My friend, Charlotte

Dear Molly,

Autumn is once again upon us. The garden smelt of damp earth and the scent of  bonfires hung lightly in the air this morning. It always makes me want to write to you. It is my restorative and protective season, when we wrap ourselves up for winter. This post is part something I needed to do this year, to wrap myself up for winter. This autumn, you are almost 9 and I am 42, and you are my constant joy. 

2019 has, so far, been packed with both happiness and sorrow. I am writing to you about the sorrow, but to show you that the sorrow can also bring happiness. 

I lost my oldest friend, Charlotte, this year. You knew I was sad and your little hand on my arm was as much comfort as I could ever have wished for. You let me be sad and told me that it was "ok Mummy".

Me and Charlotte on a school trip c1987

When Charlotte was ill the first time around, I was terrified and angry. She didn’t cry. I couldn’t stop. She handled her treatment as best she could and I was so flipping proud of her. She overcame the worst of ordeals and came out the other side, the very same girl who had embarked on that journey. We celebrated and I took her for the spa day that I had promised her all those months before, at the start of her treatment. We had a perfect day and Charlotte made me laugh constantly. She never believed that she belonged in 'fancy' places but she appreciated it so much which filled me with joy.  

Me and Charlotte on our fancy spa day in August 2018

It would only be a handful of months before Charlotte would tell me, on my birthday this year, that the illness was back, and that it was incurable. Maintaining consistency, she was amazing, and I couldn’t stop the tears. I asked a million questions. I said I was sorry and I looked for some hope. I travelled back and forth to Norwich and I spent time at her bedside. It was during that time that she asked me to never forget her. It was the hardest exchange I have ever had. I cried all the way home. This post is to help me to fulfill my promise to Charlotte, to never forget her, and for you, my daughter, to never forget with me. I watched Charlotte go to sleep for the final time. She passed away a few days after I had seen her and only 6 weeks after telling me the news. It was March 2019. 

I can still feel the physical gap that Charlotte has left inside me. I would never wish the grief that I felt, on you, but, as sure as the sun will rise and fall, you will experience loss in your lifetime. I want you to know that it is ok and not to be scared. That is why I am telling you about Charlotte, my friend, who I lost.

You, me, Hannah & Charlotte in March 2017 in Cambridge

Charlotte was one of those friends that you could go to with anything. She was my rock. She was so very grateful for her friendship with me and I will never stop being grateful for mine with her. I could tell her that my tummy ached and she’d take time out from her day to find a way to cheer me up. Or I could tell her that my whole life was collapsing and she’d pack some cake, get in the car and drive over. She saw me through the toughest time in my life with brutally honest compassion and humour. She was just so blooming real, like the Velveteen Rabbit:

“Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.'

'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit.

'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. 'When you are Real you don't mind being hurt.'

'Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,' he asked, 'or bit by bit?'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand.” - Margery Williams Bianco, The Velveteen Rabbit

Charlotte was everything a friend should be and I loved her for it. 

Some things just strip you to your very core, and this was one of those things. It was the rawest emotion I have ever felt. Whilst it physically hurt, I was, I am, still amazed by it too. There is no shame in allowing your heart to break. Your body will heal and where the breaks were, you will grow more resilience. That’s how I feel anyway. You are put back together a little bit stronger. The grief of losing Charlotte knocked me sideways and I was completely unprepared. And now, 6 months on, I can still lift the lid on that grief so easily and the tears will flow in an instant. But I can put the lid back on too. I have learnt to sit with my feelings. Let them come and go, like waves on the shoreline, and seek joy in the memories. Charlotte was so very special and I would choose to have her friendship and lose her, than never to have had it at all, every day of the week. 

So my darling Molly, always remember that to be vulnerable is not a weakness and to feel pain is part of life. Never hold it in or feel ashamed. Sadness makes us real, just like the Velveteen Rabbit, and you should embrace that.

Charlotte thought the absolute world of you. In one of her last messages to me we were talking about you and she wrote:

"She's a kind girl. We bloody lucked out didn't we"

She was right, as always. I did luck out with you and I hope that you always remember Charlotte through these pictures and my stories. I love you, and her, eternally.

We wrote 'Charlotte' in the sand at Covehithe in February and threw the stone into the sea. Charlotte loved the sea xx

“My heart has joined the Thousand, for my friend stopped running today.” - Richard Adams, Watership Down 

Mayday - 2019

I haven’t written to you for a while. I do it when I feel it. Sometimes it’s not there, and then it returns, on a breeze, willing me to put down our memories for the future. To write is to fulfil the requirement, and then I blow it away again, like a dandelion seed head.

