2019: How was it for you

Before we get into the detail, there are three events which I need to speak out. Maybe four.

In January, one Friday morning, we were rocked by a call from Mike that Meg had died. This was traumatic enough, but we were to find that she had killed herself, killed herself by throwing herself under an express train.

Mike knew that she was troubled, but those troubles had been kept as a family secret, so for the rest of us, that the bright shining star of the family had chosen to end her life came as a bigger shock than it would have otherwise have been.

The next day we went to London to clear her room out, under the tearful eyes of the two other she shared the terraced house with. We then went to the station to collect her car, then drive in convoy back to Dover. It was a surreal day.

A bad day made all the worse because of the words and actions of her birth Mother. I won’t do Julie the honour of calling her Meg’s Mother, as Julie is the closest thing I have seen to evil. And I have two ex-wives to compare to, and in comparison, are just amateurs. Julie is selfish, self-centred, egotistical bitch without empathy. Telling that in Meg’s room, lots of pictures of Mike, and not one of Julie.

Two weeks later and we and half the town gathered to say farewell to Meg. It turned out that all the cars in the car park were not there for a previous funeral, but all there for Meg. She was loved and cared for more than she knew.

Julie carried on being evil and manipulative through the year, failing to tell Mike about a charity swim being undertaken in Meg’s name, and trying to get Mike’s current partner, Jane, from going to the inquest.

She didn’t get her way, so Julie didn’t go. So it goes, so it goes.

Life returned to something close to normal, though for Mike and Meg’s brother, George, life would never be the same, every thought is in relation to Meg; before Meg and post Meg. Not a day goes by when we don’t think about Meg, and what her last hours, her last desperate hours, must have been like. Could we have done something? Probably not.

It is shocking how life returns to normal. We went back to work, I travelled, Jools went back to the factory. We look in on Mike from time to time, and although talking about Meg is hard for us, for Mike it is essential, so we listen and are there, when we can.

Now some ten months later, eleven months, we look back at how normal things are once again. But I think of the poor train driver who was in the cab that day, and I contacted Southeastern to let them know we in no way hold him responsible. I hope he has healed.

We found that Meg picked that station as it was near where she and her first boyfriend had their home, not because trains sometimes pass through fast, as we thought, though that may have also been a factor. Meg’s life had been complicated one way or another, and many of those who should have been a rock for her, let her down, in some cases very badly indeed. Mike never did, it goes without saying. And still it happened.

There are no words.

There are no words to describe what I found out about a friend in July. Neil had left the RAF soon after I did and went to work for British Aerospace in the Middle East, and had forged a new life and apparently a new partner in it. We talked on an off on FB, but not too close. This year he posted details as his beachside dream house was being built among palm trees on some Far Eastern island.

https://youtu.be/_K67sRNLi4Q?t=2 Neil lived life to the full I knew that, but little did know how much he brined the candles at both ends. He more than liked a drink, he had a problem, and caused him on occasion to become something of a monster.

He left his wife, Jill, and daughter, Alex, without a penny, homeless, left to fend for themselves. This we found out at the funeral. Jill put up with a lot, and I saw her look on alarmed as he got rounds in before games when we followed Norwich. Little did we know how much of a problem he had.

And then there were old colleagues and friends who called him the “gentleman armourer”. Which might be true, but then no gentleman leaves his wife and kid like that. I knew Neil but didn’t know him.

With the internet and old comrades’ groups on FB, we found out about the funeral and decided to go. Julie had met Neil and Jill and Alex at our wedding, and at football matches, but we had no idea what to expect. What we found was Jill and Alex sidelined to the extent they sat in a row in front of us, whilst Neil’s family were in the front row. They did not speak to either of them.

Jill spoke with such emotion and clarity, about Neil how wonderful he was and about his demons. We all have them, of course, just not all our will finish us off. Neil suffered multiple organ failure and never regained consciousness. He was less than a year older than me. As Andy, whose funeral I went to a couple of years back was also a few months older than me, too.

Jill and Alex were hoping we would attend, and it was a sad but warming meeting after the service.

I miss Neil, and I remember the joyful and full of life character, tempered with the memory of what he did to Jill and Alex.

