Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 38 Comments

Last one

The dust is now settling on what feels like a new world. A while back Hawklad had his last bit of support from the Child Mental Health Team. As the threshold for Adult Support is so high and because there is actually no equivalent Adult service, that’s it. The need doesn’t suddenly go away as a birthday is reached, but in the UK, the service does.

It was odd, I wasn’t sure what to expect with the last appointment. Maybe a number to call if he really needs support, maybe some pointers where he could seek help, maybe a support website, a handful of support guides. But in reality it was a simple ‘best of luck’ and you will need to speak to your Doctor if you need help from now on. However Hawklad had already been warned that most Doctors support will be limited to Mindfulness Leaflet and the offer of Antidepressants.

Yes I’m concerned for Hawklad going forward but my heart really goes out to those who need way more support and suddenly find themselves cut adrift. I heard it described as a Trapeze artist who is performing a routine and suddenly finds the safety net missing. Maybe but just maybe the safety net is also there for the artist who can’t even make it onto the high wire. The artist who is struggling to even leave the house, struggling to function in daily life.

Without health support it’s down to self help, family and friends, thankfully Hawklad has some of that around him. But we need to recognise that most of us are not trained health professionals, effectively relying on a Wikipedia knowledge base. But at least it’s still support, importantly support that cares.

BUT many who are struggling are on their own, without any kind of local or specialised support. That can’t be right.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 53 Comments

Stones

We are so blessed to live on the edge of The Moors. Close enough that just 30 minutes after Hawklad’s last lesson of the afternoon we can be here…

The Bridestones…..

The name is likely to come from the Norse Brinkstones, stones on the edge.

Natural sandstone sculptures formed through an Ice Age and shed loads of Yorkshire Weather….

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 56 Comments

Language

Language is so important. More than ever it frames the debate, creates headlines, fills social media channels and sadly can alienate, castigate.

We all have different views on society, on politics. In the UK, to me the last few years has been unremittingly grim. And yes I’m not the only one who thinks that.

Am I pleased there was a change in government last year, YES, maybe the right word is RELIEVED.

Am I pleased with the new government. NO, but to me it’s way less bad than what came before it. A bit of good stuff, some puzzling stuff, some bad stuff.

The BAD stuff includes LANGUAGE. I don’t like the language the government often uses in terms of Mental Health and Disabilities, in terms of the many needing real help. Way too often the language is grim, divisive, and riddled with stereotypes which easily make its way on to the front page of gutter newspapers. It portrays a real insensitivity and a clear lack of understanding on the real issues and problems many face during every day life. What happened to the so called enlightenment that society went through on how it sees Mental Health and Disability.

I completely understand the need to control spending, to ensure it’s targeted where it’s needed. BUT…

The language often being used creates the false impression that most on Mental Health and Disability benefits are intentionally work shy, have a choice to either push through any issues they may face to work or to choose to stay at home, lead a life of leisure paid for by taxpayers. How the rising mental health crisis is just a sign of an increasingly work-shy population, it just can’t be based on real need. How the rising demand for special educational support is more down to pushy parents than actual individual child need. How every pound spent on a child with specific educational needs is in some way depriving the vast majority of pupils much needed new books or teaching opportunities. That those benefits that are essential to so many people are in some way an extravagance, a waste of resources, unfair on hard working taxpayers.

This language then fuels so much which is wrong in our modern world. False information, bullying, victimisation, mistrust, division and hatred.

Is it really 2025, is this really positive change and new hope….

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 35 Comments

Listen

Newcastle…

The view from the top of the modern art gallery, The Baltic. A converted old flour mill set next to the River Tyne, on this cloudless yet cold Saturday afternoon. Trying to forget the proceeding two hours, where my alleged football team successfully donated 3 points and way too many goals to a visiting, actual football team….

The Baltic is the Joseph Rank building…

I’ve been thinking about the support Hawklad has had from the Education and Health services. Lots of ups and downs, hopefully a few more ups…. In the UK it can be a bit of a postcode lottery. Some parts of the country offer more support, more joined up support than others. Our area is definitely in the OTHERS column. An area that has prided itself on highly streamlined services, so streamlined that a few too many services have disappeared completely in repeated budget cuts.

