I fully intended to blog the entirety of 2019. My whole 48th year on the planet (I was 47 New years eve!) in a vague attempt to embrace having that birthday because I had always loathed sharing what I considered to be my day with everyone else on the planet.
I should probably point out this was an echo of emotion from the day at about 7 my parents held a New year eve party and kept sending me back to bed. Subconsciously I think it’s also to do with my shocking memory. I’ve never been a diary writer as some people are, but lately I realise how poor my memory is for events and things, and until jogged hard by someone else’s memory of an event in which I was a participant I seldom remember, quite often I don’t actually remember then either but nod and smile at what I hope are the right places. I’m told this is due to everything from the menopause to being busy and even, “we’re like computers with a finite memory, so the unimportant data like what you ate in the 3rd year at lunch disappears” a viewpoint I’m pretty sure is factual. I’m all for insignificant data leaving but the significant stuff is going too, though oddly not visual data like where everyone in the house hold keeps the XYZ they’re looking for!
In any event daily blogging lasted all of 8 days in 2019, I did sign up to word press a little earlier 17 days ago to be exact but just to see if writing flowed like it did when I was younger. Often I read something I consider to be very insightful in my Facebook memories and am convinced I am getting significantly less intelligent.
Maybe this will document my demise but at least I will know what I’ve been up to and heaven forbid anything should happen to me, My children can read and see who I was and what I was about.
Morbid? meh..my father died when I was 6, I know I said my parents had a New Years eve party when I was about 7 but in truth I may have been 4 or 5 I can’t remember if my father was there or not. In some fleeting glances he was, in other not. I would love to have known him. I imagine it’s because I didn’t have one that I feel it’s important to know one’s father. I’m not suggesting rapists have rights over children conceived in that manner, an actual situation here in the UK on at least 1 occasion (I kid you not!)
I think it may also be why I stayed so much longer in relationships that were clearly not working when there were children involved and always strove for there to be a relationship between father and child. I didn’t want my children to have that void.
There’s so much I don’t know about where I came from, I’m not even sure why it matters if it’s a recent thing or if it’s always been there. Have I built the idea of having a father in to something much more relevant than it is? I’ll never know. I know there are bad Dad’s who do unspeakably cruel things to their children. I’ve seen enough snippets of The Jeremy Kyle show when Chris is off work to know that an absent father to idolise is far better than a poor one.
There’s a yerning for knowledge on a genetic level too. Who donated my other chromosomes?! I know my mother as well as anyone can have an insight in to a person they have always known but in truth I don’t know all that much about her either.
A lot of what we “know” of a person remains like the echo of emotion about my birthday as a child. I am a very different person to the one I was even a few years ago, we evolve and grow dependant on our experiences and relationships. I have not lived in close proximity to my mother in over 30 years. Although I love her and she loves me we don’t have the intimacy, dependency or need to connect daily I see others have with theirs. I’m not sure if this is because I like being alone or because a life long depressive illness has meant every few years she really doesn’t want to know me or anyone at all for 5 months. I question if this is why I’m self sufficient, if there was a time I had to find my own feet because it’s hard to be dependant on someone who’s not available. In any event I don’t remember so it hasn’t been a scaring life experience.
Anyway my blogging lasted 8 days of 2019 and then on Tuesday I went to collect my crazy beautiful bi-polar daughter from Oxford, I drove the 450 mile round trip back home to Pembrokeshire in a day so as not to disrupt the life of my family here too much. My wonderful friend Jane who will never know what she means to me or how grateful I am to have her in my life, lent me her car for the third time in 6 months. My husband is a mechanic so obviously my car is the last one to get looked at but the one he is the most critical of.
In my pre Chris days I would have just driven it there and thought nothing of it and it would probably have made it but…
So Jane lent me her tiny little car I pootled up the M4 squashed Ce’Nedra and the 2 small folk in the car with as many boxes and bags as we could accommodate and drove home.
I’m at the same time excited and fearful, excited because for the first time ever all my biological off spring are within a 5mile radius I can’t tell you how much I’m looking forward to seeing my grand children grow up and coffee with my adult daughter/friend. Fearful because the nature of her illness means she can be very dependant. I’m a people pleaser but I’m already time poor it has taken me years to find time for me, to not feel selfish to go for a run or just binge watch Doctor Who…anyway only time will tell, I’m a glass half full kind of gal so watch this space. Happy Sunday A x
#life #middle-age #bi-polar #brightfuture