photo challenge (28/30) – flowers

The seasons are finally shifting and Spring is kicking into action. The trees are budding, the days are getting longer and warmer, and the flowers are poking their heads out of the ground. At last, the season of growth is here!

Flowers mean so much to people and we all take a different meaning from them. They can make a sad person smile; send love to a relative when you can’t be there in person; they tell someone you love them, just because you wanted to; they can bring comfort to someone in pain; or they can just brighten a room.

I was born in Spring, so it’s only natural that I feel drawn to this season of life and renewal. When I walk through Westbourne and into Bournemouth, seeing the trees coming into blossom actually puts a smile on my face (which doesn’t happen too often, or easily).

structure – part nine

I recently made the decision to make a change in my life, by signing up for a photography course.  Change is good, they say.  Until now I have been rather ignorant of this notion, but no more.

Maybe change is good.  I’ll soon find out, I’m sure of that.  After all, change happens around us on a daily basis, whether we focus on it and pay attention to it, notice it and acknowledge it is a different matter altogether.

This selection of photographs were taken recently on our trip to Copenhagen — a change in our usual choice of holiday destination — and indeed, saw my usual style of photography change with it.

the ‘D’ word: that’s life – part five

The irony of death and how it creeps up on you is absolutely astounding – it never ceases to amaze and surprise me. In most cases, it’s going to be unexpected and take you by surprise, make you feel the need to sit down and take stock of everything that surrounds you.  It’s the inevitability of life.  And then there are the times that it’s so blatant, it startles you so much, you don’t quite know how to react.

In all honesty, I’ve been taking stock for the last 22 days.  I was startled and I had no idea how to react.  Maybe I’m just a magnet for bad luck.  Maybe I was a monster in a past life and this is now my lot in life, maybe I’m just constantly bad and this is some kind of karmic retribution.  Or maybe it’s neither.

On the 6th March at 20:01, my Dad called me.  He never calls me.  Okay, I say never but I mean rarely.  I was so engrossed in whatever film I was watching that evening, I didn’t even seeing my phone flashing as he was calling me. Earlier that evening I was writing a blog (the fourth in the ‘D’ Word series) and I was just about to post a photo I’d taken of a graveyard on my last trip home for my twin nephew’s 1st birthday.  I picked up my phone to post the photo and saw the missed call from my Dad.  I was puzzled.  I always associate phone calls from my father as being a serious matter, as most of the time when we spoke over the phone it was.  Why am I always right?

Something wasn’t right, that instantly recognisable tone in his voice.  I asked if he was okay, he said he was but there was something that didn’t sit right with the way he was addressing the situation.  I asked him again, “What’s wrong? You can tell me.”  And then it came, the crack in his voice said it all and I could feel the blood draining away from every part of my body.  My mind began to race, thinking the worst as I always do.  Finally he said it, “Pete died earlier this afternoon”.  For a split-second I felt a wave of relief rush right over me and then it happened, I couldn’t help it. The tears were almost uncontrollable.  Pete was my Uncle and my Dad’s brother.  We had the most uncomfortable conversation I think I’ve ever had with him and there have been a few.

I scribbled down the address of my late Uncle so I could send a card to my Aunt.  I felt so bad, mainly as I was unable to do anything to comfort him, other than to offer up the usual list of clichéd sympathy.  Literally unknowing of what to say to my very own father, I told him that I had to go and that I would call him later in the week.  When I’m this upset, I actually lose the ability to speak, most likely due to the completely overwhelming sense of uselessness.  So I sat back down on the sofa, spoke with Rob about it for a few minutes and then laid my head on the cushion and began to analyse everything that had just happened in the hour and a half that had passed before.

I’ve been analysing it for the last 22 days and still haven’t reached a satisfying conclusion.  I sent the card and as always, had no idea of what I could write in it to genuinely convey my sympathy.  I never made that second phone call and I never went to the funeral.  Not because I didn’t want to (part of me is entirely relieved) but because I couldn’t get the time off work.  Another cliché.