Fortunately a few services survived and have tried to help Hawklad. So thankful for those. But even for those services, what hasn’t helped is the constant change over in staff. The longest Hawklad had the same nominated support clinician was 18 months, often they would change at least twice a year. He’s had 7 different Paediatricians. As for his Education Support Officer, they have changed more frequently than managers at my so called football team… Over the last 3 years, this officer has changed 8 times. This week we phoned to talk about exam support and yes, the person has changed again. Every change brings delays and the need to bring the new person up to speed on Hawklad, who he is and his needs. Above all things, Hawklad has to try and build up a connection, time and time again. That’s so not easy for him. It really doesn’t help him. Some changes are unavoidable, people move on, that’s life but frequently, the change has been down to management decisions. Too often we’ve read or heard the following words ‘unfortunately he’s been taken off my case list so I’ve had to hand his files over to another professional, hopefully they will be in touch with you soon….’

Continuity, hard thought connections and openness based on trust are so important to successful support and therapy. Listen to Hawklad and he will talk about this way better than me. But here’s another thing. How often do the services listen to the kids they are trying to support. In our area, the answer is I suspect somewhere near, never. To my knowledge, he has never been asked. Maybe if they did they might start to understand better the importance of qualities such as Continuity in the services they are trying to provide.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 14 Comments

Ice

Cold cold cold….

You know it’s cold when you can step across ice and not hear a single crack or ice groan. Even having gingerly tottered halfway and inevitably hitting the ice with the force of a giant meteor about to wipe out the dinosaurs…. not the slightest ice indent.

Now filled with unbounded hope and belief in that ice, I visioned the perfect opportunity to excel in life once more….. I can do this. Sprint like a cheetah, build up vast amounts of momentum, jump on the snow sledge and majestically sail across the mighty ice lake. The first human ever to successfully sledge from East to West on this huge swath of lake ice (sounds way better than a big pond)… A cold Yorkshire hill, the theatre of dreams…..The beauty and grace of Swan Lake seamlessly combined with the power and agility of an elite sporting superhero.

Once again reality rips asunder unfounded hope….

A few moments later I’m stranded halfway, now face down in the ice and with the sledge riding on top of me. Going nowhere, unable to even get any purchase on my limbs to get up.

Spreadeagled on ice….. That’s probably a video title from the very top row section of Blockbusters….

It took me 5 minutes to find dry land again. It’s incredibly emasculating to be basically pushed by your sniggering son, helplessly across the ice like a curling stone….

Bring on summer……

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 51 Comments

In the dark

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.

Time to think.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 25 Comments

Huts

Tropical Scarborough on a blisteringly hot Autumn Day.

Forget the ice cream, hot soup was the order of the day.

Not sure if it was just the weather but when I offered to buy one of the brightly coloured beach hutches, Hawklad firmly declined…. The huts cost between about £70,000 to £160,000. You can rent them as well, Peak times set you back something like £300 for a week. For that you get a few kitchen items, a sink, deckchairs, use of the shared public toilets and free pet seagulls.

Peak includes Christmas, Wow that would be a brave call. Not sure the paper party hats would stay on too long with the inevitable Winter North Sea skin shredding sand blasting wind and icy horizontal rain.

Walking along the beach we passed a few groups of teenagers clearly starting the Half Term Break with some beach fun. I couldn’t help think about how Hawklad might view these scenes. It’s a part of teenage life that has so far eluded him, spending far too much time with his ancient relic of a Dad. Not sure those teenagers would spend too much time discussing beach huts…..

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 66 Comments

Castle walk

Living in the UK has many negatives, things like the weather, road potholes, useless Water Companies, Nigel Farage, Fuel Prices, Morris Dancing, late running trains, Brexit, did I mention the WEATHER. But then again we have some beautiful landscapes and CASTLES. Lots of Castles.

So when the clouds parted we headed off to one such castle. Helmsley Castle, over 900 years of history. It’s a wonderful adventure.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 18 Comments

Diverted

Maybe it’s like this everywhere but wow there is a shed load of roadworks right now. A few weeks back a motorway trip from here to London was like a Chris Rea, Road to Hell video. On this weekday, the 200 miles we travelled was for over half of them within roadworks. 3 lanes down to 2 or 1. Most of that done at crawling speed. Usually you can divert down the other possible motorway but that was basically a car park due to its own road work hell. A 4 hour journey ended up being double that. We even had traffic jams on the way back, at 2am…

It’s not just the motorways sadly….. Around our little bit of the Yorkshire countryside, the road work plague has gone into overdrive. We don’t have many roads here and at this time of year they should be muddy but quiet. They are definitely quiet as a good proportion of them are closed, partially blocked or about to be hit..

