Normal Service will be resumed shortly
Early this month, when I’d shaken off my festive (self-inflicted) alcohol and chocolate induced fug, I picked my writing back up again. I was making good progress; lots of words in a short space of time. I knew where the story was going - I was on a roll. Then things changed. Out of the blue, I lost my mam.
It knocked me for six. Someone who had always been there for me my whole life was suddenly just - gone. Probably quite understandably, it had a pretty detrimental effect on my writing. In fact the only thing I managed to write this month (until this blog) was a eulogy that I read out at her funeral, which was definitely the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to write and was even harder to read out loud, but it was something I felt I needed to do. Apart from that, I’ve done nothing. I just haven’t been able to concentrate.
It’s a funny old thing, grief. At first, you’re numb. You intellectually know what’s happened, but can’t absorb it at a gut level. Then, suddenly, the enormity and permanence of it all hits you like a tsunami. It’s everywhere you look. You’re a hot mess pretty much all of the time and when you’re not sorting practical things or supporting those who are even more affected than yourself (like my poor dad) you’re no good to man nor beast. People are nice (the ones who can deal with it) or they avoid mentioning it altogether (the ones who can’t) – but realistically, there’s not much anyone can do to help other than be there and I’ve been very lucky in having so many lovely friends, family and work colleagues to support me through this.
Slowly, it gets easier. You start feeling normal - even happy - for most of the time (which then makes you feel guilty - thanks, brain. Like I needed to feel worse.)
Eventually, while you might feel sad when you think about it, you get back to more of an even keel. You start to adjust. Things start to return to normal. That is until something happens. Usually it’s something stupid; out of left field. Most recently, it happened when I was reading a book about a marooned astronaut (I’m sure you know the one). I’d reached a bit when the character gets an email from his mother and I suddenly realised that I’ll never get another one from mine - ever again - and I was off. Where the hell did that come from? But as soon as it came, it went, leaving me wondering why something so innocuous had such a profound effect on me. I suppose nobody ever accused emotions of being consistent or logical. They just are what they are and I’m learning to roll with the punches.
Now it’s three weeks later. The “left field” moments are much fewer and further between and I’m settling into a normal routine. After successfully reading books without incident, I want to get back into writing again. It was something my mam gave me a lot of encouragement in – she read my first book avidly and was very proud of me, which meant a lot. It means even more now. So I’m going to get back in the saddle. This week’s plan is to read the last bits I’ve written of my latest book and then continue where I left off. I’d like to get a first draft finished before Easter. I’ll update you on the progress.
TTFN