Solitude

These days I am more alone. This is true in the sense that I am around fewer people. In another sense I have been forced to learn that for me to put the hours in to learn to live again after monumental psychological shifts due to my grief, I internalised many of my thoughts and used very personal methods to address them- I have read and continue to read about psychological models of grief counselling, the philosophical and humanist address of grief, ethics and "how to live" and I follow blogs and books about others' coping mechanisms after experiencing similar loss. Through grief my skills of reflection and introspection have sharpened and, with it, an increased comfort with aloneness. In addition I have learnt consideration. Consideration of others, of self, of my environment. 

The greater attention I now direct towards the small and subtle provides stimulus that can fill my mind as if I can now peer down a microscope at a world previously beyond my scope, a world that perversely has grown and grown even though I am focusing on finer and finer detail. Learning how to cope with my grief has taught me the importance of looking, really looking, at things previously dismissed as unimportant and inconsequential. My world now demands this of me. 

To be lonely is to feel isolated and alienated. To be lonely is to feel disconnected and separate from myself and my surroundings. But I cannot be lonely when I relate to others, to ideas, to living and non-living things. I am defended from loneliness by the trees on my walks, the sea less than a mile from my door, the chilled air I gasp on a run, the bread I bake, my cats and beautiful, ugly and interesting things. My loneliness is kept jailed by the hills I can see from my home, my patients at work, good tools in the kitchen, the shed and online, a real paper book, electricity, education and a huge array of other micro saviours. 

When I am solitary I move at my own pace. It is my own pace that provides the deepest state of comfort to me and, as a relaxed and autonomous agent I am free to imagine and explore as freely as possible. It is only when I am solitary that my heart rate, my circadian rhythm and my brain are at their most natural state. Behind solitary allows me the safety to lose myself. 

Being alone is a fact. Being lonely or enjoying solitude are emotions. This is key- appreciating the control I can have over my feelings about being solitary. If I am alone with my thoughts I need to exercise enough discipline to be an autonomous agent. It follows, for me, that to appreciate self-determination I need an uncluttered, introspective and, most importantly, solitary examination.

I know I am very lucky in many ways. One of those ways is that, on the whole, I like myself. I am unsure how common or rare this may be and although I am acutely aware as to how arrogant I may sound I try to avoid grandiosity and unrealistic expectations of myself- I hope to be as honest as possible. 

Only when I am solitary, either alone or in company, can a type of individualism emerge in that I can experience a strong sense of self. Being solitary encourages a reinforcement of foundations and a sharpening of borders. In turn this promotes a type of liberty, a freedom from destructive influences. 

Anyone that survives the death of their child and has the courage to keep on moving has earned the right to self-respect. It is extremely tough to be comfortably alone unless you like the person you are alone with and so I allow myself this fragile authenticity. 

"And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music"

Why I run

Some things have instrumental value whereby we perceive it in terms of its usefulness such as running being healthy or helping us to get thinner, medicine making us well and of food being fuel. 

But some things have an intrinsic value whereby their value is in and of itself and not defined by its use.  We rarely recognise many things of intrinsic value and are therefore inexperienced at identifying so many obvious sources of pleasure right in front of us. 

I run, as I travel in life, alone. Well I am not truly alone in life of course, I have Claire and Tom and friends and family. But I usually feel alone (as distinct from "lonely") and have a tendency to rely on my own perceived prescience, ideology and route to arrive at conclusions and goals. This is not to say I am disconnected from the influence of others, far from it- in immodest moments I pride myself on my empathy and listening skills- but even though I am the person I have become because of my love for Claire, Tom and Ruby and their love for me, I am, in essence, solitary. We all are in the end. 

I run, as I travel in life, alone. I have never run with anyone else and I don't want to. I move at my own speed, under my own power towards my own chosen goal down my chosen path. If I wish. And if I don't wish it then I don't. I don't know what my personal bests are. I don't know my fastest times over a run or over a mile or up a hill or compared to any other runner. I don't know my average pace. All I count is my distance and, even then, I don't really care too much as long as I am running. I have never run in a race. Never done an organised marathon or half marathon or 10k. Never done a "fun run". I have never run "for charity". I just run for me and for the sake of running. 

My only company is my music which has only an instrumental value in assisting me push one foot in front of the other. I pass other runners and we nod almost imperceptibly. When I am "in" the run, not just running, not warming up or cooling down, not the last few hardest miles but when I am in the run my mind is free. This is how I know I am in my run- when my mind is free to wander as with my body. My body in the run feels loose and warm, full of potential, and capable of climbing mountains. It is not travelling from A to B. It has no goal except to move, to be in transit, and it could go on forever. In that moment, however brief, my mind is free too. And when I wander I also wonder. In that moment I think I can be happy. Running frees me from the illusion of what is important. It frees me from the pretence of what is essential.

