It is probably a writer thing, but I find narrative a defining word. To me, it is narrative that stops life from just being an incoming tide of events and information that overwhelms anyone without a story to tell themselves. If you lose your place within your own plot, it can all soon stop making sense.
One of the ways this blog works for me is as opportunity to reflect on the direction of my own narrative. When I stop working on it for as long as I have recently, you can take it as a sure sign I am drowning in episodes and facts that have derailed any attempt for me to be the author of my own story.
February has been a tough month. To use colloquial Essex, it has in fact been seventy-fucking shades of hell. However, when I get the chance to edit all the strands together into a semi-coherent narrative, I know certain themes will emerge. One of those will be gratitude. Amongst accounts of death; loss; living in 1973; the everyday grind of having to wash a 98-year-old women after she has wet herself; dealing with the possession like state of a relative with dementia; my own failing health; bouts of sleeplessness strung out across night after night on cold floor; struggling to finance a funeral and fighting against bureaucracy to try and look after those left behind, there is actually still a lot to be thankful for.
The single thing that I am most grateful about is that I actually had a 95-year-old grandfather to mourn. Despite everything, that single fact blazes stellar in universe made mostly of dark matter.
Whatever else has happened, they have been a few precious moments of light, love and laughter that made it through the oppressive miasma of the last few weeks. At some point, this blog may feature tales of Luke Haines’ live comedy act, hugs, orange cars, my first birthday in years, travelling back to London to find a bowl of spicy food waiting for me, talking new books with old friends and Granddad singing My Funny Valentine live from the gimmer ward.
There have also been acts and words of support I am very grateful for. Trust me, these things are not forgotten. I will be directly thanking all the individuals concerned during the coming weeks.
I also want to thank anyone who is reading this ramble. All authors – even minor cult authors – ought to have the commonsense and good grace to be bloody appreciative of readers. Especially when those readers stick with them even when they do loose the plot slightly for a few pages.
I hope to regain my grip on the narrative and return to this blog soon. However, it will not be until after the funeral on Tuesday and when the health of both my Nanna and myself is more stable.
8 comments:
dearest david, it is so lovely to hear the gratitude for what you do have in these words. so often at the darkest times, it is so very difficult to see the tiny glimmer of light. i am so glad that you are able to remain thankful in such tough times.
yes, that february is a bitch, eh?But i happen think it makes for better reading if the plot twists and turns, gets dizzied around and lost for a bit before getting back on track? don't you agree? the ups, downs, comedy, tragedy, ah... the flavors of a rich and fully lived life...any other way would simply be a flat line.
as always, much love & light to You. xo
David
I look forward to seeing you back on the road to where ever it may wanders.
Peace, respect et al.
~ D ~
Aw, love. I'm so sorry you've had such a shitty time. And it is really nice to read about your gratitude through it all anyway. A good thing for us all to remember!!
I hope things get better for you all really soon. I also hope the funeral went ok on Tuesday, if I can say such a thing and have it make sense, but you know what I mean..
Been thinking of you.
Good to see you back David. I can't begin to imagine what you went through but i'm glad you're coming out the other side.
It seems that with all the good times, one must endure the tragedy at the end. Perhaps it's the beginning and ending of stories that's the most important, as opposed to what went in-between. I don't know.
I’m glad to hear that your life is starting to settle into a familiar rhythm. I understand what you mean about “having a grandfather to mourn.“
My family and I recently said goodbye to our grandmother. It was my mother who stood vigil and held grandmother’s hand at the moment she passed. My grandmother’s family relationships were complicated by her inability to trust anyone. She insisted on living a hard life and her family suffered as a result. Luckily, epiphanies abounded during those last six months and she left this world finally understanding how much she was loved. If not for the tireless efforts of her daughter (my mother), there is no doubt she would have died alone. In some ways I agree with that old saying, “it’s not how you love that counts, but how you are loved.” I’ve probably bastardized that saying but you know what I mean.
Peace and strength for yourself and your Nanna, through your Granddad's funeral and beyond. (Dunno if you meant Tuesday, 06.March.) Your Granddad sounds like quite a guy.
It's good to hear you have a lot of warmth to welcome you home, when the time comes.
Thank you all.
Wow, how awful for you-doing all that-and without help? What a good soul you are, David.
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