So, you’re 8 years old. I’ve just been to watch you dance around the Maypole for the Mayday celebrations at your school. I will treasure these memories. You’ll be grown up before I know it and I can feel it coming. I don’t fear it, as such. I just feel it. The passing of time once happened way up in the stratosphere. It happened without me noticing. Like wispy white clouds blowing away in a blue sky. Now I feel it all around me like a paper thin silk veil blowing and draping over my body as I walk. It touches my face, my arms, my body and my legs. It’s soft and gentle, not heavy, just there to lightly remind me.

You have seemed older recently. You are moving from young child to older girl so seamlessly and effortlessly that I barely notice. But if I stop for a moment, and pay attention to your chatter, I notice that it has changed. You ask if I am ok a lot. You tell me about your learning at school. You tell me what’s happened that day on the playground and who has been kind and who hasn’t. You still want to write, to paint and to draw. You talk about creation. You ponder on the big questions. You talk kindly about everyone and you care so much. You put other people’s needs before yours and you care about those with less than you. You adore your cat, Penny, with everything you have and I will be forever grateful for that funny and impulsive day when we looked at each other and said “shall we get a cat?”

You playing 'rock paper scissors' with Penny

You read everything and you devour books with such joy, especially Tom Gates books. You also love Lord of the Rings and Minecraft. I never tried to steer you, and never will, but, somehow, I knew that you wouldn’t be a princess and unicorn kind of girl.

Tonight you asked if you and Annie could be sisters. I said it wouldnt be possible because a Mummy needs 9 months to grow a baby and you and Annie only have a month between you. You thought for a moment and responded with, “Mummy, tapir babies take 13 months to grow in their Mummies’ tummies!”

You still love babies and you talk incessantly about having your own one day. It was Easter a couple of weeks ago. We discussed that the Easter bunny is actually Mummy. You were grateful that you knew the truth because, apparently, if I’d never told you, you would have waitied for him when you had your own children and they wouldn’t have got any eggs! Oliver did your Easter egg hunt this year and he was much better than any rabbit anyway.

I’ve just tucked you into bed. I read The Royal Rabbits of London for your bedtime story. I’ve read to you every night that I could, since you were born and we still do our “moon and back million times” routine and sing “You are my sunshine.” You are changing every day before my very eyes, but you hold tightly to our funny little ways and traditions and that is one of the many reasons that I love you with every fibre of my being. See you in the morning sweetie x

“And some things that should not have been forgotten were lost. History became legend. Legend became myth. And for two and a half thousand years, the ring passed out of all knowledge.” 
- Galadriel: The Fellowship of the Ring, The Lord of the Rings

A new year begins

The other day I read an old post from when you had just turned three. I can't quite believe that are now six. Six whole years old. To me, you are the most brilliant, caring and wonderful six year old. You cherish everything and I never want that to stop. School, family, friends, home, learning, adventures, music and stories. 

Whilst I had a coffee the other day, you decided to read a book filled with paintings. Well, you looked at the pictures. You said that one picture you looked at made you think of somewhere really calm. Where the day goes slowly and no one needs to rush.Then you got to one which made you feel lonely, tired and empty. "It kind of makes me feel invisible Mummy." I could listen to your chatter for hours. Your six year old thoughts are so mesmerising to me.

There is a lot being written at the moment about kids being kids, toys being toys, and gender stereotypes being outlawed. I want to see us really letting kids be kids. I have an overwhelming desire for us all to stop intervening. You should pick your own toys, pink or blue, dinosaur or princess. I want, more than anything, to just let you be. Sometimes I want to shout out loud for people to give you some space. I don't because interaction with other people is important and, well, it would be rude! I am also very aware that my need for peace is not yours. It is just a very strong instinct in me. I am most relaxed when you have the space to exist at your own pace and in your own way. 

I want you to relish in a nature documentary as much as in an episode of Paw Patrol. To watch Harry Potter, Star Wars, The Sound of Music and Frozen. To visit art galleries and antique shops as well as toy shops and funfairs. I just want you to see, hear, smell and feel all that the world has to offer and not just a wrapped up, glitzy version of what grown-ups think is entertainment for you. It is a fine balance. I type this as we finish watching Minions together on a rainy day.