I am hardwired to run as are we all. I need nothing to run, not really even shoes, no wheels, no tools, no fuel outside my own stores. There is nothing propelling me apart from my own muscles. I love the brutal honesty about that- I cannot coast, I cannot change gear (that is walking), nothing else will push me along- I either run or I stop. And that's that. 

Solitary running allows me the space to settle into my own very personal rhythm. Through the effort I put in I earn my right to this. Running with others, as with walking together, forces me to change my pace, my rhythm, my mind to an unatural state of unwanted connection; an attached "elsewhereness" in place of the desired liberation. 

These moments of free thought provide the only true meditative times in my life. I cannot make a prior commitment to myself to use that time to work through a problem or weigh up an issue worth consideration. I cannot "empty my mind" as traditional meditation would have me do and I wouldn't want to do this anyway- I don't want to be bereft of thoughts because there are too many interesting and important ideas in need of my respects. When I am in my run I free my mind as with gentle dreaming, I give it permission to let it roam its own course, meandering and drifting. 

Every blog entry I have written was germinated on a run. And when I return and I calm and I cool and I refuel I can then start the process of focusing the initial thoughts into a coherent idea and thereafter understandable prose. Many ideas don't make it of course but the point is that few worthwhile ideas come from thoughts borne outside a run. If my body moves my mind moves. 

My grandfather, an enthusiastic trout fisherman, was not one for conversation but he told me when I was very young that still waters can turn poisonous and the healthiest fish are spawned in the fastest flows. He wasn't wrong. 

Why I love my children differently

I wanted to teach Ruby about feminism. I wanted to instill values of freedom of enquiry, reason and independence of mind with regards to encouraging the importance of equality and acceptable difference in others. I wanted to teach Ruby she was as valuable as any other human being and certainly of equal value, as accepted in societal norms, to any man. I wanted my girl to be a girl, whatever that means, and also to be a woman unafraid of anything, certainly no man. I wanted Ruby to be Ruby and not be subliminally moulded by persistent societal pressure into a sex-object or a victim or a prop or a foil.

I wanted to teach Ruby she had claim to as many of the planet's resources as any man and also the same responsibilities to its protection, immunity to punishment because of behaviour deemed unacceptable from a woman, impunity to gender-based economic inequality, absolute birth-control and corporeal autonomy. I wanted her to know that her gender should never, ever, hinder job prospects, relationship desires, travelling opportunities or education. She would be entitled to total exemption from restrictions placed on her because she was a woman. 

She could vote and therefore change the governing party of her country, a right that many people, particularly women, had fought and died for. 

I would have taught her online awareness of misogynist, faceless bullies and also the joy of online education and connection with billions of other people. 

I would have taught her that she could have been almost anything she wanted to be and the few things she couldn't be were not connected to her gender but the imperfect genes inherited from me. 

I would have taught her the value in being sceptical and questioning everything but particularly the patriarchal status quo. 

I would have taught her she was the most loveable woman in the world and that her heart could connect with anyone regardless of language, cultural difference, life experiences or geographical and psychic location and I would explain that although many people would want her heart, it was hers first. She wouldn't be giving it away but she would be sharing it. She would need to chose wisely. 

I would have taught her she would always be my baby, my first child, born in the early days of an intense, deep and obviously life-long love affair with her mum and that she was loved and was wanted more than air. She still is.

The stark reality

I last saw Ruby two years, seven months and five days ago today. I remain without her. 

Little dragonfly hunter, 

I wonder where you are off to today

-Lady Heguri

Maintaining wellness

Do things you enjoy- "me time" can be of great value to our mental health. To create time for yourself is to say "I am worth it, I am valuable".

Make a list of things that make you happy to think about- Not things to do, just things to think about to remind yourself of fun times- a music gig, a night with a great lover, a hill climbed, a "personal best" at the gym,

Relax- There are many types of meditation to explore: popular at the moment is mindfulness, a method of meditation that focuses on trying to empty your mind and to lose focus on worrying thoughts. Deep breathing exercises. Create an imaginary safe place. Click here for instructions. 

Do nothing- look out the window, people-watch, wonder, day dream, stare into space. Much of our time is spent being as busy and constructive as possible and it is often of great psychic value to let our minds wander here and there at its own pace. Create brain breathing space.

Interact- People with friends live longer, can have a stronger sense of community and are more aware of their place within it. When we interact we learn, we grow, we develop.

Eat well- A decent breakfast will set you up for the day and you will be less likely to munch on snacks before lunch. Ingest useful nutrients including your five-a-day and your energy levels will increase. Learning new cooking skills is not only practical but can provide a sense of achievement that will carry over into other aspects of your personality. Eating regularly maintains the stability of your blood sugar levels which can have a knock-on effect of improving your mood. In relation, unstable blood sugar levels have been shown to lower your mood. 