In May, I had a breakdown. I can put it no better than that. It had been coming for a while, but you kid yourself all is well. When in truth all at work was falling apart, and I was just trying to get to the end of each day, of each week. At the end, the only thing that got me up was the thought of having two weeks off for some orchiding. Then the project suggested I cancel the holiday.

I couldn’t go on, and in a chaotic day, I admitted I had lost the overview and later that I wanted to be taken off the project. Off all projects, as I did not have the emotional reserves to do all this shot again.

I burst into tears at a meeting and was told to finish at the end of the day as planned and take the time off, and not to worry. But of course, I did worry. But after three days, I began to sleep better.

When I returned, I had no idea what I would go back to. A colleague had been placed on the project, and I was asked to assist, to clear the backlog of work, and to be taken off contact with the customer. If was just what I needed, and I did that, and in a few weeks was back in control, but I knew deep down I had let folks down. They said I hadn’t, but you feel that you have.

I had already applied for a new job, and soon I had an interview and was offered the position. I take to take two tests, and pass the interview, which I did. I got the job and would be working with old friends. In the end, the best result for me, the project and the company, really.

I got a call from my former project manager a couple of months later. I thought he had been promoted and moved on to better and greater things. But he told me he also had had an event, he called it “burn out”, and said that people can’t work under stress like that endlessly. It was a great act of kindness by Jesper to reach out to me, and more than anything else, made me feel better about the whole situation and myself. Things are rarely quite what they seem.

I am now throwing myself into the new role, and who knows where I will be in a year’s time? Something to be positive about.

And then there is Mum. Or was Mum.

We had thought many times over the last decade or more that Mum would not survive. But she bounced back. Well, recovered enough to go home, but never having learned her lesson and actually changing her lifestyle.

I knew she wouldn’t last forever, and as I said, there were times when we thought it was the end, but it never was. 2019 was the year she ended up in hospital more times than I can count. That she was never honest with us about when she was ill, and sometimes found out through her cleaner, Sheila, rather from her own mouth, meant we were in the dark.

But falls, collapses and situations that sometimes resulted in needing a paramedic or the fire brigade to help her up or into the waiting ambulance.

She would go in hospital, be assessed and then released to go back doing what it was that got her back in the trouble that got in hospital last time. So, the circle was completed, but after each visit, Mum’s world got smaller and smaller until she could not walk to the toilet in her house, let alone go outside.

She gave up smoking, started and gave up again. Only to start a few months later. And with her two previous heart attacks, she never learned. A minor heart attack in 2011 lead to four stints being inserted. Before she had her assessment, I gave her the “its me of the fags” choice, and she chose fags. After the procedure to insert the stints, she changed her tune and said she never wanted to go through that pain again. But a few months later, she was back on the weed.

And lying about it. Lying to Jools and myself, lying to her friend, Pat, saying that it wasn’t her that smoked, but her friend who had just left, even though it was half eight in the morning. It was the lying that hurt, that she thought we were so stupid, she could lie and get away with it, and even when found out, would not apologise.

After he major attach two years ago, she had to make promises to change before they did the operation. I was told by the ward sister at Papworth that the bypass had the possibility of vastly improving Mum’s life if she survived.

She did survive, but only did the minimum exercise required by the nurses, and once home when had more help than ever, meaning she loved less than ever before, the final downward spiral began.

When I went to see her last June (2018) I said I wasn’t going t play games any more. Our weekly phone calls rarely went over two minutes. And there were so many elephants in the room that we had to avoid, we had little to say.

So our regular conversations began monthly, if that. And I did not go to see her last Christmas, first time ever. I was hoping to show her that her choices had real consequences. And she began to smoke again, begging a gasper from her so-called friend who did try to dissuade her. But to no avail.

And the end came. We expected it, but not then. And not so quick.

One day I called her from the Isle of Wight where I was working, and we had a long talk and cleared the air a little. She said she was feeling ill, and I glibly said she should move more, its still not too late. But it was too late. It seemed that already her kidneys has stopped working, as Sheila said Mum had told her that Mum hadn’t been to the toilet in 18 hours.

