A lot of pictures on this one, click the one below for the rest.

Sorry that the vase hasn’t been changed yet as well, it will be soon, once the Crem gets to doing it.

Was pretty good, display by the Silver Arrows was fucking brilliant – just a shame my video taking skills are poor or there would have been a couple of vids up on here too.

Just over a dozen pics this time, click the pic for the gallery.

Vodafone McLaren-Mercedes MP4-23 Picture

My sleeping appears to be improving bit by bit as well. I do have the nights where it’s a case of waking up every twenty or so minutes, drifting off and then see Mum hooked up to the ventilator, or her face when she woke up on the Friday morning, which fucks me up, and makes me fear going back to sleep.

I’m still catching myself going into her room first thing in the morning when I’m going off to work, going into her room to make sure she’s alright.

I’ve been catching myself over the past fortnight, as I’ve had my backup phone, about to ring Mum to see if she’s alright, and to ask when she’s going to be allowed home.

I’ve lost count of the times I’ve stopped myself asking my brothers if they’ve spoken to Mum.

I know it sounds slightly shitty, but I’m still refusing to let myself believe any of this has happened. In my mind she’s still fine, she’ll be coming home soon. It’s getting harder and harder to believe it, and even harder to keep it all blocked out.

I let slip at the back end of last week to a couple of my workmates that I’ve been having problems sleeping, worrying a few of them as well. I have been told by a fair few people to get myself checked out, mentally as well as physically, just to pre-empt the need to be prescribed medication to sleep and possible anti-depressants.

I don’t want to go there though. I don’t believe in taking medication to help with sleep, and certainly not the need to take anti-depressants. I get on that road and I’m in serious trouble, and would take a long time to get both off of them, and onto the road to recovery.

Partially it’s due to me being a stubborn bastard. The other part is I’m too strong to need that. If I do start to slip, it’ll be quick, and right down the spiral – I know my mates won’t let that happen though. Nor will the family.

I’ve got to keep myself strong for July, for my Uncles wedding out in Holland. There’s also another Uncle’s 60th in September to look forward to.

The one thing I’m certain of though, is that this year cannot get any worse.

Walk to the station was rather enjoyable, love walking in fresh, untouched snow. The walk through the car park at work was even better, nearly a good six inches on the ground.

I do remember the last time I saw my Mum over Christmas I had said that there’d better be a lot of snow this year, and she’s delivered it. She would have loved this.

Anyways, click the pic for the pictures taken on the way back from work.

Let it snow

Part of me was not looking forward to it, probably partially down to having a roughish time of it way back in January ’99 when I went back to my old part-time job back at Co-op (as it was then) due to a few idiotic people who had no compassion about them. Part of it also was down to wondering how people were going to react around me, and also another part was me thinking that I’d have a huge bastard of a backlog of emails to get sorted through from some of our DCA’s getting back to me with queries I had sent over Christmas.

I really shouldn’t have worried about any of what I was thinking I were going to face as I went in the door this morning.

Everyone could not have been nicer. As soon as our manager turned in I was asked if I was alright, to take it easy, and if there was anything that could be done to just ask. Same with our supervisor, who also gave us a call yesterday a few minutes before I was going to call to make sure I was alright, and also brought me up to speed with everything I’ve missed in the past two and a half weeks. Even our main manager pulled me to one side once I came back from my first cigarette break to make sure I was alright, and even said if I was struggling to cope with being back (case of too much, too soon), just to have a word and I’d be able to go early. Not that I’d want to – the people I work with are great people – just the sort of people I need around me at times like this.

It did get me thinking.

Would it have been the same if I was back at Tesco? Part of me thinks not, partially down to one of my ex-colleagues who went through the same last year was given a slight grilling over attendance after taking time off to get over the same thing.

Would I have handled the past few weeks the same myself if I was still working there? Probably not. I would have hit the self-destruct button, the bottle and spun into a deep depression,  mainly due to my attitude and general demeanor back then.

It has shown me how much I have matured mentally in the past twelve months prior to the past few weeks, and I also feel I’ve very quickly gained a few years too over these past twenty-two days. There had been a few family issues that I’m not going to divulge on here, but if this had occurred even six months ago, I do feel that I would not be were I am now, in the right(ish) frame of mind at all to deal with it all emotionally.