Sleep- Keeping active during the day improves sleep at night (do not exercise in the evening as the increased levels of adrenaline may keep you awake). No caffeine after your evening meal as it affects your ability to get to sleep for many hours. "Blue light" (the space of the light spectrum emitted by smartphones and tablets) has similar properties to natural daylight- it tricks your brain into thinking it is time to wake up and get breakfast. Your bedroom needs to be quiet, dark and the right temperature. Use an eye-mask and earplugs. Do things that relax you.

Exercise your body and brain- Short walks or marathon running, a stroll to the shop instead of taking the bus or getting off the bus a few stops early, using the stairs instead of the lift, cycling and swimming. Exercise helps your body create endorphins, a series of more than twenty chemicals that reduce pain and improve mood. Read something unusual- a puzzle or test or an unfamiliar story. Think about the story- how could it have been different? how do you feel about the characters or the storyline?- and stretch your brain.

Create- bake buns, knit, sketch, colour in, bend bits of wire into something pleasing, play with Lego, whittle a branch, try some of those fun activities you did as a child. Remember water soluble glue and scrunched up paper? Not just for children!

Give- make a cake for someone, make a picture for someone- it will always be appreciated. Tidy a garden. Volunteer your time. You will never regret being kind.

Consider yourself and your environment- What can I do with myself and the space around me to make my life, and that of others, more worthwhile, more fun, happier and of greater value? Time is valuably spent closely considering this. Some people use their religious convictions to approach this, others use a humanist or philosophical framework to explore the substance of the meaning of our lives. The key is "consideration"- an active thoughtful process of working through propositions of who you want to be and how you want to behave. And then doing it. The essence of it is to be the person you want to be.

Learn to say "no", "maybe later", "only when I feel different", "talk to me", "this is for your benefit too" and other comments designed to protect and strengthen your resolve.

Perform random acts of kindness because everyone benefits.

I love the NHS

I may be having elective surgery next year. These are the tests I had today, free in the NHS, in preparation. 

Full Blood Picture 

Liver Function Test

Cholesterol level

Urea and electrolytes 

Coagulation screen

Testing for Hepatitis A, B and C, HIV and syphilis 

Body weight and blood pressure

Cannula insertion into my arm

Ultrasound of kidneys and bladder

DMSA (dimercaptosuccinic acid) injection 

EDTA (ethylenediaminetetraacetic acid) injection

Electrocardiography (ECG) test

Chest X-ray 

Blood set

DMSA scan

Next blood set

Urine test

MRSA swabs

Next blood set

X-ray Computed Tomography (CT) scan

One to one with medical consultant including physical exam.

The NHS is an internationally admired system and rightly so. I received all these (very expensive but necessary) tests for free to help me and the staff decide if the process of surgery can continue. If, as a result, I needed medication or other treatment I know this would also be free and immediate. 

The NHS is such a beautifully simple example of humanist and socialist principles at their best- national taxation funds almost everything in a system agreeably appreciated by every resident of the U.K. at some time in their lives and is an evidence-based lifeline kept operating by over one million employees around half of which have a clinical training and, though they earn half their worth, remain working due to their ethical beliefs and moral principles. That the sense of cooperative and colaberative ownership is pervading when working in, and using, the NHS most people have called it "my NHS". And it is mine. I fund it, I own part of it, I use it, I can easily work in it. And this is also for the good of every person visiting and living in the U.K. 

My hope is that the fundamental integrity and codes of practice of the NHS could be translated to international relations -connections based on universal assistance, evidence-based practice, equality and so on- so humans can be brought together in their shared community for the good of all. Just a dream maybe but we all need to dream. 

Look to where you want to be

When I learnt to ride a motorbike as a teenager we were taught, hourly and with anxiety, the dangers of target fixation. It is a hangover from our days as early humans- we would roam the plains of Africa, the cradle of us all, eyeing tasty animals to hunt. If we were startled by a predator and were forced into a quick getaway we would need to keep an eye on the danger posed to us as we ran. This is target fixation. In modern times the branch in the road that we drive over is unlikely to do us harm if we are fixed on its presence and find ourselves veering towards it and over it, as is the prescient incarnation of this phenomena. On a motorbike, however, it could prove lethal which is why, to bikers, target fixation is something well worth being aware. We can then train our brain to recognise dangerous objects in the road, register them as something to avoid, raise our eyes to the next bend and make a swift detour all in barely the blink of an eye. We need to look ahead to where we want to go and not be distracted by local disruptions to provide ourselves with the greatest chance of survival. We look to where we want to be. 

During advanced driving instruction we are taught to lose focus on our immediate surroundings- the steering wheel, gears, pedals- to keep our head up and look at where we want to go. We look towards the apex of the bend to get round it successfully. We look up the road towards the horizon when doing a u-turn to stop our distractions of local pot-holes. We look at the peak of the hill and not the local bumps and troughs in between. We look to where we want to be. 

