Our House, in the Middle of Our Street

TW- implied death/cancer; grief

The title of this blog is from a song by Madness. It was playing one time, I can't remember when, but my cousins and I were all there, and we sang along. And then we laughed, because if the house were really in the middle of the street, houses would crash into it. Yes, we know that's not what it's meant to be about. But it made us laugh anyway, and for quite a while too.

Today has been busy, with work and family.

My aunt- who lives in Brighton, who was married to Matthew- has been in Bristol this weekend, with her wonderful daughter. Their wonderful daughter. I will call her Flower, because anonymity. Flower is gorgeous, and wonderful, and full of hope. I am so glad she is in this world.

So we spent the evening at another aunt's house, and it was lovely. We knitted (except one of my cousins crocheted), and drank tea, and watched In the Night Garden. I disgraced myself (or maybe I should be proud of this?) by knowing most of the lyrics to most of the songs. My sister loved that programme for a very long time. That is my excuse, quite genuinely. I have a good memory for lyrics. More disgracefully, I got all of Flower's In the Night Garden characters and made sure that they were watching. Even more disgracefully, I picked up whichever one was on the screen at the time. You know what actually let's stop. I think I am digging.

In my defence, I did it to make Flower laugh. Isn't babies laughing the loveliest of things?

I don't want children (oh goodness, I mentioned that on Christmas Day, and I think I would have got a better reaction had I murdered someone. I am not mentioning that again in a hurry). However, I hope lots of my cousins and friends have them, because they are so wonderful in small amounts. When they are being cute and beautiful and funny.

Eventually, we all ended up in the kitchen (by accident, as opposed to the time that we played a funny game and everyone ended up in there on purpose). Some people were washing up and the cousin who crocheted was eating soup and some people were putting the washing up away. I was making a poem out of magnetic words. And it just felt like togetherness, you know? We were together. It felt good.

Tomorrow, we are all going out for the day, but we're not sure where. I was meant to be doing a workshop, but sometimes there are more important things, so I cancelled last minute. I'm not sure all of my family will be there together, but there will be most of them. The last time there were so many, it was Matt's funeral. And we need to stop doing that- not just us, the whole world. We need to stop going to funerals and saying we really should meet up for a good occasion. Granted, this is not really a good occasion. This would not have happened if Matt were still alive. But still. It is better than nothing.

It is solidarity and togetherness.

I cannot remember the exact last time I saw Matt. I can't remember what I said to him. Probably just bye, see you soon. I think it was not long after Flower was born, when they all came to Bristol, when everything seemed right.

I didn't see him soon. He got ill, and then he died.

When my great-aunt was dying, I had the choice of going to see her or not, and I wasn't sure what to do. So I compromised. I went to see her for a bit, and then I didn't go again, and I'm glad I did it that way.

I'm glad I didn't see Matt when he was ill. Because he was Matt, you know? And he can still be Matt, in my memory. I saw some pictures of when he was very ill, and he was Matt, but he wasn't. I'm glad that's not a memory of mine.

It does make me sad, though, that I can't quite remember the last time I saw him. And that maybe there was a dog walk scheduled for the next day, but maybe I was busy. You never know when you will be seeing someone for the last time.

Grieving is weird. I am not sad, at the moment, at least, no sadder than usual. I am okay. I am full of the love I have for my family, the solidarity and togetherness we share, because this evening really was so very lovely. But grief is still weird, because the world goes on.

No one mentions Matt to me anymore, outside of the family (and even there, it's all a bit weird). Grief is weird, because it's so personal. Because no one wants to ask how are you doing and how have you been. So I don't know whether this is intentional or not, but I feel like people are just expecting me to be over it by now. And most days, I am okay. But some days I am not, and it's really really hard to admit that when it feels like everyone's expecting you to be fine, and also sometimes I feel guilty for bringing him up, when what is there to say?

The guy in the coffee shop the other day smiled exactly like him, and that has been on my mind all week, and this morning I cried the whole way to school, and right now I just really really want to be held as tightly as possible, and to not have to cry by myself, and I just want to feel like some of this is normal, I want someone to validate this and not make me deal with this by myself. I don't want to be the strong one today, I want someone to look after me, because the guy in the coffee shop smiled exactly like him and it's not fair because we never get to see him smile like that ever again.

Oh I don't know.

This evening was really really lovely, anyway, and I am looking forwards to tomorrow. My family is wonderful. Really, really wonderful. I am so lucky, to have the family I have, to have had the experiences and memories and childhood they were all a part of.

Here's to more.