margaret s (1935-2005)

My sympathies, Mark.
Best wishes.

hang on to the things you're glad about, mark, they will get you through. you're in our thoughts.

Mark, I'm so sorry for the hard times you've gone through and the even harder culmination of them. Keep hold of the beautiful memories, and look after yourself.

many thanks and much love to everyone here, and here, and the ilxors - and allagedly ex-ilxors! - who emailed me, and of course everyone who posted help and support here

to marcello and sterl and nath and strongo and others, who worry about saying the right thing or the wrong thing, all i can say from this side is, i'm not sure there is a wrong thing: as billy dods says, there is no "magic pill" - that's not a benchmark you shd should worry about falling short of! it is just nice to hear from people, basically - even if i haven't always replied... and don't assume that what you find to say will be something i don't want to hear, or already know and needn't hear again, or whatever: i posted this on a morning when i wz very stressed and angry, and what matt said, in the second post, was unexpectedly soothing and helpful - i'd simply not thought of things that way before, and at that moment it hit the spot

(also: billy, i'm desperately sorry to hear how hard the time is you've been going through)

several times over the last few days, since i've been back in london and back at work, i've heard a phone ring and wondered momentarily if it was mum, and how things are, hoping to hear that she's feeling a lot better and to chat to her about silly things

i like writing about her and i'm sure i'll continue to do so

the phone ring that you suddenly think is them, it seems to have a different timbre, sometimes. its probably because it happens out of the blue, when you are next expecting anyone, or when you're already lost in thoughts about things. i've never felt sad when i heard those kinds of rings though, even though it would obviously turn out to be someone else..

the door that never opens, even though you're waiting for her to come back home, in the full knowledge that she can't.

the bed I COULDN'T BEAR to sleep in (I slept on the sofa until I left Oxford).

the smell of her clothes in the wardrobe, the smell of HER, still fresh.

the books she never got around to reading.

the music she'll never get to hear again.

and i still can't get past any of this.

but this is not the same thing as losing your mum.

so really i should shut up.

(Er, but not through the power of will or anything)

when my sister died, in 1997 (a couple months after laydee Di died! in fact, I was visiting my sister -for the last time, and i kinda knew it, but didn't want to admit it - when Di became a candle in the wind. Or, wait, was she already a candle in the wind and then she died and became something else? in any case, my brother-in-law and I were watching television when it came on the news and we didn't know whether we should wake my sister or not, because we knew how emotional she got when her fave celebrities left this mortal coil. we didn't wake her. and she was very sad the next day. i'm sure i made jokes. they were the same age. she taught me how to play russian solitaire and then i went home on a plane. and that was it. two months later she was gone. i wanted to go back in time and tell her: don't waste your tears on Di! But that's just the way she was.) one of my BIGGEST fears was that I would forget what her voice sounded like. We weren't one of those modern stone age families with copious audio/video archives. I didn't want to lose her voice in my head. This worried me greatly. Well, as it turned out, she started visiting me regularly. in my dreams! and not in creepy scary dreams, or anything like that. THOSE are reserved for grandpa! NO, more like visitation dreams. I am wandering along and there she is. And she is always happy to see me. And it's really her. And her voice is gloriously her own. and I am always shocked at first. how? but....and i don't actually want to say to her, but you're d.....i feel that would be rude. and i can't believe my luck and i don't want to jinx myself. and we talk. and she is with me. i almost couldn't ask for anything more! at first, it was almost every night. and now, 8 years later, at least once or twice a month. it's sad when she goes or when i wake up, but i'm so happy to have the time. so, something in me wouldn't allow her voice to disappear. that worry I had. or she really is visiting me from her condo in valhalla. one or the other. all i know is, it's a lovely way to remember without spending a lot of money on candles. that time heals all wounds thing. man, it's true and it's not true. the ache lessens over time, but there's a hole there and i don't know if it ever gets completely filled up. i've been trying to fill it with ice cream apparently. i'll let you know if that works.

I've only just found this thread. I'm really sorry, Mark, and I hope you're alright.

Take care, Mark.

I know two other people who've lost their mums very recently - one after a long illness and the other due to a sudden worsening of a condition diagnosed over 20 years ago and thought to be under control. It's hard to know what to say, hard to rein in one's own selfish thoughts about the inevitable day when...

Really sorry to hear about this, Mark. Condolences and best wishes to you and your family.