On Your Own Cocker

Sometimes life puts you in a room full of strangers, only to remind you that you’re not as alone as you feel. This is what happened to me a few weeks ago.

I’ve been sitting with this experience for a while now, trying to find the right words to explain something that, even today, I’m still processing.

I attended a private evening of mediumship. It was the first night my friend had done in front of an audience and going to support her was always going to be the choice, no matter how uncomfortable I felt. It was held in a beautiful venue called The Circle, in Lancashire. An old church that has been transformed into the most magnificent space. The history of the building was still very much alive. The grand windows, the architecture and the little reminders of what the building once was. There was something quite special and warming about being there.

I didn’t know many people attending, although I knew the medium personally as a friend. There were only around 25 of us, and despite the intimate setting, walking into a room full of strangers felt a little daunting. I ordered myself a latte and sat down on an empty table. A few minutes later 3 lovely ladies joined me. We introduced ourselves and started chatting. I suddenly didn’t feel as alone as I did 5 minutes earlier. It’s funny how in one moment your whole feelings can change with just a simple act of kindness.

As the evening began the room fell silent. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. There was a warmth in that room that I am struggling to put into words. A feeling of love, calmness and peace. Whether that came from the people the surroundings or something far greater than any of us, I couldn’t tell you. I just know I felt it.

Then as the evening progressed, these people that had been strangers were becoming part of my story. They were getting messages that not only meant the world to them but I felt even less alone. I was now sitting in a room full of people who felt just like me!

A MESSAGE I WASN’T EXPECTING.

I went into this evening with an open mind. The medium was as explained a friend who had been there at the end of the phone non stop since the passing of my parents. A part of me was wondering if she could actually give me anything more than she already knew about me. The next few minutes left me with more questions than answers and a real appreciation for the most amazing lady.

As the medium turned to me ‘This one is for you Gemma’ were the words that she let out. My heart sank a little and I felt the whole room look in my direction. Inside part of me was saying ‘no,no,no’ in a way I didn’t want to get a message. I didn’t feel ready, especially with a room full of strangers, but I had no choice, my message was coming.

It was a late Auntie that came through for my Mum, apparently Mum is still weak from her illness but needed me to hear what had to be said. Straight away there was a mention of a pendant that had the word Mum on it. She was saying I needed to keep this and wear it. I knew exactly which one straight away. It wasn’t just a piece of jewellery. It was something that belonged to her, something she had worn, something that had held a part of her story.

Then there was a letter. A letter that would bring something much deeper to the surface.

THE LETTER THAT WAITED YEARS TO BE UNDERSTOOD.

When I was in my early teens, my mum had wrote me a letter. At the time, I was angry at the amount I missed out on as a child with a Mum who had caring responsibilities to her disabled Brother, Uncle Ivan. I was a teenager, I didn’t understand the weight she was carrying. I just saw what I was missing out on.

In that letter, Mum tried to explain herself. She wrote about the torment she felt being pulled in different directions. About trying to care for everyone, trying to meet everybody’s needs and the guilt that came with never feeling like she could do enough.

I remembered her giving me that letter all them years ago! But I never fully understood it then, not until now. Reading those words again brought a mixture of emotions that I hadn’t expected. I felt sadness that I hadn’t understood her all them years ago. Sadness that I couldn’t go back to that teenage girl and explain what her Mum was going through. Because years later, I had lived almost exactly the same experience. The responsibility, the exhaustion, the guilt, the constant battle between being a mother, a wife, a daughter and a carer. The feeling of being torn between the people you love, knowing that somebody always needs you and that there simply aren’t enough hours in the day to be everything to everyone.

I wasn’t just reading my mum’s words. I was reading my own life!

Then the questions started creeping in. Was that my burden to carry? Was the family burden passed to me? Two different generations, two different circumstances. Yet so many of the same emotions.

Yet amongst the sadness was something else. Something quite beautiful. JOY! Because suddenly I had something that felt incredibly personal between Mum and me. A letter written all those years ago, from her heart, that somehow meant more to me today than it ever could have when she first give it me. As a teenager, I read it as a daughter who desperately wanted her Mum. Now in my forties, I read it as a daughter who finally understood. I can’t go back and tell Mum that I was sorry I hadn’t understood her struggles. I couldn’t sit across from her with a cup of tea and tell her that I knew exactly how she had felt. But perhaps the most beautiful part of it all was realising that Mum had left me something far more valuable than a possession. She had left me a piece of herself. I piece I hadn’t been ready to understand until I had walked a very similar path.

She wrote that letter to the girl I was, but it was the woman I became who finally understood it.

THE WORDS I DIDN’T KNOW I NEEDED.

Mum thanked me. She thanked me for looking after her, for staying when everyone left, for caring for her and for keeping my promise. I don’t think I can fully explain what those words meant. When you spend years caring for somebody, your days become consumed by their needs. You don’t stop to think about whether you’re doing enough. You just keep going because there is no other option. You get tired, overwhelmed, moments you wonder how you’re going to get through another day. But you do, because you love them and they need you!

When that person makes their journey to heaven something inside you dies with them. Its a strange feeling, one that I am yet to find the words for. But there is always a question left behind. Did I do enough? Did she know how much I loved her. To hear those words of thanks, whether you believe in the after life or not, brought me a feeling of peace that I had been missing. I never cared for Mum because I wanted gratitude or recognition. I did it because she was my Mum.

WHEN OUR PARENTS BECOME PEOPLE.

I’ve thought a lot about that evening since. About the pendant, the letter and about Mum’s words of thanks. About our boy Cohen who also came through but that is another blog. But more than anything I have been thinking how grief changes the way we understand our lives. When I was a teenager, I couldn’t understand why my Mum couldn’t put everything aside for me. Years later, I became the woman who couldn’t put everything aside because somebody else depended on me. As a teenager I read that letter with disappointment. As a woman I read it with compassion. And maybe that is one of the greatest changes that comes with age, experience and loss.

I wish I could sit with Mum now and tell her that I understand. That I know how hard it must have been. That I know what it feels like to have your heart pulled in different directions while trying not to let anybody down. But perhaps I don’t need to say those words out loud for them to have a meaning. I have her letter. And now, I finally have the understanding to go with it.

For many years my Mum put the needs of others before her own. She was a carer, a mother, a wife and somebody who always seemed to have people depending on her. And without realising it, I followed her path. I became the person everybody needed. The person that kept going. The person who put her own life on hold because somebody else needed them, and now its like an empty space that seems never ending. Maybe I did carry that burden, but now its time to let this family burden end with me.

I went to The Circle not knowing what to expect. I walked into a room full of strangers feeling nervous and uncertain and I left with a renewed sense of love, a deeper understanding of my Mum and some questions that may take a lifetime to answer. I know not everybody believes in mediumship or life after death, and that’s absolutely fine. I’m not writing this to convince anybody. I’m writing this because it happened to me, because it meant something to me and because it has helped me look at parts of my life differently. That evening reminded me that even after we die, we still shape the people we love. The answers I have searched for had been waiting quietly in an old letter all along. Thank you Mum.

Until next time.