Tag: grief

Life Lately..!

Time seems to slipping away from me as we approach the end of the year. We are so lucky to have such distinct seasons here in Scotland, early November was unusually mild but the last couple of weeks brought a cold snap full of frosts and subzero temperatures, and we’re all looking forward to the merriment and cheer of Christmas.

Our oldest daughter started school in August, and she has settled in so well, making a little group of friends, building on her number and counting skills, writing and learning to read. I couldn’t be more proud of her as she works her way through the phonics books we borrowed from the library. She’s moved up two classes in gymnastics since May and we’re thinking about looking for a competitive club because she shows such aptitude and skill, and she enjoys it so much.

Our youngest is enjoying extra one to one time with me, something she hasn’t really had since she was a baby, and she’s coped better than I expected with going to nursery without her sister. We celebrated her third birthday with a little party at the start of November, and she’s moved up to pre-school at nursery. This season of parenting is bringing a lot of new challenges but I’m leaning into it as much as I can.

I’ve also made a big change, resigning from my role in council social services to move into the charity sector. Giving up a profession and taking a paycut feels like a step backwards, but I’m hoping it will be less stressful and a better balance for our family. Our daughters will only be little for such a short time and I don’t want to miss it. My husband’s been self employed full time since February and his business has been more successful than we expected so it feels like a good time for me to try something new.

I’ve also returned to my old yoga studio after a five year gap, it’s a lovely restorative and relaxing class that’s just what my mind and body need at the moment. 

Yesterday was the first anniversary of our cat Mara’s, death. I’ve been struggling with a lot of grief through autumn, as I loved snuggling up with Mara in the evenings as she snoozed on my lap while I read, or when she would sleep between my ankles, or crawl under the duvet to snooze pressed into my side on the coldest nights. The girls had been asking if/when we’d get another cat, so we started making enquiries to see if it would be possible to adopt a house cat with small children. At the end of October, I visited a little black and white cat being fostered on a Saturday morning and we adopted her on the Monday morning. I’ll write more about our little Pixie soon, but she’s settling in well.

Life still feels fairly hectic at the moment, and our calendar is already filling up with Christmas events but I’m trying to find quiet moments amidst the hustle and bustle, and to embrace all the changes. Have a lovely week. X

Sleep well, sweet Mara 🐾

This is a post I’ve been dreading writing for some time, but on Monday 25th November, our lovely cat Mara passed away.

It all happened so quickly that I’m still in shock. A couple of weeks ago, I’d been worried about Mara’s teeth as she’d started to become a noisy, messy and picky eater, all very out of character for our little snaffler. Unfortunately, the vet diagnosed squamous cell carcinoma, an incurable and terminal cancer of the mouth. We agreed to try pain management but even so, Mara went downhill quickly, stopped grooming and struggling to eat anything except soup.

Mara’s last few days

On the morning of Monday 25th November, we called the vet to arrange having her put to sleep, because we couldn’t stand watching her waste away and prolonging her suffering. We let the kids say their goodbyes and I took Mara to the vet, while my husband took the kids to the park. I stayed with Mara to the end, who true to form was headbooping me and purring until the sedative took effect. She slipped away peacefully without a twitch or whisper, it was so peaceful for her but heartbreaking for me.

I’ve been in a fog of grief ever since, our home feels unbearably empty without her, and all our routines seem off-kilter.

Our four year old daughter has taken it well, there have been some tears but I helped her write a letter to Mara about all her favourite memories to help her remember but it is hard when she says she wishes we could visit Mara. (Same, kid.) It’s been harder to explain to our two year old who keeps asking “where’s Mara?” and looking for her around the house. We’ve spent a lot time huddled round phones looking at photos and videos of Mara. Mara was such a big character in our family that it’s hard to imagine our story continuing without her.

It’s impossible to explain to anyone who hasn’t let an animal into their heart, just how much love and joy they bring to our lives and how much sorrow we feel when they pass. Mara was a resilient character who overcame more than her fair share of adversity from losing her previous owner (that led us to adopting her) and the amputation of her tail when we found a mast cell tumour on it. Mara was very much a family cat, whether stretched out on my lap or rolling on her back to let the kids tickle her tummy, she actively sought us out, and she had an enormous capacity to give and recieve affection.

I can’t think of a stress that couldn’t be soothed or a hurt that couldn’t be healed by some time snuggling with Mara. For nine years, Mara has been one of the things I’ve been most grateful for, and my world feels like a worse place without her. Yet, deep down I know she was a happy cat, we gave her a good life, and it was the kindest thing to let her go.

