Memories

Day 665

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Another chapel.
Another service.
Another departure without a good-bye.
Another bunch of people in grief and black.
Another room full of sniffles and sorrow.
Another beautiful smile forever loved and missed.
Another reminder of indiscriminate randomness.
Another family’s future laid to rest.
Another opportunity to remember what’s important.
Another place to experience deep love.

Despite never having met any of M’s( a friend from work) family before, I could guess who’s who just by looking at them. Her hubby and her boys absolutely fitted her descriptions. Her youngest graduated this year without his Mum by his side. I found myself in juxtaposition with him. I could feel their shock from her sudden departure and could also see the strength they derived from one another. It was a familiar place. Through the people and conversations I got to know her so much better. I could recognise her sense of humour in the eulogies. It runs in the family.

On so many occasions we agreed that we should meet outside of work but that somehow never happened. Every time we made a plan, something got in the way. I wish…

Her sisters told me how much my friendship with M meant to her. It meant a lot to me too but I never really told her that in so many words. I wish…

I love you M.
Thank you for being my friend.
It has been an absolute joy and privilege to know you.

Bye-bye Miss American Pie!

Day 660

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article-writing-1

Since Day 0 writing a few words everyday has become a sacred ritual. Of late I have been struggling to remember how things were on Planet Before. My memory of myself from the past is now faded and hazy. I can’t remember how exactly things used to be. I can’t remember writing in any meaningful way ever before or having any talent or aspirations for writing. I did enjoy poetry but writing as much as a global e-mail within my department would make me quite nervous. I avoided the ‘reply all’ button at all cost.

This morning while sorting out some old papers I found a loose ruled A4 sheet with a shopping list in pencil on one side and a few lines in black fountain pen scribbled on the other side dated 9th November 2010. All of this was in my hand-writing. Reading these lines felt like I was being re-introduced to someone I once knew.

“Today my heart is pink,
And for no reason at all
My voice wants to sing.

The autumn leaves, burgundy and orange
Dancing along the pavement
Anticipating change.

The skies unable to make up their mind,
Sometimes dark, sometimes light
Playing with time.

My fingers a bit achy
After 13 hours of work
I notice me feeling a bit shaky.

But my spirit shines
I feel the warmth of a pair of glowing hands
Holding me safe and keeping my faith.”

Day 653

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A note out of Saagar’s memory book from University:

“So, I have a memory I’d like to share. We were in the room above Saagar’s on C Curve and somebody was jumping up and down on the floor.
Jack (big guy, played guitar with Saagar in Lenny and the Mandem) said to them, ”No, no. Don’t jump up and down like that. It makes the floor wobble.” And he jumped up and down a few times himself to demonstrate.

Thirty seconds later Saagar comes storming into the room, HOLDING A LIGHT FITTING, saying, “I think this is pretty f***ing funny. Don’t you?” and nursing a rather nasty bump on the head. We laughed for about 10 minutes. And once we told him what had happened I think he saw the funny side too. You couldn’t make up comic timing like that.

I’ll remember Saagar for his magnificent drumming, (I’ll certainly remember him when I have to get premature hearing aids thanks to how loud he was!) nights spent watching those awful BBC 3 trashy medical shows, recoiling in horror and sympathy at various horrible interventions on men’s gentleman’s areas; and he really liked my multi-coloured shorts.

Truth be told though, I owe Saagar more than those memories(although I’ll always hold on to those). I february this year, I hit a nadir of my own and I reached a point where I seriously considered ending my own life as well. Not that I wanted to. I never wanted to. But when you have mental health problems it’s like civil war erupting inside your head where the other side persuades you that ending your own life is the right thing to do. And it does that by making you believe that things are never going to get better. At the point when, in your mind, suicide becomes a realistic option, you really genuinely believe that.
The thing that stayed my hand when I reached that point was Saagar. I had seen the fallout from when somebody takes their own life. I knew I mustn’t do that to my family(and a second time for many of my friends). It was that that made me stop and seek help and now I have made a full recovery.

In a way, I owe Saagar my life.

If Saagar hadn’t killed himself, I almost certainly would have done and perhaps it would be my name on the stone and him writing a message in a book to my family.
I want to thank him for my continued existence and apologise more than words can convey to his family that this is the way things happened.”

Bless!

Day 651

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Scan 12

A face

A face or a mask?
Which one tells the truth I ask.
What schemes and works on the inside?
How much is revealed and how much we hide?
How much can the naked eye see?
What proportion of reality?

A soothing whisper to my soul.
His face makes me feel whole.
Deepens the cracks of my heartbreak.
Bringing back the crazy crippling ache.
A face I see with my eyes closed.
Trying to stay clam and composed.

Teaming crowds on the street
That’s the one my eyes thirst to meet
With open arms, come to me and greet
And carry me off my feet.
But the face is invisible
The presence just beyond reach- nearly imperceptible.

What lay behind those expressions?
Those funny faces and exaggerations?
That face could light up the darkest of spaces
How did it miss all the safe places?
Why could I not look behind the mask?
Being his Mum, it couldn’t have been that tricky a task.

Now the face is the screensaver on my phone,
It’s my watch, my diary and my home.
I live in it and it lives in me in every way.
It’s my umbrella on a rainy day.
It is the constant that helps me maintain
The will to sing and dance in the rain.

Day 647

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”No history of self harm” said the discharge summary from the Home treatment team to the GP. This sentence was one amongst many on the four page long letter.

Saagar was seen by at least 3 psychiatrists – 2 senior trainees and one Consultant and they all missed it. Did they ask him and he didn’t tell them the truth or was it an omission? The scars could easily be seen on his left forearm. They were clearly visible. Did they find the scars and questioned him about them? Did he make up a convincing story for them as he did for me? Or were they missed altogether? No one asked me about his history of self harm. He was mentally ill at the time and I don’t think I was.

At the Coroner’s inquest when this question came up, the psychiatric team said that the remark was made because Saagar never presented to the Emergency department with self-inflicted injuries. Is that a valid criterion?

Self harm is a personal and often a very private act. Given it is an important clue to the extent of a person’s emotional suffering, we as carers and professionals cannot afford to miss it.

“The only antidote to mental suffering is physical pain.”
– Karl Marx