Cognitive behavioural therapy is based on the theory that we are likely to get to where we want to go if we act as if we are there- our thoughts and actions should be conciously controlled and under our assumption and, as a consequence, our related feelings change to a more positive state. The assumption is that our thoughts, feelings and behaviours are intrinsically linked and have strong influence over each other. It focuses on the present and future feelings and does not become distracted by past events. If I take a structured and consciously different approach to how I perceive spiders, for example, by rationalising their size and danger, understanding how useful they are as predators and physically being nearer to one than is normally comfortable then my phobia-related behaviour (anxiety, panic, avoidance of certain places) will reduce. I conciously vary my perception and behaviours and thereafter my feelings change. I have to look to where I want to be. 

In is a truism in psychotherapy and counselling that people who look forward to major changes in their life as having potential for something positive instead of feeling that changes are a stopping of something important can cope better with those inevitable changes. Optimistic people live longer and healthier lives than pessimistic ones, generally. 

If someone expriences a traumatic event, for example being held hostage or being in a plane crash, they are less likely to be distressed for the longer term if they can envisage an end goal of escape. That they will leave their current difficulty is a huge support to reducing the permanency of psychic pain. 

There are many other factors that can increase the severity of trauma-related illness (for example the sudden or repeated trauma or the intense powerlessness) but being able to focus on the future free from this current dreadful situation can assist a speedier return to a sense of normality. We have to look to where we want to be. 

Arguably the greatest philosophical question that can be posed is "what is the meaning of life". The answer is simple- the meaning of your life is what you make it. What do you want to make of your life and how do you achieve it? There is little disputing the fact that you are much more likely to achieve your goal of a more fruitful, rewarding and happier existence if you act like the person you want to be and start the journey immediately towards the endeavours that result in the rewards you desire. 

We need to look towards where we want to be to get there. 

How to listen.

If a tree falls in a forest and there is no-one to hear it, does it make a sound?

No it does not. For a sound to be made there needs to be a listener. Unless a receiver (such as an ear) is present the changes in air pressure brought about by the movemeant of air molecules cannot be detected, registered and analysed as the stimulus we indentify as sound. If there is no-one, no animal or no electronic device to "hear" it, the falling tree makes no sound. Sounds exists only if there is a listener. 

As a mental health practitioner I am acutely aware of the importance of being a good listener, of listening "well" primarily because of the reason alluded to above. A speaker needs a listener as corroborator of their information and as proof of their presence. Theirs is a mutual relationship where the listener does not simply react to the speaker but is an active participant- the listener is interacting not reacting. As with the falling tree, the speaker makes no sound if there is no receiver to interact with them. My clients', my patients' and my colleagues' views have been authenticated by my actions of listening actively. Their existence, as a spokeperson, has been validated. 

In addition to being a simple receiver of stimuli the skilled listener uses their empathy to increase the bond of reciprocity by psychically placing themselves in the speakers' position. But for greater accuracy of understanding and a hopeful correlative bond the listener tries to imaginatively be the speaker. This is the difference between simple empathy ("what would I feel in their position"), which is the basic level of skilled listening, and a more advanced type of character and problem analysis employing a recognition of others' strengths and weaknesses.

The listener and the speaker have a fluid relationship where information is shared back and forth. The listener is not passive nor the speaker active but they are both equivalent and complementary actors in their interdependence. There is no weight of conversational responsibility on the speaker to lecture the listener nor on the listener themselves to be a dispassionate observer but instead there exists a relationship between speaker, listener, the ebb and flow of the information itself and, finally, the future space for develoments. 

This is synchronicity. And it is indicative of great learning experiences within our shared human community. It is empowering to be such an active participant and we would do well to recognise it as such. 

Someone I Miss, by Ruby's friend

This is an essay that Ruby's close friend, Poppy (13), wrote about her for her English class and agreed to let me put here. It crystallises the closeness of a personal story told through lovely innocent eyes. 

Someone I miss

Someone I miss is my best friend Ruby who died in 2013.

Ruby had dark brown hair that was a pixie cut. Her eyes were bright blue. She had a scar down her chest which she was a little embarrassed about but made her different because of the reason behind it. She was very tall and always teased me about being smaller than her. 

Ruby and I had so many memories together that it would be hard to write them all out, but these are some of my favourites. One of my favourites was sharing the same age for 2 months until she became a year older we had always looked forward to that.

I remember all of the Halloweens, Christmas’s we spent together but our summers together were definitely the best. I remember going on long walks with Ruby and her mum. On Halloween we always went trick or treating and dressed up. One of my favourite memories was when we found out that Ruby was expecting a baby brother we were so excited. I think I could really go on forever about all our memories there’s so many!!

Ruby was like my older sister, always there for me and would back me up with everything. She always helped me with my homework’s and told me to never give up with ballet.

I admire Ruby for her bravery because she would always give everything a go and never gave up. Ruby never cared what anyone thought of her and was always herself around everyone.

Ruby had a really good personality she was kind, funny, smart and creative. If anyone was ever upset she would always do her best to cheer them up.