We spend the last day of 2016 in London together. A lot of people say that 2016 was a really bad year. There is a lot going on in the world right now and you'll learn about it soon enough. I just want you to always remember to not to be scared, to be proud, to care about people and to give everything to what you believe in. Gently change the world by giving everything that you can in your little corner and through positivity and hope. There isn't enough of that stuff and you, my little girl, are brimming with it. 

At six years old you mean the absolute world to me. I love every fibre of your being and can't bear the thought of you being disappointed or being scared and alone. But I do know that you will feel these things. It will shape you as a person, a brilliant and wonderful person. I will keep giving you as many experiences as I can. That is what I feel that my job is right now and I will never tire of your expectant little six year old face asking me, "where are we going to go next Mummy?" I can trace the outline of my heart and soul in your face. You embody all of my hopes and dreams and I just can't wait to see where you take them. 

Happy new year my darling little girl. Let's go and make some more memories.

"For last year's words belong to last year's language. And next year's words await another voice" - T. S. Elliot

An ordinary Sunday

Nothing much happened today. I love you more than I am capable of every single day but, today, I loved you a little bit more. I don't know why. I wanted to cherish the feel of your little hands in mine, the smell of the top of your head and your arms around my neck. 

You and me today, in the hanging egg chair

You chatted incessantly on the way to the cinema today. You asked me if my car was a front or rear wheel drive and then explained the benefits of a 4 wheel drive! You told me that you still wanted to be a chef but asked if it might be possible to be an astronaut too. And anyway, you do like space so that might be the better option, and, if you were a chef too, you could cook in space. 

At the cinema you sat transfixed for the whole of Finding Dory. Afterwards you said that you were so happy for Dory as she finally had her friends and her family. You said that Dory's mummy and daddy must have loved her a lot to have stayed at home laying shells out for her to find her way back. 

We painted pictures and chilled out together for the rest of the day. It's my struggle, not yours, but today I didn't want you to go to bed, or grow up. I wanted to hold you near me forever. Having you has taken me to places in my heart that I didn't even know were there. I'll always lay shells out for you. We're not so different, Dory's mummy and me x

“We will never forget you, Dory. And we know you will never forget us.” ~ Dory’s mum

Life is tough, but so are you.....

I am 39 years old. I've never been confident about my body or my physical abilities. I've never been sporty. I've never owned a bikini. I was never good at PE and it's the only part of school that I look back on and remember, as clear as day, that all-consuming feeling of inadequacy. That was just me. 

In 2011 something else happened to me. Your thyroid is a tiny little gland which plays a huge role in how your body functions. It regulates your metabolism and without it you gain weight and feel sluggish and fatigued. The thyroid gland also controls the chemical messengers that your brain uses to communicate with your nerves. Without it the messengers go all over the place leading to depression and anxiety. Sometimes the thyroid gland slows down. Mine is defunct. Completely gone. No thyroid function at all. 

Me in 2011

So here I am in 2016. With some determination of my own and a lot of help and support from the wonderful people around me, I now cycle, I run, I go to the gym, I eat healthily and more importantly, I'm happy and confident. I've filled that void. The one that grew and consumed me in young adulthood.

I sometimes feel judged for the choices that I make now. It's a funny thing. I find that really hard but I put it all out there for the sake of the stronger feelings. The positive ones. On top of combating all of my symptoms of Hypothyroidism and actually getting good at lifting weights, running and cycling, I can also help others. I can help friends who feel like I did. I can encourage the struggling nine year old girl who thinks she can't do it at Parkrun to run to the finish with us. I can help all of those people who think that they can't do it, or don't know how to. I can show the nervous new girl at the gym how to do a dead lift. 

Most of all though, I can give everything I have to being a role model for you. You run because I run and your competitive spirit is fierce. You are determined and brilliant and I want to keep fuelling that for as long as I can. If I don't believe in myself then you won't believe in yourself. If I reach for the stars, then you will too. You can do whatever you want to sweetheart and, as I have learnt along the way, so can I. 

You completed your 21st Junior Parkrun today. You finally got your marathon wristband baby x 

"Though she be but little, she is fierce!" ~ William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

The end of a journey

Yesterday, your 5 year Talipes journey ended (apart from a few stretches to do each day). After being cast from your toes to your thigh for the first 4 weeks of your life, to wearing a brace keeping your feet shoulder width apart with a metal bar for 23 hours a day for the next 3 months of your life, to wearing it at night times for the next 4 and a half years, this journey has been your whole little life. As I sit here today, that period of time has been your entire life. I know I've already said that! You couldn't sleep on your side, curl up in a ball, feel your duvet on your feet or get up in the morning. And now you can.