It was only about 6 months previous to this phone call that I found out about my Dad having a second stroke.  I think I may have reacted in this uncontrolled manner because when my Dad started to speak, it felt just like the conversation I’d had with my Mum those months before.  I felt like she was about to tell me that he had died and this most recent conversation with my father felt just the same.  The fear came flooding back.  I felt so scared and helpless, and normally I’m good with words but this time I was speechless.  All I could think of was how sorry I felt for him and the words that kept coming from his mouth; “I’m okay, I’m just never going to see him again”.  My very own fears of death, spoken by the very man who helped give me life.

I’ve talked before about my thoughts on having a psychic connection and moments like this really make me believe I have one – I just seem to know when things like this are going to happen.  I really wish I didn’t, because then I might react like any normal person might, with genuine shock, surprise or devastation.  Not the sort-of-but-not-really-pre-empting-the-emotions-and-then-can’t-control-them idiot that I am.  But I guess that’s life.

This blog post is written, in memory of my uncle, Peter Ward. R.I.P

the ‘D’ word: deal with it – part four

Death.  It’s the ultimate.  One of only a few things in life that are guaranteed.  And funnily enough, it’s the one thing that you can never fully prepare yourself for.  You know it will happen; you may think about it several times in your lifetime, and yet you never know how it will affect you when it comes into your life.  Like many people, I try to think about it as little as possible but there are some times when it is inevitable, there’s no way around it.  It’s almost like being pinned into a corner, forced to look at something you don’t wish to look at.

I suppose the impact of death in my own life has turned me into somewhat of a pessimist.  I have a very skeptical outlook on life for the most part, trying hard to see the positives whenever I can.  You may think this is slightly odd (I do to) but it’s something I have been unable to change about myself.  As a child, you think of yourself as being invincible – immortal even.  You are misguided into believing that there is life after death and perhaps there is, but when you are faced with mortality it can make you feel very small and insignificant in the grand scheme of things.

I was faced with death from a very early age, never knowing one of my grandparents as they died when I was an infant.  I didn’t think about it much as I don’t remember it.  I wish this could be the way I dealt with it nowadays.  The trouble with me is, I tend to over think things, you might say I dwell on them.  Thinking about and re-thinking through things over and over again until they make sense.  Perfect, ridiculous sense.  I also treasure my family and friends, possibly too much.  I never thought that to be a bad thing but when you lose someone – no matter how significant a role they played in your life – for someone like me, it makes things incredibly difficult to process.

Thinking back, I remember my school years being constantly terrified that I would lose my parents in some horrific way. I think we all must have had those dreams where a loved one dies in some freak accident.  Mine always felt uncomfortably real.  I know they’re only dreams but I’ve always thought I’ve had a slight psychic ability and have so many moments of deja vu that have felt more like a premonition becoming reality.  During these teenage years, I lost relatives and friends alike.  In my mind, too many.  For a very brief amount of time, I became reflective on my own life and how I was living it.  I know that by doing things differently I won’t be able to alter the outcome, other than aspects of my health.  But these moments of reflection make you feel like you’re gaining back some control of your life, some clarity.

It sometimes feels, that even in the clarity of a situation, it can be difficult to actually see clearly.

It’s taken me a few long weeks to write this post, mainly as I find this subject quite a difficult one to think about, let alone write about.  Then a recent visit home gave me the clarity I needed to finish it.  It was the first birthday of my twin nephews.  A standard affair of tea and cake, along with the usual buffet food.  We all stood around the hall that had been hired for the party, watching them laugh and play with balloons, while the friends of my sister and her husband talked about their offspring. I felt sort of misplaced in the situation.  Not because I was uncomfortable in my surroundings, but because I have no offspring.  Sometimes I play with the idea of having them but this idea usually passes within a minute or two.  It’s just not something that I foresee happening in our lives and we both agree on that.