 

We had always had our ups and downs but were best friends no matter what.

 

 

I miss ruby because of how close we were, when I lost her it was like loosing a brother or sister. There’s not a day where I don’t think about her or miss her. I didn’t really know how to feel when I heard what happened I was scared, confused, worried, sad and shocked. I was scared because I didn’t know what was going to happen.

I also miss ruby because of all the times, memories and fun we had together, I remember going to Barry’s and I was scared to go on the Big Dipper but she said it’ll be ok so I went on it and I was really nervous but Ruby said just hold my hand it’ll be so much fun, I ended up having a great time and wasn’t scared again, she helped me through so much.

I’ll never forget any of the times we had together.

The last time we had together was really good, Claire, Ruby’s mum was taking us into town to get the rest of the stuff Ruby needed for her school trip and to get us lunch. We had a sleepover the night before and I remember it being one of the funniest nights ever. We had made pancakes that morning and made faces with them. In town there was a festival on and we spent hours watching the funny acts, our favourite was the ones with fire.

I remember driving home that evening blasting the music and singing at the top of our voices.

I never would have even tried to imagine that being our last car ride, day or time together I was forever expecting her home in 5 days’ time telling me all about her school trip to Scotland, she had been so excited about going and I couldn’t believe what had happened.

 

 

I was so lucky to have had her as my best friend, really lucky to have known her, been so close with her and having her in my life.

I’ll never forget her and I think of her every day. This is why I miss Ruby.

 

By Poppy 9P

An unedited slightly drunk poem about Ruby

I Cant Cook Pancakes Anymore

She used to hold my hand (I pretended I was in charge)

My rock climber,

Her forehead was rough from chicken pox

My sweet-cheeks.

She is a permanent part of me, 

My tattoo love.

I never let her fall, 

My babe in arms.

What an unatural progress,

My gorgeous weirdo.

She was an apology for life's failings, 

My beautiful distraction.

The universe should have taken me first, 

My red giant.

No more singing and dancing

My darlin', my lass.

And no rudder in the epic stillness,

My guiding star.

No longitude, no latitude, 

My micrometer, my compass,

No pressure relief,

My barometer

She pointed me home, 

My Polaris.

I dream of her running and turning her head to me,

My reverie,

I dream of her smiling my way,

My south facing window.

I am missing an ingredient

My sous chef,

So I cook nothing with eggs,

My egg cracker. 

Brief moments of happiness this week

-Being entirely distracted by a tiny bird with one leg hoping and zig-zagging across the busy city pavement.

-The good ache after a long run

-Cycling downwind 

-Claire's half-asleep eyes in the morning

-Really great coffee

-Time to do nothing

-A successful presentation to people more skilled and trained than me

-A new recipe for vegetarian paella

-Making a beautiful working bicycle 

-Nuzzling the cats

-A friends' hand on my forearm when I cried

-Claire's hand on my knee when I'm driving

-Gutteral laughs at a stupid, uncynical just-plain-damn-funny joke

-My morning commute on the bike with good weather, a perfect path and beautiful scenery

-Lego with Tom

-A warm hug from a male friend that isn't insecurely tight (and no slapped backs)

-Homemade buns from conception to eating in 25 minutes

-Others' empathy

-A perfectly written rom com 

-Tardigrades 

-Receiving a telephone service from someone I can hear smiling

-The scientific miracle of modern medication (this week paracetamol, antibiotics, antidepressants and ibuprofen due to a nasty bug)

-Proper gin

Hiking on Ruby's 14th Birthday

It was Ruby's 14th birthday last weekend.

As with her 13th birthday Claire and I tried to create a balance between keeping distracted, constructive and calm. We were also sensitive to our immediate levels of anxiety and were conscious of being good to ourselves and to each other. 

Last year we completed a cycle ride for the charity that had been so helpful for us after Ruby died. This year we decided to complete a hike through the North Antrim hills in support of a heart charity here in Northern Ireland. By coincidence the hike took place directly on her birthday. We had been raising money online for weeks and so, with a mix of trepidation and excitement we brushed off our walking boots, splashed out on new rucksacks and packed a Mars bar multipack.

It didn't start well. Within one mile we were lost, all 25 of us. It appears that the walking club that organised the hike had messed up with instructions and the second turn ended up in a dead end instead of the beginnings of the first trail. So we backtracked and made a plan that, as we needed to head north, we would head in a straight line as that is the shortest path between two points. The straight line took us over peat bogs, marsh land, a local mountain and barbed wire fences. I'm uncertain whether our route was even legal but it certainly was a serious endeavour. 

We finished after 15 miles instead of the planned 11 and after hiking without a second of rest for 5 hours non-stop. 

But damn it was fun! Tough, wet, muddy fun. We were coated in muck, boots wet through, scratched and grazed and we admitted we would never have started had we known how hard it would be. 

