I am not sure what made today the day, but it was.  Perhaps it was because the sun was shining so beautifully.  Perhaps it was because my heart was full of peace and happiness.  Perhaps it was because I really feel like I have come home, I am home.

Today was the day to say my final and private goodbye to Mumbo as I scattered the last of her ashes that had been stored in an old Maille Dijon Mustard jar (one of her favourite ingredients to use) and that I have carried around with me since my Dad gave it to me over a year ago.

I pulled on her old red, itchy wool, original Swiss Snowsport jumper that was given to her years ago and that I saved from the black bin liners… and I sprinkled her over my new roses, my additions to the rose garden; easy does it, smiles, abundance and prosperity.  I asked her to tend to them as she did her gardens and keep them beautiful so that each time I look at them, I will know she is there.  Close by.

And I no longer feel sad when I think of her, her death and the fact that she is no longer here. And I no longer feel guilty for feeling that.  In some way, I can feel her, or sense her.  And perhaps that is because I see her in me.  When I look in the mirror with my blond hair; when I garden and talk to the roses; when I love my children demonstratively, loudly and unashamedly…  she lives on in me, her good bits mixed with my good traits and I am sure some of the less desirable ones too!  Her legacy…. Me and now my roses.

It seems that when things have been so bad, or so dark, that when you come out through the other side, truly out of the other side, you feel a very bizarre sense of euphoria!

I think I am in that state!

I found myself standing by the bonfire, surrounded by my family, delighting in the falling ash, spinning in the ‘snow’.  The smallest of things magnified and intensified….Later in awe and mesmerised at the beauty of the dancing embers high in the sky; earlier, tearful with an intensity of pride at the sun reflecting in Tom’s golden flecked blue, blue eyes turning them transparent;  not wanting the moments to end as Willy loved laughing into my camera lens;  full of warm, softness as I relaxed in to the curve of the Big Man to share his scone, smiling at his clear eyes, no longer reflecting my pain or showing his.

It is a euphoric, yet wildly humbling experience.

One of my favourite day dreams in the first part of this year was to have a big bonfire, marshmallows on sticks and mulled wine on hay bales In the fields as the boys and their friends ran wild and free.

I defy anyone that says dreams don’t come true. If you believe… anything is possible.

It was as I was singing out loud along with the ‘Leading Ladies’ and their rendition of George Michael’s ‘Freedom’ (which was absolutely excellent… must download their album) on the way to physio this morning, that I realised something.

The sandwich has gone.

The sandwiches are gone.

I am no longer slapped in the middle of two pieces of bread.

In my original blog post back in 2015, ‘the ali sandwiches and the 365 day blog challenge’, I wrote out my feelings of how I felt about being in the ‘Sandwich Years’ – the slices of bread being the worry about aging parents and support of a young family.

I asked myself – ‘What am I’?

“The cling film that holds it all together or the butter that ensure the bread doesn’t go soggy…? That is quite egotistical… the world wouldn’t fall apart without me… or am I the bit of gherkin or pickle that some people love and some people hate? Am I the insignificant filling that’s there but no one realizes? That makes me sound like a total martyr… so what am I?”

And that triggered my thoughts on my other Sandwich dilemma.  The ‘Ali with the glowing corporate CV’ or the ‘Ali the Mum trying to find ways to work, earn money, engage brain’?

Back then, I asked myself – ‘Who am I’?  and ‘What’s in the middle? The transition? Time for me?’

In those moments of singing (some wouldn’t agree) outloud ‘FREEEEEDOOOOM’, I realized was exactly that.  Free.

I no longer felt slapped in the middle of two halves of bread roll.  I no longer see my parents (or sadly parent now) or my children as a burden or a restriction as the ‘sandwich years’ would imply.  I am no longer compressed, under pressure, mushed in with all the other aspects of life fighting for air time.

The bread may be gone, but what they represented is now part of me, part of my wholeness.  My Dad is good, always a practical rock, content with a Cheshire grin with his new chapter of life.  He is my support, part of my daily chat with the outside world.  My boys, my little men will always be a worry, a responsibility, a challenge but as I have now put them first entirely without guilt, fear, regret, frustration or any other ugly feeling, they are my life, my purpose, my essence and my biggest joy.