After the party had finished and people had begun to leave, I walked outside to the front of the churchyard.  I took some photographs of the graveyard; the sun was beginning to set behind the church hall and it was casting beautiful shadows down the lawn.  The sun shone through the naked trees and I began to think, again.  Although the day had not rid me of my fear of death, it made me realise that it was pointless dwelling on the future and what it will or won’t bring into my life, and that maybe I should focus more on the here and now, and what is already in my life.  When death comes along, it’s not the end of the world, it’s another part of it and I just have to deal with it.

stillness

Sometimes all you need is time.  Time to be alone, time to be quiet, and time to think – time away from the daily interference that is life.  This is exactly what I needed and is the reason for my short absence.  I’m sure that it was unnoticeable to most, but it has made a notable difference in myself.

Two weeks ago yesterday, I received a phone call from my mother which made my heart stop for what seemed like minutes, but was perhaps just a second or two.  While the outward appearance of this conversation may have seemed very ordinary, I battled with my inner emotions, to keep them from spilling out over the surface.  As I walked to work along the packed, sun drenched beach, my mother told me the news.  My father had just had a stroke.  As I took my next step, my knees buckled and I dropped my phone.  I knew I needed to stop, so I sat on the sand, choking on the lump that was forming in my throat.  It was impossible for me to hide the tears now, they were streaming down my face from under my sunglasses.  I told her I would call her back as I could no longer get the words out of my mouth.

My fingers fumbled over the screen of my sand-covered phone, trying desperately to write a text message to Rob.  All I could manage was, ‘Dad had another stroke’.  You see, to hear this news once is bad enough, but to hear it for a second time and to know that this time it’s worse is absolutely terrifying.  I sat on the sand staring blankly at the sea, watching every small wave as it crashed down onto the sand of the shore.  It was a poetic metaphor if ever I could have picked one.  The noise of the people around me became almost non-existent.  I knew it was there but couldn’t hear, nor decipher any part of it.  It was almost like I was sat in a bubble.

I stood up and dusted myself down.  My legs were still a little shaky as I continued my walk to work, Rob’s text messages urging me not to go in, but I had a ten-hour shift ahead and needed the money so desperately.  To any other person, this would seem a ridiculous way to think but the mind can do some funny things when it’s hit with mild personal trauma.  The people walking along the promenade split in front of me as I walked towards them, like they knew.  I guess it was fairly obvious as my tear-stained face would have given it all away.  I arrived at work, took a seat at the very back table in the restaurant and let it all come flooding out.  My mind was now awash with what to do next; Do I stay and work?  Should I get the next train home?  The duty manager took me outside to have a strong coffee and a cigarette.  We sat in practical silence.  I think we uttered all of about five words between us.  She knew I couldn’t work and so did I.

As I sat in the taxi on my way home, I planned out when I would go to visit.  I knew that nothing I did now would make any difference to his recovery, but it didn’t make me feel any better.  In fact it just confirmed how useless I felt being so far away, and that even if I had been there, how useless I would have been still.

When I answered the phone, it was like I knew what was coming next.  I knew that it would be bad news and a part of me was already at the conclusion that it was the worst news.  As I said before, your mind can work in funny ways. After smoking another cigarette on the wall outside our flat in the sunshine, I laid on the sofa staring blankly once more, this time at the ceiling of our lounge.  Rob was talking to me and a part of my brain was digesting it, though it felt like my brain was sinking sand and his words were my body slowly drowning in it.  His mum and her partner came round to the flat and expressed their sympathy.  By then I was thinking more clearly.  We all headed out to Durlston Country Park.  I took my camera with me, I don’t know why I thought this would be a good idea at the time, but it was.  It formed a layer of armour around me, like my sunglasses had done earlier that same morning.  I hid my emotions behind the lens of my camera and took over a hundred photographs of the landscape and scenery.

It was the time that I needed to gain perspective on things, to be able to think clearly and to process what had just happened.  Sitting on the cliff top, with the world just passing me by.