Our true journey started when we got lost. We had to exert great effort to put one foot in front of the other at times but we knew that no matter how rocky the road, no matter how deep the boggy marsh we must not stop. We must not stop. 

From the outset we were thrown into unknown territory without a map. All we had were hastily scrawled directions which were all but useless. As our hike progressed we warmed to its unfamiliarity and began to point ourselves in the right direction. We executed plans to look ahead along wire fences, to plot a vague route over fields and direct our line of sight towards higher drier ground. We navigated dense woods, jumped water filled ditches and clambered over fallen trees. 

Eventually our path cleared a little, straightened a little and we able to look further ahead and prepare a more comfortable course of our own. The last six miles were stony but straight. We could enjoy the view and we could laugh a little more. We realised we were enjoying ourselves.
 

Our sponsored cycle ride on Rubys' 13th birthday followed a similar route- we travelled along a poorly planned route which entailed carrying our bikes up and down steps, skidding across sandy rocks and nearly falling in the sea. For both last year and for this year the startling resemblance to our journey of grief is immediately apparent- the shock of the unknown, the immediacy of being adrift, expecting the unexpected, the toil of navigation and so on- and that connection is very relevant to our appreciation of our progress. We move, move, move and we always proceed. There is constant flux and evolution. Persistent change.
Our weekend was filled with walking, cycling, cooking, eating, socialising, routine chores and a little gin. It was an easy busyness that suited us at that time in that place.
Of course we cried too- it was, after all, Ruby's 14th birthday- and we wondered who she would be now, at 14 years old.
We will continue to develop new coping mechanisms over time. For now, this is as much as we can do.
It has been two years, four months and one week since she died. We remain without her.

New and Old without Ruby

I have to go through new experiences without Ruby in my life and I also have to revisit previous experiences without Ruby in my life. 

To hear a new song, read a new book, try new food, to make a new friend, I have to do these things without her. I can't share the encounter with her or feel the joy of a shared adventure. The lack of Ruby is all-pervading. There are different levels of understanding and appreciation of these experiences and, in all of them, I am slightly more alone than I used to be. From now on I am the new me in my new normal, that is to say, I am missing something. Maybe it is like seeing a beatiful landscape newly blinded in one eye or hearing a symphony unable to appreciate half the tones. New experiences can be chromatically faded or atonal. I am in the present but without. 

To revisit an old event- to hear an old song, to read an old book, to eat food she liked- hurts in a different way as it reopens recently closed wounds. There are many songs I can't listen to, lots of food I can't go near, streets I can't walk down. There are, very gradually, songs I make myself listen to, food I force myself to cook, streets I will tentively and hastily take a short cut through all of which have a direct route to my heart and to my grief.

Occasionally I am caught unaware by a song on the radio that I know she loved or catch a few seconds of a movie on TV she may have incessantly watched, as children do, and the suddenness of that unique jolt is like putting my hand on a hot kettle- I recoil instinctively and with tears of shock. 

These different but similar occurrences, with their variations of effect and connection, evolve over time like a sand dune shifting under a persistent zephyr. I know this is all part of griefs' evolution and I know I must expect the unexpected but the constant reminders of something not present can be grinding. It shifts though and that's what counts. 

The Foreign Land

Being shocked into grief is like crash landing into a foreign land. We are unaware of the new culture and customs. We have no language with which to communicate our feelings and we wander aimlessly in a daze, disconnected from the alien reality we are forced to engage with. 

We can continue to wander and be dazed and disconnected or we can choose the usually more difficult option of facing our grief head on and try to make sense of it all. It is sometimes easier on our fragile minds if we maintain a sense of disassociation as we are "hardwired" to do- a coping mechanism that has evolved over hundreds of thousands of years- to psychologically distance ourselves from trauma so we can continue to hunt, gather, make shelter, procreate, etc. Sometimes it can simply be too hard, through our fog of exhaustion, to put in the now extraordinary effort needed to stare at grief through subjective eyes. If we wish or if it is demanded of us we can maintain our sense of being a foreigner with no common language and try to look out through the opaque prism of anxiety and otherness. But we would be forever distrusting, vigilant and alert, squinting at an angle through our half-closed eyes. 

But there comes a time in the life of most aggrieved people when we have to learn how to navigate this new place. Maybe this comes from the loneliness and aloneness of grief, maybe this comes from griefs' ability to be an occasional mirror to our own character and we recognise our own poverty of control, maybe this comes from an evolution of language creation, of an increased communication in this new place as individual words, sentences and eventual conversations are exchanged. However this comes about we need to learn not just its geography but its customs and habits, the newness of things without our loved one, the considerations it forces upon us. We have to map the roads, learn the side-streets, make ourselves familiar with the locals. Simply put, we have to put the hours in. There are no shortcuts. 

What does this new place- grief- look like? This new place looks as unique to us as the uniqueness of grief is to all aggreived people. This new place is us. My grief is a reflection of me because when I take great time and great consideration of introspection I find myself looking back, albeit a facet of me I have never seen before. 

