I have a confession, a secret deep inside that haunts me. Something deeply embarrassing and just rather sad. Yes I’m an ACCOUNTANT. A pretty bad one, but still a BEAN COUNTER. I have no idea how I managed to first qualify and then subsequently fool several employers with financial skills that never really progressed much past counting the fingers on one hand, even that would need to be an estimate. I’m one of those FINANCIAL WIZARDS who as quickly as possible moves the conversation away from those problematic and eternally perplexing numbers.
But recently there is some mathematics that I can’t seem to move on from.
I don’t know why it popped into my mind suddenly, but it did and now it’s THERE….
Hawklad’s Mum who passed away in 2016 has now missed well over half of his life. She missed out on well over half of his childhood. I just find that thought so deeply sad and tragic. Definitely for Hawklad, I so wish no child had to ever go through that trauma. But also for his poor Mum, she has missed out on so much, so many experiences, so many years. Too many years, I do keep hearing a variant of that sad Clapton song in my head, would she even recognise him now.
Given the lack of rain this summer in the north, still an impressive site. We have been here a number of times over the years but this was definitely the quietest it’s been, normally it’s truly thunderous. Streams feeding into the river are dry.
Most unlike our usual northern weather.
Always a bittersweet feeling for us here. This was the last place we visited as a family of 3 outside of Yorkshire. Over 9 years ago now but on this visit it felt a lot longer to me. At times almost like a different life, different world. As I tried to recall the memories they felt like faded old photos, proving difficult to hold onto, losing their colour. TIME and LIFE I guess inevitably has that effect. Eventually we have to move on.
Just a bit closer to the stage than the last time we saw BRUCE.
It’s strange how life works out sometimes. When I was much younger, I really wanted to see Bruce but the stars wouldn’t quite align. There was also quite a bit of that ‘shedloads of time in my pockets’ thing going on with me. No rush, plenty of time to sort stuff out.
But the years and decades rolled on. Bruce got older. I got older. That growing, nagging feeling, is there really plenty of time.
Then life hit the buffers. Bereavement. Single Parenting. Life felt like it had stopped. Permanently stopped. Bucket list stuff, things like seeing Bruce seemed like a million miles away and ever receding in the rear view mirror.
But slowly life started to spin again. A different life. Now a growing realisation that I won’t figure most things out in life, why things happen when they happen or don’t happen. That really clever, brilliant stuff is way beyond my pay grade. The other growing realisation, we really don’t have plenty of time in this life, but maybe, just maybe most of us will be given ENOUGH time to get enough done. Enough time to learn and grow. Enough time to experience enough in life, the good, the bad. It’s how we use that time, what guides us, our priorities, the choices we make, the doors that are opened for us, the doors that are closed to us, how we deal with the stuff of life.
No Bruce for decades and then wonderfully, unexpectedly, twice in 13 months. It’s a funny old life.
Some readers of the New York Times will appreciate the geography lesson that went along with a recent entertainment review. A review of the Gary Oldman play I mentioned in the last post. Helping its readers they described York as a ‘small city 210 miles north of London…’. Maybe they could have added ‘strangely that the USA’s largest city by population was in fact named after a Duke of this small English city and a small English city which was founded over 500 years prior to that former small New Amsterdam east coast of America trading post was ever dreamt of’. Or maybe they could have further added that it was ‘a small European city which was once the political centre of the Roman Empire’. Although at least one Glossy Las Vegas Hotel probably claims that distinction now as well’.
There might be some form on those type of heritage claims… Trump’s Special Envoy has recently compared the historic and stunningly beautiful Elysee Palace to Trumps Mar-a-Lago Florida Clubhouse.
There are no words 😂😂😂😂😂
But there is a real point here. Quite a few of us often assume that our little part of this beautiful planet is ‘the centre of the known universe’, and everyone will have heard of it. It doesn’t work like that. Life doesn’t work like that. Billions will have absolutely no idea about a provincial small city on an unremarkable island off the west coast of Europe.
