music has been the saviour here. I still have to be careful what music I listen to for fear of breaking down. May I remind everyone NOT to listen to bridge over troubled water when you feel shitty when someone dies. Unless you actually want to ball your eyes out that is.

I had a weird mix of music blasted into my ear drums as a kid. Mum was all Motown, T-rex, Cat Stevens, Musicals, The Hollies, The Supremes and my Dad was more Phil Collins, Meatloaf, Rick Wakeman, Dire Straits. You get the idea.

So yes, all the 80's playlists have been going this last few days. Spotify and mums old vinyl have been used to the max. If I close my eyes its like being taken back to being a kid again. I'm kind of glad through all the anger, hurt and upset I found my happy memories.

At the time it all happened I couldn't think of any at all. Not until I played that first record of hers. I closed my eyes and just listened. Every time I feel like I'm breaking I do that now. I stop, I put a record on. I sit down and close my eyes and I remember.

xxx