Waiting to be seen in hospital yesterday

I am not going to wax lyrical about how brave you were. Or how unfair it was. Or how strong you've been. I never have. The treatment was brilliant. It didn't hurt. We treated it as part of your life. Your routine. You knew no different and so you never questioned it. What I will do now is celebrate with you that you can now curl up in a ball, feel your duvet on your little feet and get up on your own in the morning and that, my darling, is something worth celebrating. Treasure the little things.

No more boots and bar

The memory I will treasure is you, my little 5 year old girl, walking barefoot along the clinical corridor of the hospital so that they could assess your walking. Your pale little feet on that big cold hospital corridor floor. They looked so vulnerable and I willed everything to be ok until I nearly burst inside. I wanted to hold you forever at that moment. 

And that's it. I started writing these letters to talk to you about your Talipes and they have become so much more than that and given me more joy than I can ever describe to you here. I hope, with all my heart, that you will enjoy them when you're older. Until the next time I write sweetheart, sleep tight, curled up in your little ball x

 

Almost 5!

On your last weekend before you turn 5, we have been to the circus, made pancakes, marshaled at your Parkrun, practiced your cycling, sung songs, been out for lunch and watched films. I am constantly amazed by how quickly my baby is growing up before my eyes. No longer a baby but a little person, grabbing hold of life with both hands and soaking it up. I love that your teddy is currently blindfolded so that you can arrange her surprise birthday party without her seeing. And that you thought your fishes may have been playing tag when one chased the other in the tank today. You are so kind and you always see the best in people (and fish).

My little girl is hurtling towards her 5th birthday bursting with new knowledge, wonderful friendships, more questions than you can imagine, determination, an exploding vocabulary, compassion, imagination, energy and so many dreams. At 4 years 11 months and 20-something days, you are my whole world. 

You have been the sweetest, funniest, kindest, most inquisitive little 4 year old and, whilst I am sad that this is the last time I'll write to you at 4, I cannot wait to meet my 5 year old daughter and see what adventures there are in store for her.

I love you, always x

"If you don't know where you are going any road can take you there" ~ Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

My baby

This weekend you have been very loving and stayed close to me. I've felt your soft little touch as I potter about the house, as I sit and relax, when we did Parkrun together and as I cook. Everywhere I've been, you haven't been far behind. I said to you that you'd been very cuddly. You said you just loved me a little bit more that day, with your palms upturned as they are when you're explaining something obvious. 

Me and you, Pescara, Italy ~ 2015

There are times when you drive me mad because you won't clean your teeth because your arms are too tired. Or you have a meltdown because you got ice cream on Right Bunny (screaming, "it didn't even land on her mouth so she could eat it. It's in her fuuuuuuuur!" - that happened today!) Or you behave as though I'm murdering you when I cut your finger nails, "not my little finger Mummy. It's just a baaaaaby!" Or you lose the tiniest dead leaf that you'd been keeping safe in your dungarees pocket and you scream that I have to find it, until something else catches your attention (that happened yesterday too!) 

But in spite of all that, my love for you is unquantifiable. It's beyond my reach. It's like outer space and it consumes me every day. You are part of me. My insides. Right now I want to hold you close and keep you there for ever. I want to freeze time with you at 4 years old. My beautiful 4 year old. I don't want to forget your sweet little voice chatting to yourself with your felt tips, your toys or your imaginary friends. Your perfect curls. Your big blue eyes. You told me that your little finger had grown a bit today. I said I wanted you to stay small and you said "I can't Mummy but I'll always be your baby."

My baby at Kokopelli Camping, Serramonacesca, Italy ~ 2015

Watching films together today 

I love you sweetheart.

Saturday May 2nd 2015

I haven't written to you in a while. We've been busy. Life is busy.

It's May 2015 and there is a general election next week. People will vote for who they want to lead our country. It won't mean anything to you at the moment but it will. You will learn about politics and I hope that you will care. Listen to everyone's views. And I mean really listen. Don't close your mind too soon. Form your opinions based on what your heart and mind are telling you. There are a lot of simple theories out there. The truth is often more complex and harder to understand. You should try. Your life will be richer for it.