Today I was driving towards that small provincial northern city while listening to a radio news item on GRIEF. One recently widowed woman talked about the struggles she was having with banks and large companies, how it was a nightmare to try to change things like joint accounts and pensions. I can so relate to that, even after nearly 9 years and countless communications, still we are receiving letters addressed to Hawklad’s Mum. The Widow added that she often felt like she was going crazy. Her world had crashed to a halt yet when she spoke to people at the banks and companies, it felt like it was business as usual for them. The world was still turning and she had been left behind.
That’s so true, I so understand that. I can remember trying to sort things out with banks, I felt like a wreck, time had stopped, yet I could see and hear the world continuing as normal all around me. People paying in money, sorting out loans for new cars, new houses. Staff talking about holidays, television and nights out. Couldn’t they see me, but why should they. The vast proportion of those I could see and hear had no idea who I was, no idea what I was going through.
After the final online lesson of the day we headed to the cinema, bit of a risk on Valentines Day. Even riskier when the movie is a romantic comedy.
In our defence Captain America was just too full for Hawklad.
This mid afternoon Bridget Jones screening was half full and we were the only males in Screen 3…. As we headed towards our customary front row seats, I couldn’t help notice the amount of wine and champagne bottles that I had assumed had been sneaked in. Even just a small glass of wine there is eye wateringly expensive never mind a bottle. I smiled as I thought back to my childhood. To my seaside towns cinema on the beach. I remember going to watch a dreadful movie called I think ‘ BMX Bandits’ and some nutter managed to sneak a bike into the cinema. Proudly riding round the aisles to distract from the dreadful movie, that kid must have had ginormous pockets to sneak that thing past the ticket collector.
No such wheeled subtractions this time.
We’ve both enjoyed the previous three Jones movies, found them very funny. The latest version is funny but also this time around, sad at times, painfully sad. Anyone who has experienced loss will need at least one hanky. Recently I’ve become way less prone to movie tears, but this one got me.
Sorry no more movie spoilers….
Ok confession time. As I felt the tears roll that I was really conscious of being on the front row. I was reluctant to show signs of weakness for some reason, really daft as I bet I wasn’t the only one. I slid lower and lower into my chair before trying to brush away the tears. What a silly sausage.
I always wanted to stay a night here. Maybe one day. Almost touching distance of The Eiger, the famous mighty Swiss mountain.
The winter months, the inhospitable weather, deserted paths and seasonally closed cafes. This time of year always makes me more reflective, some would say EVEN more reflective.
I’ve been thinking about parenting, specifically before our family world changed and I fumbled my way into single parenting. With parenting you sometimes get things right, sometimes get things wrong and sometimes you kinda just drift about on the tides of life. Given that there is no parenting blueprint to follow and the propensity of our little raptors to transform the seemingly straightforward into sleepless, stress filled angst maelstroms, we can forgive ourselves for not always being perfect. As a couple we were very different with very different takes on how to bring a child up. Sometimes we agreed, more often we negotiated (possibly argued) our way to compromises. And YES we didn’t get everything right, sometimes we got it spectacularly wrong. Looking back that doesn’t frustrate me, we did our best.
But now, in 2025 something does bother me, frustrates me, makes me feel sad. It’s not the decisions we got spectacularly wrong, it’s the decisions and opportunities that we kicked into the future. We didn’t say NO, we just said not now. ‘Not now’ because of some fairly unimportant work stuff, because it took us slightly out of our comfort zone, because it will complicate things, because we don’t need to push now because we have loads of time to sort this out in the future….
Let’s think about it again next year…
Let’s not do that now but maybe later….
Let’s talk ourselves out of this even though it could be so wonderful, no pressure, plenty of time to get round to it….sometimes sitting doing nothing can seem better than having the time of our life’s.
We were fooling ourselves, time ran out….
I keep going over those moments. Often trips, adventures or holidays that didn’t happen. Like the big Christmas adventure, the chance to take Hawklad to Lapland to visit Santa. Never happened even though we could have done it and we both knew it was a great adventure. Yes just the two of us could do it now but it’s not quite the same after the pesky Art Teacher decided it was time for some festive tough love… What a missed opportunity because we thought there was plenty of time.