I do have my moments, don’t get me wrong. There are still many nights I literally cry myself to sleep, and many times during the night I still wake up with the haunting image of Mum lying in the hospital bed, IVs running into her hand, and into the central line in her neck, and on the ventilator, fighting for her life. The memory (that will stay with me until I’m back with her in many decades time) of her trying to roll herself onto her back but couldn’t, and asking for Dad before she started to fade slowly.

The one thing that does get me back to sleep though is the knowledge that she is back with Dad – even he’s appeared to me in my sleep too in the last couple of weeks – and they’re both looking over us three, and will do hopefully damn proud for the rest of our lifetimes, wherever we go and in whatever we do.

I’m still reeling from this, still refusing to believe it has happened, and that she’s going to ring me any minute to give me an earful for something trivial. She’s going to come home, in through the door at any minute.

I know the minute I stop believing this, I’ll start heading down the long, slippery slope to a deep depression, which I don’t want to do as I need to be strong for the remaining family I have, and my friends who have been absolute fucking diamonds throughout this past week – I really could not have got through the last week as well as I have without you guys.

My mum was so selfless, and adored by a lot of people around this area. She would have gone to the ends of the Earth and back again for me and my brothers if we needed something majorly done, regardless of wether we could handle it ourselfs or not. Even the local paper ran a story on her on Tuesday, which was very thoughtful and in a way made me and the rest of the family proud of all she had achieved.

I’ve never been a big person on religion. This happening to us has now made me believe that religion is pointless – if there was a higher power, he/she would not have taken such a nice person, or my Dad back in 1998. They had never done anything to hurt anyone in their lives, so why? Someone explain that to me. If there is any solace in this, is that the pair of them are back together now, watching over me and my brothers, hopefully proud as fuck too.

We all adored our Mum. After our Dad died, we all pulled together, and were strong for her, and all were closer to her than we were to each other. If there was anything she needed, we were there straight away for her, even if it was for a shoulder to cry on or even a hug when times got bad, and all she wanted was Dad back, like us.

It was torture watching her fight for her life in the HDU. She was determined not to give up, not to leave us at all. It was heartbreaking on the Friday morning when she tried to roll on her back but couldn’t. It was even more heartbreaking to see the apparent imrovement early that morning when she had woken up, to hear her ask for Dad, and try to reassure me she was going to get through, but couldn’t speak due to the infections taking hold, and being connected to the ventilator. It tore me up when she started crying when she realised she couldn’t speak, only mumble. Sitting by her bedside for nearly forty-eight hours straight, holding her hand the most of the time, only leaving for either a cigarette, to get some air, to use the bathroom or to cry a bit, just let her know I was there, wanting and wishing for her to get better.

When we got the news that there was no way back for her, I cracked for the first time properly. We were expecting it, but to hear it from the registrar who was dealing with her confriming what we feared done me. I sat on the benches outside the hospital and cried solidly for five or ten minutes, called my brothers to get the family around her to say their goodbyes, and our closest mates to give us support, and to say their farewells too. When I got back to her side, I took her hand in mine and cried like a baby for what seemed like a solid hour while people were getting up here. One of the nurses, name escapes me now, refused to leave my side, making sure I was alright, trying to comfort me all the while. She couldn’t really have done anymore.

What really got me is that I was made to go home, and try to get some rest by the nursing staff and my youngest brother. All I could do when I tried to close my eyes was see my Mum lying there, hooked up to the ventilator, fighting for every breath, fighting for her life. When I finally managed to drift off, my other brother got a call, to get up there quickly as there is not long to go. A few minutes later we got another call, telling us she had just gone. I still feel guilty that I was not up there when she went, and that I had fallen asleep when she passed, and I feel I never will forgive myself for leaving her at that time.

I was feeling like a zombie, not knowing what to do. When I finally pulled myself together emotionally to say my goodbyes, I sat next to her, held her hand, and hugged her, and broke down into tears. She looked so peaceful, much more than she had been for the preceeding three days. She had finally left ourselves but had released herself from the pain and suffering she had on and off for the last few months, and back into the arms of my Dad, who had been patiently waiting for her since he died in 1998.

This coming week is going to be hard, not just for me but the entire family, and we all need to be strong for each other, come Friday and the funeral, something I did not see having to go through for at least anther fifteen or twenty years.

It’s going to be a long hard journey these next few years, but we will all make it through them, and with the memories of the good and not so goodtimes with Mum, and Dad to help us through, knowing they will always be looking down on us, and with us in spirit as well.