I am no longer trapped by responsibility.  I am free.

And with that freedom, the answer of ‘who am I’ came very easily to me as the words flowed on to the page last night.

So what was in the middle?  A pile of crap springs to mind!

My Dad, forever wise, always reminds me of the story that the Brooks family always get landed in the shit, but they always come up smelling of roses.

And that is kind of where I feel I am right now.  Waiting for the next pile of crap … but this time, I have my umbrella, representing the tools I have learnt through the experiences of the last 2 years.  And it is a really good place to be.

Lying heart to heart, nose to nose, arms around his neck, his around mine, to stop his tears, I help him mirror my breathing, my heart beat to bring calm back to his little soul.  This is the authentic me, doing what I love and feeling fulfilled.

Surrounded by papers, scribbling notes, highlighter at the ready, listening, reading, learning. The topics of health, diet, food, support systems and accountability coaches.  This is the authentic me, doing what I love and feeling fulfilled.

In the sunshine, wrapped in my favourite scarf, completing my assignments.  Going to the outside market, choosing fruits and vegetables, talking with the stall owners, being curious and interested.  This is the authentic me, doing what I love and feeling fulfilled.

Juggling shopping, post office parcels, work men, delivery men, builders, diaries, schedules, drop offs and pick ups, the dog and the cat, printer ink and plasters. Coordinating Christmas, New Year, the turkey and a potential ski holiday. This is the authentic me, doing what I love and feeling fulfilled.

Wearing my pinny, leafing through cookery books, delving in to the freezer, rummaging in the fridge, teetering on a stool trying to find a tin of chopped tomatoes.  Whisking, chopping, slicing, mulching, tasting and stirring in the love before serving up to my loves, my Big Man, seeing their satisfied faces. This is the authentic me, doing what I love and feeling fulfilled.

Lying on a sofa, writing whatever comes into my head; drinking his wine, sharing his ice cream.  Watching a comedy, holding hands, laughing;  I stroke his hair, he tickles my feet. This is the authentic me, doing what I love and feeling fulfilled.

Connecting with friends, making plans to meet; connecting online, sharing my journey, congratulating, commenting, sharing, liking, loving, emoji’s to friends near and far, my Dad, My sis, my family.  Alone in a big house, but never feeling lonely.  This is the authentic me, doing what I love and feeling fulfilled.

Today, I lived my life as me.  Mother. Partner.  Homemaker.  Student.  Cook.  Writer.  Daughter and Friend.  Authentic to myself, for myself.

The techniques I have learnt in the last 2 or 3 years served me well today.

The lesson I learnt of refocussing my mind away from concerns of the future, how was I going to react, feel, be when I next saw my rapidly deteriorating Mumbo… what would it be like when she went, or even when she was gone?  Whatever I imagined in my mind, I learnt from experience, was never how it was in reality.  And I was stronger than I ever thought.

The lesson I learnt of training my thoughts back to the current moment when all my head wanted to do was unravel the inconceivable, to concentrate my heart on beating rather than breaking.  No matter how much I looked back, I couldn’t change anything to make the course of my life any different.  And I found strength from inside, from breathing in the current moment.

My lump made me feel sick when I touched it.  It was a little throbbing alien, bouncing away when I squeezed it.  I could feel it when I held the Big Man close, the boys tight, reminding me to be grateful, to love life, embrace the future, not fear it.

With one of my closest friends being a breast oncologist, I know the importance of regular checking….. even if I am not consistent or scheduled.  Sadly, the only thing, until recently, I felt were my ribs and I would laugh.

And that laugh continued, as the gentle, professional radiographer manipulated and contorted me so we could get my smallness into the mammogram compress, made slightly more uncomfortable by the fact I couldn’t arch my poorly back!

I didn’t laugh so much, however, when the ridiculously oversized needle bounced off my lump and we had to go for re-entry.  Or maybe I did… I can’t remember.

