A Letter For My Mother

Hi Mum. I know I’ve never written to you like this but I got the idea from… well, a comic book, actually. I don’t know if somewhere in the great beyond you’re able to read this on some metaphysical wavelength or whatever, but I don’t think worrying about how you’re meant to see this is really the point of the exercise.

In fact, never mind writing to you, I’ve not often spoken to you since you left us. I hope you don’t hold it against me. I don’t remember how I felt about this stuff as a ten year old, but throughout most of my life I’ve been quite far removed from the spiritual side of things. I call myself agnostic, but that’s mostly a formality these days. In my heart of hearts, there has only ever been one thing that’s removed me from pure atheistic disbelief, and that’s the feeling that you’re watching over me. I can put it down to psychological reasoning, sure, but just as I know deep down that there is no god, I also know that somehow, somewhere, you’re still with me.

Anyway, mushy stuff aside. The world has changed a lot since you left us. And obviously you’ve seen it change alongside me, if my threadbare faith is to be believed. The thing is, though, I have no idea what kind of person you’d be in today’s world. Hell, I only ever knew you through the eyes of a child, and those memories age with every passing year. How would you fare in this world of smartphones and Covid and geopolitical tension? Would you be a Candy Crush expert? What would your profile on Facebook look like? What kind of person would I be with 17(!) more years of you in my life?

I must apologise, for this letter will naturally return to me and my life by its very nature. But I don’t think you’d mind. Because you see, the one defining feature I remember of you is your kindness. I could sit here and speculate on how you’d react to every modern development and every passing controversy, but all I need is one glance back at my memories of you to know that it’s all irrelevant to your character. You were amazing, and no matter what life threw your way, that would shine through. It’s your legacy, in a way, because I try to give out the kind of love that I was brought up on.

Grief is different for everyone, every time, and when you died I was certainly left too numb to ever believe that the end of your life had ever really happened to me. It wasn’t until… well, a few years ago that I really opened myself up to what you went through, beyond the scope of what it meant for me and my life. But, by way of this coping mechanism, and as perhaps a kind of mercy, I was spared the raw pain of longing for the times before. They simply… had been, and now were not. That was all. But do not think for a second that you are not as much a part of me as the blood that runs through my veins, the oxygen that enters my lungs. Sometimes I see someone who looks a little like you, and a little part of my brain spins up a fantastic tale of what if… what if, like in some pulp fiction, you were still out there somewhere, alive, hidden for reasons yet unrevealed. Don’t get me wrong, it’s not something I actually believe, but anyone who’s lost a loved one can probably relate to that little what if…

Of course, the dreadful asymmetry of fate doesn’t give us simple answers to questions of “if I had a time machine, would I undo the past?” Because of course I would, right? But then, of course, I’d never have met some of the other most important and wonderful people in my life. I’d never have met half of my family. And that’s a tough thing to reconcile, sometimes. The life that I lead would not exist if you were still here. How is that meant to make any sense at all? I suspect you would tell me not to worry about it, and remind me that I do not own a time machine. I suspect you would simply be glad that my life was so full of love despite you being gone. But it’s a thing, isn’t it? Like the actual question I ask myself every so often. Who would I be without the loss of you? How much of my personality would be the same without grief?

Such heavy hitting questions. I’d meant to write to you about casual things like iPhones and Instagram. But I suppose that’s what happens when you catch up with someone you love after a long time apart. Just know… well, what you already know. That I laugh every day. That I love more deeply than I can sometimes fathom. That you are my light in the dark. That I still write, that I create fervently, arbitrary notions of success be damned. That, despite many calculations needed to weigh the scales, I am happy.

How do I sign this off? Well, I’m reminded of our goodnight ritual from when I was a boy.

“Love you more than you love me!” “That’s impossible.”

(P.S – Hope you don’t mind but in the morning, I plan on publishing this whole thing on my blog. Partly for autobiographical reasons, partly because… I don’t know. There’s a few people I know who might find comfort in the knowledge that long term grief is more love than pain. I don’t think you’d mind.)

From Here Onwards

I used to write one of these at every turn of the year, but it got a little exhausting talking about the past and the future at intervals where my life saw little change. Last year, I… did nothing, and this year I shall… hopefully do things! It began to feel like empty words. So, as we’re twenty days into January, please feel free to take this as a hint that this is not a scheduled yearly blog post, but one that I’m writing because I actually have things to say.

I’ve spent a lot of my twenties beating myself up about the state of my life. I grew up with grandiose ideas about becoming a world famous story teller who’d change the way people thought about the world! Fast forward to last year, when I’m sitting through a faculty meeting at work, listening to my boss tell us that we wouldn’t realistically be working here if part of us didn’t enjoy the work. No, I think, I’m working here because I’m trapped within my own limitations and only my friends here keep me sane. I still work there. I recently had an attendance review meeting because I took four unpaid days off in four months for being curled up in bed with the flu. It’s going real well.

So how come I’m not a world famous story teller? Well, I have a few theories about that (sans the world famous part). And this year… well, starting from the end of last year, because I wasn’t waiting for an arbitrary New Year’s Resolution before changing my life… this year I’m following up on my theories. For starters, I’m seeing someone about ADHD. I have nothing to share yet, so don’t assume I have it – there are people in my life who certainly don’t think I do – but personally, it’d go a long way to explaining why I have such difficulty not just with sticking to a single idea long enough to see it through, but also with plenty of every day problems in real life. Speaking of which, I’m also starting an online CBT course thing for anxiety! I won’t get into oversharing, but I think that a lot of my issues in life come from a generalised variety of anxiety, and so far it would seem that doctors agree.

So I’m not promising to write a novel this year, because I tried brute forcing that last year and I got four chapters into my first draft before having a crisis of confidence and binning the thing. But I am promising to work on myself. If ADHD and anxiety aren’t the issue, something else is, I know that much by now. I’ve barely dipped my toe into figuring this stuff out but I already feel more confident for the small scraps of validation that my investigations have brought me so far. Maybe I’m not just shit. Maybe I’m facing some real obstacles. Maybe I always have.

On a lighter note, another thing I want to do in 2023 is read more books! I’ve become super engrossed in comic books these last few years, so it’s not that I’ve not been reading exactly, but on the novel front, I’ve been mired seven books into the Wheel of Time series for some months now. Unfortunately, this fantasy epic becomes a notorious slog for the middle three books, and in my stubbornness to not give up I’ve ended up forsaking almost everything else. Last year, I read four books, two of them Wheel of Time novels. (The other two were Good Omens and Sylvanas, a World of Warcraft tie-in novel. Both are excellent.) This year, my aim is to read 15 books by the end of the year, which may not sound difficult to you, but… remember the possible-ADHD thing? I use Audible nowadays to listen to books on the way to work, as I have a tough time keeping my attention on the real physical deal. Unfortunately, Audible only gives out 12 book tokens over the course of a year, so 15 books may actually be an issue! Ah well. I’ll figure it out.

Thanks for reading. I hope your 2023 proves as fruitful as mine is planning to be. I’m considering changing the name of this blog from Perpetually Perturbed to The Tombstone Project, after the real-time memoirs project that every blog post here contributes to. What do you think? Let me know!