Then there are those moments, missed opportunities that yes we can still do (and sometimes have already addressed) but we left it too long for his mum. She missed out. Hawklad never got to experience these moments with her. Disney Florida, Panto, trips to see Whales, Horse riding, skiing, Yellowstone, Kennedy Space Centre, Patagonia….. I could go on. Especially this little beauty, I managed to film Hawklad’s first walk on an old video camera, his mum was at work. The camera wouldn’t connect to the TV, so I needed to get the tape converted to VHS. I never did get round to it, I put it off (plenty of time) and then it was forgotten in both our life’s. She never did get to see that special moment.
Now I feel sadness over those moments, moments his mum never got to experience, Hawklad never got to share with her. It’s a painful lesson.
York Minster and the surrounding streets after dark.
It’s hard to avoid the countless city ghost tours, apparently it’s one of Europes most haunted cities. Any city with this much history is inevitably going to be on that list I guess. It’s hard not to walk past one of these tours and not shout ‘he’s behind you’ or hum the ghostbusters theme. The actors doing these tours are super talented and I’m sure they are more than use to that kind of terrestrial intervention from muppets like me.
I love the city at this time. It’s almost quiet, peaceful with the heaving daytime crowds having largely ebbed away. You can almost hear yourself think, you can remember, reflect. Recall a world which is now gone, feeling like it’s rapidly receding in my rear view mirror.
Christmas can be the most wonderful of times but it can also be the most painful of times. Isolation rather than solitude. A life that is out of reach.
Bereavement brought in stark focus the thought ‘YOU ARE ON YOUR OWN’, NO one to bounce ideas off, to talk to, definitely SINGLE Parenting. It’s often a scary place to be, feeling like you are way out of your depth. Sink or swim without arm bands.
I’m getting that feeling again…..
All too quickly the Child Health and Autism Services that have worked with Hawklad since he was 5, that have provided support, therapy and help will be pulled when he hits 18. We’ve been warned that after that date, the support he can get will almost be nonexistent. If he does try to speak to a doctor, on the basis of at most, a 3 minute consultation, he may well just be prescribed Antidepressants, provided leaflets on Mindfulness and then sent on his way. Sink or swim without armbands again.
This afternoon we drove to a city on the coast, to Hull, visiting its large £50 million pound aquarium, The Deep. So many memories flooded back walking around the maze of tanks and glass tunnels.
The last time we had ventured here was when Hawklad was about 4. The three of us came with his Dutch friend and parents. Life was way different then, preschool Nursery was working out really well, Hawklad was flourishing with loads of friends. A never ending succession of meet-ups at various houses, parks and attractions. On top of family and work contacts, it felt like a socially full and connected world. Aspergers was still a year or so away from really knocking on our front door.
So many thoughts now…..
Piggy backs looking at the fish now replaced by someone towering over me. That bubbly child who would run up to anyone and excitedly tell them all about the sharks, now we carefully pick the moment to look at the tanks, waiting for the crowds to part and plenty of space to appear. Now we are a family of two (four counting mad pets) with a barren social diary. All the families and friends from Nursery have long since dispersed, including the Dutch family. Home based Work and College is proving socially isolating. Our Family Photos seem to feature fewer and fewer loved ones.
It’s a sobering thought, just how quickly life can change, just how easily people can become cut off and isolated within this increasingly noisy world. The other prevailing thought came from watching the various sea creatures effortlessly change direction in the large, populated tanks. At times with me it definitely felt like rudderless sailing, buffeted by the storms of life. Definitely not feeling much like effortless and intentional changes of direction of my part. But who’s to say that my planned direction would have turned out any better than the reality. Plus, in this life I’ve not yet ended up stuck behind glass windows, being gawked at, swimming round in never ending circles. I wonder how the fish feel, in control, socially connected with all the other creatures in the tank, immune from the storms in the real world or boxed in, constrained. Without the storms of life, stuck in one place.
A Dad trying to cope with the loss of his Partner and becoming a single parent. 