Breast cancer is one of the fastest growing cancers in terms of people effected; mainly because the number younger women is on the rise.  Wearing pink ribbons and putting hearts on your social media wall is meant to raise awareness.  But awareness for what?  Just for the fact that it exists?  Or awareness that you should check your breasts regularly – not just once a year during Breast Cancer Awareness week?  Or awareness that breast cancer can manifest in many different ways and not just a lump – leaking, redness, dimpling, different sizes… the list is quite long?  Or awareness that it has been proven that there is an 89% reduction in Breast Cancer for women who eating leafy greens, onions, garlic, berries and drinking green tea daily. That is what we need to educate our friends on, our daughters on.

I am lucky.  My amazing, superdoc, superwoman, supermum, superfriend gave me my good news.  My lump is here to stay, as hard breast tissue common in women as they age.  The pink clear liquid in the comically large syringe to be sent off purely for exclusion purposes.

But in that calm waiting room, with the exceptionally caring nurses, kindly soft-spoken volunteers making cups of tea, others were clearly not so fortunate.  And my heart goes out to them tonight and I hope they can breathe through their fear and love the moment they are in, alive, not worrying about what may happen nor torturing themselves about what they could have done differently.

In the meantime, I am going to put a reminder in my phone to check myself more consistently and continue to eat fields of leafy greens, wash it down with green tea and sweeten the aftertaste with some raspberries.

I didn’t like hearing the truth tonight.  The truth that you are trying to avoid always hurts when it hits home.

 

Lying on my back, unable to move is frustrating; makes me angry and grumpy and mean.  My old habit of putting up defences to defend myself, no longer needed as I am met with compassion and love, patience and good advice. The advice to slow down, when I am back up; change my high intensity and frequency of exercise, be softer on my aging body.  My track record speaks for itself – my body giving me clear signs; repeated injury cycles – torn calf, bad back, lack of energy.

 

I didn’t like it.  But I heard it.  And I don’t like being unable to do anything – I don’t like not being able to cook supper, pick up the boys, go trick or treating.

 

So I am listening.  And I need to love my body enough to listen to it more.

 

In the meantime, my body allowed me to catch up on the latest Harvey Specter escapades while I did my cat cowls and cobras…  So I am taking my inspiration from him!

 

 

 

Tonight, I feel my age.  Older than my age.  I have a wonky back, lumps in scary places and grey hairs in places I wasn’t expecting…

 

But I did do some sweeping.  Not the sweeping under, but the sweeping out.

 

And with the help and support I needed, I plucked up the courage to get rid of all the hideousness that shattered my world.  The images may still be floating in and out of the consciousness of my mind, but the physical have been flung out with the rest of the dust and rubbish.

 

And so while I may feel older, I do feel lighter.  And I won’t be tripping over my lumpy carpet any time soon.

 

In the last month, I feel that I have, that we have let go of so much and moved on, made so much progress.  And I made a commitment to my heart to allow it to breath itself full of oxygen, energy and give it a chance to love.

 

To do that my head had to play a huge part by turning around negativity, swishing away bad thoughts and memories.  However, in doing so, I feel that perhaps I am suppressing feelings that I want to share and give air to.  But instead, I am brushing everything under a metaphorical carpet in order to live in the moment, allow the heart to swell and positivity reign.

 

It’s working.  I am not falling down a negativity loop.  My heart is full and my face full of smiles.

 

And yet there is a little trigger of something and I lift a corner of the carpet and at the moment, it is enough to stop the smiles.  If I continue, what will happen in a few years and I lift it?  I am worried that the mountain of unprocessed feelings, of hurt and confusion will just be too much and shatter my happy heart.

 

Or maybe I am just overthinking this;  a long day travelling and drive late through the night coupled with rubbish back pain.  Maybe the back pain is from too much sweeping!?!

 

I think… no… I am certain that despite everything, and unanimously, that was the best holiday we have had since I can remember. No worries. No stress. No outside concerns. No inside concerns.

Just happy. Just relaxed. All of us. Smiling.