The next day she had a massive heart attack, and knew no more. Once in hospital, they did tests, but there was no hope. Mum was kept alive for 24 hours, the final six to allow Jools to get up to Great Yarmouth to be with her when they turned the machines off.

She arrived, they switched the machines off, and Mum faded away. And that was that. The rest you know, through my posts. I went up, sorted out her affairs, or appointed someone to do that. Cleared the house or got someone to do that too. I wrote or called to those I could to let them know.

As for me, I am fine. Honestly. I was fine the day after. I was fine on the day of the funeral, a did shed a tear when she was brought in, but that was it. I stood in her home that Sunday afternoon I went up, looking at a lifetime’s hoarding and people’s gifts to her, and saw stuff everywhere.

The house was cleared, I kept the photographs I could find, I kept a few nicknacks, but the rest went. I let friends take what they wanted, as we have our own house full of stuff. And so now, pretty much all that is left of her is half an album of photographs, starting with a bouncing baby through to being a laughing child and a studious young woman to become my Mother.

I wish that she could have found whatever she felt it was that her life was missing, and lead to her addictions to food, tobacco, shopping and sex. I always thought it was the love of her Mother she felt she never had. Maybe she was right. She had no one to share her parent’s love with, her Father loved her totally, and you can see in the photos he was always holding Mum. Nana never seemed to.

There was no stilted call over Christmas, nor a grudging journey to Suffolk and back. Just Jools, me and the cats.

The wheels of bureaucracy are turning slowly, and will finish turning at some point in the new year, but for me, the end has already come and gone.

So it goes, so it goes.

In other news this year. Well, Norwich got promoted. You might have heard about it. It was in the papers and I wrote at least three blog posts about it. I went to Wigan for a drunken weekend getting to see them play one last time before they went up, though it seemed to be a million miles away after just drawing at Wigan. Promotion even then seemed a dream too far. And yes, in two weeks, Leeds fell apart and we went up with games to spare. As Champions in the end.

Who saw that coming? Not many, not even in January. I was in Denmark when Liverpool won the European Cup, and celebrations did not end until after dawn the next day. England got to the finals of the whatever this new European inbetween competition is called; Nations League? Much hope for the future as more and more young players come through at their clubs, and at Norwich too.

The orchid season I covered in another post, and the churches project continued, with many more churches visited or revisited. Highlight was finally being able to see inside Bicknor and Throwley, as well as Hinxhill and Thannington on Heritage weekend.

I drive to Hertfordshire to look for a flower. Several flowers. Pasque Flowers in fact, and found hundred on an early spring morning in March.

We went to see the William Blake Exhibition in November, which was fantastic, and also saw Nighthawks in Chicago. Because we went to the US for the third year in a row, visiting Chicago, New Orleans and Houston. All were wonderful, but the gap between the haves and have-nots gets ever wider. I saw hundreds of people on the streets, including a family of four.

We had a wonderful time in the US, meeting long time Flickr-friend and all-round good egg, Photons and his wife. They took us round Chicago for three days, taking us to some of the better places to eat.

New Orleans was a little crazy, but we had good food there, and went on a swamp tour seeing wild boar, alligators and a raccoon. It was near the end of October and over 80 degrees in the shade. Like going back to high summer.

Back in January, we went to Whittlesea for the Straw Bear Festival. I have always wanted to go, just to see what it was about. Well, now we know, there an back in a day, and getting back before dark too, with a camera full of shots and head full of memories.

In the summer, during the Tour de France, we had another heatwave, with it being nearly 100 degrees at breakfast.

Jools and I went to Liverpool so I could attend the first game of the season, and we could visit the Keith Haring exhibition at The Tate and meet up with some fellow GWUKers for a wander the damp streets of the city and take photographs.

I also went back to Norwich earlier this month for a game at The Home of Football, sadly we lost. Again. But I met up with my friends Sarah and Richard who kindly put me up and put up with me. They were very kind, as always.

Finally, we did not go to the cinema this year. Again. This, despite there being a new multiplex in town, at ten minute drive from here. Just nothing takes our fancy, and we no long listen to Mark Kermode on the radio box or take Empire Magazine anymore either. And I don’t think I bought a new record or CD, just reissues. So I can’t tell you what my favorite album or single was.