The Weather is fighting back and vandalising.

Mr Saddo got his map out and counted. I really need a life….

Our village has basically one road which then eventually branches out into 10 smaller roads heading out in various directions. Of those 10 branches 6 currently have road works badly effecting them, 2 more are closed for months and one of the last untouched roads is about to be hit for weeks…

Here when a road closes down the diversion takes you miles and miles in completely the wrong direction. So much worse when the diversion has to avoid other diversions. Deep sigh.

But there is a scary underlying thought here. All these roadworks around the world need lots and lots of signs, cones, barriers, speed cameras, portacabins, trucks, lighting, diggers, steamrollers and traffic lights. A mind boggling amount of stuff. For that motorway I mentioned at the start, apparently someone worked out that in the last 5 years it’s had over 100,000 different road works…. Imagine that spread across all the roads. Now imagine road utopia and there are no roadworks anywhere. WHERE DO THEY STORE ALL THE SIGNS and BARRIERS and EVERYTHING.

They can’t store it, we don’t have the storage capacity anywhere. There won’t be anywhere we can put this stuff except on the roads and motorways. Put the stuff on a road and it becomes a road works…. So we have to have roadworks and lots of them just to put stuff somewhere never mind if we actually need to fix a bit of tarmac.

We have created a Frankenstein Invasion, the Roadwork Monsters are among us permanently. All those dystopian movies about AI being the biggest threat to humanity and actually we end up losing control to ROAD CLOSED signs. I guess we had better just get used to being controlled and diverted in wrong directions.

Posted on by bereavedandbeingasingleparent · 52 Comments

Dad

An evening Yorkshire Forest walk.

A thought struck me as we ambled towards the light. I would have loved to have done something like this with my Dad. Don’t get me wrong, we occasionally had trips out, but they were pretty rare. Looking back to my childhood I can still count the trips. I remember Dad taking me to see the 125 High Speed Locomotive, back then it looked like a Space Age Rocket rather than a Passenger Train as it passed through Darlington Station. I remember a trip to a Train Museum where I found an old ticket machine that dished out things that looked like raffle tickets. As we walked around the museum he eagerly checked out each steam train while I trailed a few paces behind. There was another trip to see a charity cricket match featuring the sporting legend Fred Truman. That was the trip Dad sent me into the players showers to get Fred’s autograph…. Not sure that’s happening these days…. A few trips to the coast to see a storm, sat in Dad’s banged out car, I’m eating chips while Dad is silently smoking.

The whole family would have an annual trip to Scarborough. Dad would frequently disappear for most of the days to do his thing. I can remember seeing him sat on a bench some distance away from the rest of the family as they tried to stop me from falling off the Donkey Rides on the beach.

That’s it, I can’t remember any other trips with Dad. Definitely no walks through a Forest….

To be completely fair, back then in our northern working class town travel was way less accessible. Few cars, even rarer aircraft tickets…

At home there was similarly limited Dad time. Dad might be briefly pulled away from reading the newspaper to talk, I might get a few words before he buried his head back into the racing and obituary pages. As Dad listened to his radio on an evening I would clearly annoy him with interruptions, you just know when someone wants you to shut up. Volunteering to take him a cup of tea to him while he sat in his Greenhouse might yield me a few minutes being told all about how to grow tomatoes or raspberries. Even when I was sent on a Sunday to the local Pub to tell Dad that his meal was getting cold, I would be lucky to get a brief nod before I was pointed in the direction of the door. On the way home again I trailed a few paces behind while. We just didn’t talk that much. So few chats with Dad.

Those times were so frustrating to me. I would have loved ME TIME with DAD, yet in reality MY DAD TIME felt very distanced. I’m sure it wasn’t the case but it just felt like I was often a nuisance, a bit in the way, an interruption to Dad’s routines.

The end result was I always felt distant from him. He didn’t understand me and I didn’t really know him. I knew he liked trains, liked cricket, he liked fishing, he liked gardening, he liked beer, he smoked, he was in the army. Looking back, I now realise that he wasn’t happy, probably chronically depressed and I still don’t know him. I will never know him.