I visited my dad in hospital three days later, by which time he had made a remarkable recovery.  But seeing the sorry state of some of the patients on the ward really hit home as to how serious it was and had been.  It was the eye-opener I needed.  I realise now that family is an invaluable commodity in life, one that should be cherished with every fibre of your being, and petty disagreements from the past or present should be forgotten about.  You need to enjoy your life, and live it to its fullest, sharing every aspect of your life with others and especially your loved ones.  Life is short, and you only get one go at it.

the ‘D’ word – part 1

 

This is a subject that not everyone enjoys talking about, but at some point we have all thought about in varying degrees.  The ‘D’ word being death.  We have all been affected by it, some more so than others. After a recent trip to London, I decided I would broach the subject and share my thoughts and fears with you all.

The first time I can think that death came into my life was when I lost a pet cat at a young age.  It hit me quite hard and was a bitter pill to swallow at such a young age.  Needless to say, I have overcome the sadness of that day but it is still something I think about from time to time.  I also lost most of my grandparents at quite a young age, so you might say my younger years had some very sad days that filled them.

I will say this now, death has always been one of my biggest fears in life.  That’s quite a strange thing to say, seeing that it is something that will eventually happen to all of us.  I’ve played with the idea that there is something, possibly life after death, but when you have experienced so much sadness in such a short space of time, it can often seem like a very cruel life.  I hope there is something beyond this mortal body I inhabit, I often cling to that idea as a way of trying to calm my fears.

When I lost my grandparents on my mother’s side, I was traumatized.  Although it did have a positive affect – I began to write poetry.  I found this to be the most beneficial way to release my feelings that I had kept bottled up for so long. I have only been to visit the grave site of my Nan and Grandpa once since their deaths, the main reason being that it upset me so greatly the first time I visited.  I like to remember them the way I want to, as the loving individuals that they were, and not as the two people who are now missing from my life.  The most heartbreaking part of this story is, that when I moved away from Birmingham after finishing my studies at University, by accident I left all the keepsakes I had of theirs in the flat I had been renting.  All the birthday and Christmas cards I was ever given are now gone. The day before I married my husband, my mother gave me an envelope which contained a Post Office savings account book.  I almost cried when I saw the handwriting upon it and the envelope.  Both my Nan and Grandpa had both written on it.  I will keep this forever.  The money might come in handy at some point, but I would rather forgo the financial benefit of cashing it in for the sentimental value it will always hold for me.

I don’t remember much about when my Grandfather died (on my father’s side), as I was only about two or three years old.  My Grandmother however, I remember it well.  I was still at University, and as a poor student couldn’t afford to keep up with my phone bills at the time.  I was cut off, and the only way I used to keep in contact with my family was through the occasional letter or email.  One morning I received a letter from my mother informing me of the sad death of my Grandmother.  I was stunned.  She had always been so resilient, and was thought to be the one among us that would live passed a hundred. She didn’t.  I felt awful as she had died a couple of weeks prior to receiving this letter and they had postponed the funeral until they had heard from me.  I don’t remember crying at the funeral, just sitting absolutely stunned at the fact that, now they had all passed.

The best thing that could have come out of all of this sad loss of life, was that our family suddenly became a much closer unit.  I now treasure them all deeply, along with all the friends that have come into my life.  Most of all, my husband.  I would be lying however, if I said I never think about losing them.

Going back to my mention of the recent trip to London, my husband and I went to an exhibition at the Southbank Centre entitled Death.  Dotted around the main foyer were unusual coffins.  The Festival for the Living ran from 27th-29th of this month, and included lectures and music (from the BBC Concert Orchestra).  There was also a wall which had been transformed into a large chalk board, upon which people had written their dreams and aspirations of things they would like to do/achieve before they die. My next blog post will feature these and photographs of the coffins I have talked about.  It really made me think about what I want from my life and of the things that I would like to change.  If you saw the exhibition yourself, I would love to hear your thoughts.