We find that this land is not fixed. Some roads were put down a long time ago and are cracked with the weight of age, some are freshly laid but some, with courage, we can pave ourselves. Always there is the unfamiliarity of walking through new places without our loved one beside us, a nearby vacuum where there will never be light. But as they have helped shape the person we have become through our shared love, their past life will help us shape our future. They might not be with us in our new land but their influence is ever present. If our love for them, and theirs for us, is so influential that it makes us look into our grief with courage and curiosity, maybe this new land might not be so daunting after all. 

Beautiful things that have caught my eye recently

Man Ray- Hand on Lips, 1929

This one is purely for joy.

Whenever I see this photograph I feel like I am falling in love.

Coping with change

It is a truism in counselling that one's ability to cope with change is strongly connected to how one views change- if we see change as the end of something then it is likely to be much harder to come to terms with but if we see change as creating potential for an interesting and constructive future then we are more likely to come to terms with this newness earlier. 

In and of itself grief seemingly has no constructive use. Why do we grieve? Why have we evolved the ability to feel such incredible fissures through our mind during grief with no discernible use for such pain? I don't know why we grieve but I know, through personal and professional experience, that we can have courage to continue and live a new life, of sorts, after great loss. 

I have endeavoured to create a greater sense of control in some aspects of my life because it is possibly the most positive influence towards good mental health (the obverse of this coin is that a great deal of mental distress comes from lack of control and autonomy- assault, illness, neglect and grief put us into psychic pain due, primarily, to being "out of control" and, often, the less control we have during a distressing incident the greater the trauma as seen in people who develop severe and complex Post Traumatic Stress Disorder). Help can come from a desire for control which can be damaging (such as the development of an eating disorder or ingestion of psychoactive drugs) or constructive (such as exercise or psychotherapy). Our long term coping ability is strongly influenced by our sense of personal control. 

I have worked hard to force myself to consider positive changes after Ruby died, to force myself to consider any good that can come out of it all and to regain control of my life. This has lead me to consider my life in a way I have never done before and to not be afraid to ask the largest question I have ever asked myself, maybe the largest question anyone can ask themselves- how will I live? 

Everything changes. Some things more, some things less, but everything changes. To help me cope navigating these changes I have to consider my route or I will remain forever floating in a directionless sea, a slave to fatalism and the whim of others. If I consider my own fate, if I live how I want to live, I have control. And if I make my future I can become what I want.

So what do I want to become and how will I live to achieve this? I want to become someone that Ruby would be proud to call her daddy. I have high but reasonable ambitions- I want to do no harm, I want to do good, I want to love more, I want to play a greater part in my friendships and in my community of human strangers, I want to defend the vulnerable, I want to take care of other living organisms and the environment. All these things involve active participation and consideration in my world so how do I do it?

I did, and continue to do, what I can- I have become vegetarian, I stopped all sneaky cigarettes, I exercise more than ever, I try very hard to be sociable and to interact more warmly (this is harder than it sounds because I am a bit of a loner and tend to prefer my own company), I consciously identify and try not to concern myself with things beyond my control and, instead, I consider things over which I do have control, I am more concientous at work, I am more dismissive of irrelevances, I put effort into finding and identifying beautiful things (whether this is pottery, food or flowers), I challenge bullies and so on.

There are other potential positives worth considering through this process of change:

Ironically, my consideration of control and change has identified the need to let go, too. Knowing what I need to dismiss, and then dismissing it, has helped me. I have no control over Rubys existence now, she is not alive and never will be, I will never see her again (it has taken two years since her death for me to have the ability to even write such words). I have worked very hard at dismissing the idea that I will see her again and instead try to focus on the things I do have control over ie. what do I do instead? I have been forced into realising the importance of letting go and the therapeutic benefits this has for me. 

Grief has brought a new found sensitivity in me providing an increased responsiveness to subtle maltreatment by others. In connection it has also sensitised me to fragility and tenderness and has matured my appreciation of delicacy.

I am not alone among colleagues, friends and my patients who have been through traumatic loss in using humour as a foil to abstemious pomposity, a very useful coping mechanism. When communicating with people who take themselves too seriously (inflated egos, over-confidence) I now have the strength to suggest a gentle deflation. Many people I have met who have been through strong distress have an ability to raise their head up to a universal perspective and have an acute sense of what really matters and, more importantly, what doesn't. If something is not essential don't take it seriously. 

There has been the kindness of strangers, the new knowledge that everyone has a story worth hearing, an increased understanding of great distress, treating everyone carefully because I don't know "what battles they have going on down there where the spirit meets the bone" (as beautifully put by the musician Lucinda Williams), giving everyone new that I meet the same foundation I give a new painting-  the advantage of a good light. 

The essential expectation and hope is that my future has potential and it can be in my control. It has potential for suffering, of course, but also laughter, love, growth, warmth, beauty, reward through endeavour and maybe eventual happiness. 

