Concluding my memoir with a description of tougher times in my life, but moments of hope as they pass and I learn from them.
Career wise, my life has been as chequered as it has been socially. My lack of social skills wasn’t a help in getting a job, since I rarely passed interviews. Having studied Biology for my first degree, I tried to get into scientific publishing, but only ever found contract jobs in that field. I had more success in finding work when I took a further degree in Library & Information Studies, for I found permanent work with my local library authority immediately after. It was a job that made excellent use of natural accuracy, desire to help others, my compendious knowledge and, of course, my love of books. Yet while I held this job for more than a decade, I never felt challenged and was never offered promotion. In the end, I sought work in accountancy instead and now work for a vendor financing company out of Watford. The job pays much better and with luck, I shall be there the rest of my working life.
Southeast England is not a cheap place to live and flying the nest is hard when you have no permanent job. While my parents moved to a different and newly built house in 2002, one that was large and comfortable enough to house us all if need be (although Mark moved out in 2007 and stayed out), it’s depressing living at home when you’re fully grown. In the end, my parents helped me invest in a little maisonette in the northern part of St Albans and I’ve lived there comfortably for seven years now. It’s still missing a woman to brighten up the place, but I have not given up looking for one and never will. Perhaps maturity and better prospects will bring one to me naturally.
My life is still full of most of the same friends as ever, even though we now have very different and more responsible lives. Some of them now have children who attend, or attended, the very schools we did. We still get out and do things like gigs, the cinema, curry nights or drinks at the pub, but just as we assumed childhood would never end, so too have we discovered the lie that youth lasts forever. And sadly… neither do people.
I’ve seen many people pass away over the years, the first being my Mum’s father Ernest in 1993, then my other two surviving grandparents in 1999 and 2010. Aunts and uncles have died, as have friends of the family. Yet never did the power of mortality hit me so hard than when my mother died of cancer in 2017.
Mum had been diagnosed with melanoma while in Australia, prompting my parents to come back to England half a year early. For five years she continued life almost as normal, taking holidays, attending special events and helping to support Mark and I. A stranger might never have thought she was sick. Then, in the last half of 2017, the cancer spread, wearing Mum down little by little. Her mental capacity faded. She couldn’t get around without a wheelchair. In the end, we moved her into a hospice because she needed professional palliative care. Mum’s life finally ebbed away one early morning in December. In the end, Mark, Dad and I were relieved she was at peace. The waiting was harder than not having her there.
Yet in all the best ways, Mum’s still there. Her funeral was, ironically, quite a happy day for me, because so many of our friends and relatives came to pay their respects that nobody could doubt that she had been loved and loved others back. I told my cousin Claire to make sure my funeral was just as good if I went first. Ed Sheeran’s song Supermarket Flowers came out the same year Mum died and feels like it could have been written for her. I’ve tried to sing it without crying several times since but it’s impossible. One of Mum’s favourite movies was Four Weddings and a Funeral. It takes on new significance for me now, because I read out Dylan Thomas at the committal, just as John Hannah reads W.H. Auden at the on-screen funeral.
I even discovered a wonderful picture book at the library which could have been written in memoriam for my mother. It’s called My Mum is a Lioness and the author and illustrator unwittingly described Mum to a T. The mother depicted in the book does nearly everything with her children that Mum used to do with Mark and I; at home, in the park, at school plays, on sports days, everywhere. She even has shoulder length brown hair and glasses, just like Mum did. That’s the reason I bought myself a copy at the same time I did for Cousin Claire’s baby son.
Since Mum passed, Dad has remained active and in good health, and has even started a relationship with a new woman, who he met through bereavement counselling. Her name’s Irene and we are getting along famously. She’s giving me the same comfort and companionship that Mum used to, even though my memories of Mum remain just as precious. Better still, Irene has a cockapoo named Maizee who I’m helping to look after in the hope I will soon have a dog of my own. It can’t be a big one since I don’t have a big place, but until I meet a woman I want to marry (fingers still crossed), the little guy will be good company, if I can keep him well. My friend Vicky’s family has kept Cavalier King Charles spaniels for donkey’s years and I think one of those would be perfect.
As for Mark, sadly, he’s not around as often. He married a Canadian woman named Alisa and now lives in Nova Scotia. It’s a terrible shame I can’t just simply take the train to visit him (they used to live near Greenwich), but maybe we’ll be able to spend some nice shared holidays over there in future. Last year we marked his 40th birthday with a big party in Montreal. Who knows how many special occasions he’ll host there as the years go by? Perhaps I’ll add places like Toronto, Banff or Vancouver to my travel bucket list, so we can visit together.
Life may well be half over, but who’s to say the best is behind me? In 2023, a new confidence is rising in me. Losing Mum has woken me up and made me all the more determined to live while I have the time. My new job is bringing in more money and it allows me to work from home. That means I can get out in the evenings more often and potentially meet new people. I know even less socially adept men who’ve married good women, or found good relationships. So in the end, there’s always hope in your life, and you must never give up on yourself. Whoever is reading this, make sure to live until the day you die. Because I know I will.
rpatersonwriting 