The good, the bad, and the mediocre

My parents used to say that home is your sanctuary. As soon as you open the door and step into the outside world, it’s just a game of chance as to what you will find: it might be good, it might be bad, or even mediocre. But in opening that door you are taking a leap of faith that you will be greeted with good or mediocre… who wants the bad?

It’s a bit more tricky in today’s world of emails, messages and social media. When I was a teenager there was one telephone on the hall table and phone calls were treasured moments of connection. Bad news was likely to come in the post (as well as good and mediocre, of course). But today you don’t really know what you’re going to get even if you are in the sanctuary of your home. Which sometimes leads me, when I’m feeling vulnerable, to avoid social media and even messaging at times. Even off-hand comments can knock me off my perch, and I don’t think Molly, my old greyhound, is likely to pick me up again, set me back on my feet, and laugh the whole thing off. (By the way – I really don’t like being like this. This was never a thing until Tim’s death. Grief changes a person in so many ways.)

So there I was, messaging friends on Mother’s Day who have lost mums and feeling so grateful that I still have my lovely mum and I didn’t fully realise I was unlocking the door, dipping a toe in the outside world, opening myself up to be greeted by good, bad or mediocre.

I was met with good – of course I was. I have lovely friends. But then a good turned into a completely unintentional bad. I was reminded of a friend’s fortieth wedding anniversary. which is good. But they married the same year as Tim and me, and I should have known this, of course I should. But I’d been so overwhelmed and was back on my perch after the anniversary of his death, that I wasn’t thinking ahead to July.

And then, of course, the missing came back in waves. I’m still on my perch. Still holding on and walking, walking, walking… but, my goodness, it’s jolly hard.

But then there has been good news, too. I was reminded that it’s three years since I trekked from the Dead Sea to Petra surviving a sandstorm, running out of water and getting stuck on a mountain in the dark, and losing a toenail but gaining many blisters. A small price to pay for the money I raised for the Brain Tumour Charity (over £4k – thank you to everyone who so kindly gave).

And a small press messaged to ask if they could include one of my blog posts in an anthology about grief that they’re putting together. I’m so looking forward to reading this collection of short pieces and poetry. Often by reading what other people have to say, it helps to articulate how I feel. And it helps to know that I’m not alone.

I’m lucky. So very lucky. I’ll never lose sight of that. And while I can walk, I can be.