Today it was just us. We had pancakes for breakfast, watched Mary Poppins, baked a cake & practiced on your bike. You are most content at home. It is definitely where your heart is. Your safe place. I was like you at your age. I remember it clearly. I loved my home too. I remember only glimpses of the house that was my home when I was four. Like the glimpses of your home that I took today....

 Over the garden gate

Our spring wisteria

At the park whilst you play

Watching Mary Poppins

Learning to ride

You've just informed me that the wind is changing and Mary Poppins has to go now. It's also time for your bath. 

I'll see you tomorrow sweetheart. I love you.

You and Ted

"Winds in the east, mist coming in. Like somethin' is brewin' and bout to begin. Can't put me finger on what lies in store. But I fear what's to happen's all happened before." ~ Bert, Mary Poppins 

Mother's Day, Italy, cycling and dreams

You It was Mother's Day last Sunday. You were at your cousins' house for the day. Looking out of the garden room that morning at the snowdrops and the blackbird building a nest, I felt a pang of sadness that we weren't together. We spend every weekend together though and I knew that this little adventure would be good for you, and me. 

I don't want to just work, pay for things and exist but to really live each moment. It may be that we can't have fancy expensive holidays but I promise that, instead, we'll do the things that we really want to do. This summer we'll have a rustic Italian mountain adventure. We'll pack up the car and drive all the way across Europe with our closest friends taking in all of the sights and sounds along the way. We'll stop at alpine cafes. We'll cross mountain passes. We'll stay in pretty towns and we'll BBQ under the Italian mountain stars when we arrive. Real life and real places.

http://www.myfamilyandabruzzo.com/?m=1 (Auntie Lulu's blog about where we're going) 

You and Alfie will love your summer holiday together (not forgetting little Ralph)

We may not be together for every moment but I want to be one of the lead characters in your book. To inspire you to live. Which means that I should live my life, not just dream it, spending a little bit of time apart so that we can grow together in different ways. 

My adventure last weekend with the Women's Eastern Racing League

And home again

Today it's just you and me. You're chatting to yourself in the next room making up adventures for your toys to live. Make space for your own adventures too sweetie, and don't ever be scared to embark on them. They'll always be worth it. 

My beautiful little girl with a head full of dreams

My girl

I didn't give you life, I think that it gave you to me. That's how I see it anyway. You are just growing up, like any kid does. But whilst you do it, you are changing me, in a way that only having you can. You took the fragmented pieces of me when you were born and you held them in your little hands and gave them back to me, a completed puzzle. It all makes sense. I'm not superstitious, or religious, or all that spritual, but I believe that I was meant to have you. 

This morning you seemed sad. I asked you what was wrong and you said, "the thing is Mummy, there was going to be a carnival today in our house but all the actors are sick and it's cancelled." You looked so serious and sad. I couldn't reduce your make-believe carnival to something that's not real and doesn't matter, so I gave you a cuddle and we talked about rescheduling the carnival. 

I feel your emotions, as strongly as I feel my own. I laugh when you do, your tears are my tears, I feel your pain and share in your excitement. What I long for is that you will somehow see yourself through my eyes as you grow up. Care about yourself as much as I do and always want for yourself as much as I want for you. My little girl, my world. 

Love you  x

A Mummy/Molly Sunday

My story began in 1977. Yours in 2010. Separated by 33 years but intrinsically linked by the fibres of our beings. I relate to your questions and thoughts like I had them once myself. 

We watched the 1961 version of 101 Dalmations today. I remember being little, like you, and being frightened of Cruella De Vil and scared for the puppies. The voice of the narrator, the music and characters bring all those feelings back to me. The years between us dissolve away and I am 4 with you.

You absorbed every piece of the drama, emotion, plot and characters, talking your way through your obervations.

"Why doesn't the daddy doggy have puppies Mummy? Do Daddies not have babies from their tummies?" 

"Cruella's wand looks stinky Mummy" (cigarette)

"The nasty men know the puppies are disguised now do they Mummy?"

"Pongo's pets will be happy to have the puppies home for Christmas will they Mummy?"

"90 puppies and 2 grown up doggies makes 100 does it Mummy?" 

I love that my childhood memories can become yours

Today you called lasagne, lasagne instead of vasagne as you always used to. And you asked for breakfast in the conservatory, when it always used to be the inservatory. I've realised that one day you won't reach up to hold my hand, or want me to sit with you as you fall asleep or need Righty with you at night. I probably won't notice these things happen, like vasagne. So I'll treasure them while they do. 

Sweet dreams baby

"And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it." ~ Roald Dahl