Sleep well, my sweet Mara. You’re part of our family and home forever. Xx

Flowers and Hope

Daffodils

This week began with a funeral as my family gathered to say our final farewells to my nanna who passed away at the end of February. By a lovely coincidence, there were daffodils spelling the word Hope, my nanna’s name, on the grounds of the Crematorium.

My nanna turned 93 last September and I feel incredibly lucky to have had her all through my childhood and well into adulthood, but I’ll miss her and life without her will be a huge adjustment for our family. It’s particularly sad timing as she passed away before meeting our baby, her great granddaughter.

BillandHope
My grandparents on their wedding day in 1947

I’m very grateful to have such a store of memories with my nanna. I’ll remember her reading The Owl and the Pussycat to me when I was very little and reciting King John’s Christmas during Christmas dinner a couple of years ago. I’ll remember the sandwich cakes she baked for birthdays and special occasions, which were perfect every time, never burned, peaked, cracked or soggy. I’ll remember her singing songs from old musicals while she washed dishes, and her twinkling eyes and throaty chuckle as she told personal anecdotes.

When we came to clear out her house, there were only a few keepsakes I wanted, but I dug up some flowers from her garden that I hope will survive being moved to our garden and will always remind me of nanna. Have a lovely week. X

Kitchen by Banana Yoshimoto

Kitchen_Banana Yoshimoto

Let me preface this review by saying that Kitchen is a book that shouldn’t be judged by the cover, as aside from the garish colours, the description and synopsis on the back cover are downright misleading. This slim book compromises of two standalone stories covering similar themes of grief and loss, Kitchen and Moonlight Shadow.

The first story, Kitchen, is narrated by a young woman, Mikage Sakurai, following the death of her grandmother – and last remaining blood relative. After her grandmother’s funeral, Yuichi Tanabe, a young man who knew her grandmother invites Mikage to live with him and his transgender parent, Eriko; feeling cast adrift and at something of a crossroads in her life, Mikage gratefully accepts. The title of the story refers to Mikage’s favourite room in the home, where she finds a sense of comfort and purpose preparing food for the people she cares about or even just cleaning and setting things in order in the midst of her own turmoil and upheaval.

Kitchen_Banana Yoshimoto2

Kitchen explores the different ways that the three characters, Mikage, Yuichi and Eriko experience and react to grief. Rather than seeming macabre and depressing, Kitchen is an inspiring and thought-provoking reminder not to sleepwalk through life lost in our daily routines because our time is finite and every moment is precious. As the narrator wrestles with her own highs and lows, she also ponders if we can really appreciate joy and triumph without also experiencing sorrow and disappointment, and it is Mikage’s acceptance of her own loneliness and mortality that encourages her to consider new paths and possibilities.

Unfortunately, Moonlight Shadow is a bittersweet story with similar themes but it just didn’t resonate with me the way that Kitchen did.

This is a short book and so easy to slip into, yet it is one I savoured and will likely re-read. Have a lovely week. X

Review of ‘Umami’ by Laia Jufresa

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Umami is a novel set in Mexico City that follows the residents of five houses (named after the flavours sour, salty, sweet, bitter and umami) all of whom are experiencing some form of loss or grief. The story has five narrators, there is twelve-year-old Ana trying to make sense of the death of her little sister, Luz; Marina, an artist recovering from anorexia who creates colours to describe emotions; Alfonso, an anthropologist mourning the death of his vivacious wife, Noelia (who was in life grieving her own childlessness); Pina, Ana’s friend and neighbour, trying to understand her mother’s unexplained departure from the family, and finally, Luz, describing the events leading up to her death.

Umami has an unusual and non-linear structure, each chapter focuses on one character during a particular year starting with Ana in 2004, switching to Marina in 2003, then Alfonso in 2002, Luz in 2001 and Pina in 2000, before returning to Ana and working backwards again. The time and character shifts can seem disorientating at first but it allows the story to unfurl gradually and shows how seemingly ordinary interactions between the characters can take on greater meaning and significance once the consequences are fully revealed.

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Umami is a short novel that tackles some big themes such as loss, grief and identity. As Ana and Pina take their first awkward steps towards adolescence, Alfonso is adjusting to his own transition from husband to widower and also describes Noelia’s struggle with her own identity as a wife and respected cardiologist but “only a daughter” because of her childlessness, while Marina attempts to overcome anorexia, an abusive childhood and work out who she is.

The sense of loss that permeates through the novel isn’t the tidal waves of sorrow, anger and shock that wash over us when grief is fresh, but the dull ache of missing someone that never really goes away no matter how many years pass, and of slowly trying to find a new purpose in life.

The slow and thoughtful pace of Umami has been a pleasant contrast to the busy-ness at work and home in my own life over the last few weeks, and Umami is a poignant but hopeful novel that lingers long after the story ends.