Father's Day

It was Father's Day two days ago and my heart broke all over again.

I had almost forgotten this unique and extraordinary pain. 

I also know why the caged bird sings

I run three times a week. I run for many reasons and feel its worth in many ways but the most rewarding experiences I have are the thoughts that can run free in my mind. I may run for two hours at a time. I cannot make a conscious decision to focus on a particular idea but, as I run, my mind is in the moment and It is free to float across thoughts that can sometimes take root. When this happens I can spend an hour or more examining this idea in total freedom without the restrictions that somehow impinge on ideas during normal times. Sometimes, in that moment, I am happy.

I went to a cafe this morning and ran this evening. This is what I thought when I ran. 

Very near my table were two men clinging onto their 40's in suitably conservative striped shirts, socks that are too bright and both had shaved heads because they have to. They both wear glasses that were designed with "aspiration" as their primary aesthetic. They say things like "twenty k" and "five mil" and "hard engineering" and "shifting units". I feel no connection to them. 

There were two women in their 70's sitting in front of me. One is wearing a mint green top the other a light blue top of exactly equal shade and from a shop that must sell only these type of clothes to only these women. They went to the same hairdresser on the same day and asked for matching designs. They appear to be expressing distaste for whoever has left their church recently. I don't understand them. 

In the corner, among the toys, sat three women in their late twenties. Each of them is a slightly different shade of orange and they each have yellow hair. They are nattering over each other as if in competition. There are four toddlers, oblivious to everything except the toy in front of them. I don't know the subject of their conversation but it appears to change by the minute. No one is doing any listening. 

There is a man and woman sitting in the far corner. Their eyes are fixed on each other. Both are married although quite obviously not to each other. He is sitting upright trying to force his stomach in and his chest out. He is animated, strutting, displaying. She is laughing too loudly at his jokes and keeps fiddling with her neckline. Twice she leant forward, lowered her voice and whispered something whilst touching his knee. In response he swept his eyes from side to side in a mock "are we being watched" way and responded to her enquiry with a confession, causing more giggles. They are a million miles from me. 

I could be their ghost, haunting them all if I could be bothered. Any second now someone will walk over to me and sit through me onto the chair below. 

As the cafe got busier and the volume rose and rose individual voices became a murmur in a formless swarm. The busier it became the more formless the drone and the more distant I became. I put my head into my hands, closed my eyes and focused with all the energy I could to single out one voice. I was throwing a lifeline to anyone to connect to but, at what felt like the end of my search, there was no one to pull me back. I was free-falling. 

I started to leave when an elderly woman approached me with a warm and genuine smile and asked to share the table as it was so busy. In an instant I was thrown into human connectedness again by the six second relationship she offered me. There were businessmen doing a deal, old friends catching up on the gossip, new friends sharing parenting tips and a flirty couple helping each other feel fun and desirable again. That woman brought me back. 

Twenty five years ago I read Mayo Angelou's biography "I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings". She died one year ago this morning at around the same time I listened to a radio programme about the history of the anti-lynching song "Strange Fruit" brought to life by Billie Holiday. I have always known Angelou as the caged bird, with bound feet and clipped wings imprisoned by white oppression, black disempowerment and violence. I know she sings for freedom, for her rights, for dignity, for love. But I never understood WHY the caged bird sings. Until today. It is obvious- the caged bird sings because it has to. The caged bird can't not sing. It doesn't sing because of desire, because it wants to, it sings because it has no choice, it is compelled to sing. 

I can feel caged by my grief. It can imprison me. But I still sing because I have to. I sing for human contact, for warmth, for mental rest, for hope. And that stranger in the cafe, just for a moment, set me free. 

The universe should mourn

There are so many people that will never meet Ruby. I want the world to grieve with me. I want everyone alive to know what they have missed out on and I want them to feel forever sad at their loss. Every human should be aware of not knowing her. Every wild animal should know she will never look at them and wonder about their lives. Every building that does not contain her breath should want to crumble. Every landscape she has not admired should be in shadow. The sun should dim, flowers bow their heads, forest should be in winter. Every rock not climbed on should become mossy or fall into the sea, they have no purpose. Every star in her sky should fall away into inky space. They have no reason. All the water not drunk by her, washed over her, swam in by her should wish for permafrost.

Every pillow should be cool and plump, every sheet flat. All those brushes unaware of the contours of her head and her teeth. 

There are billions of brains unchanged by their lack of Ruby. Billions of smiles and tears of joy that will not happen because billions of ears will never hear her. There are billions of hands that are a little colder because they won't have her touch, billions of eyes that sparkle less bright because they have not seen her. I pity them all and I am angry with them all for their ignorance. 

Whether it knew Ruby or did not know Ruby the universe should mourn its loss. 

A thousand years you said, as our hearts melted. I look at the hand you held and the ache is hard to bear - Lady Heguri

Little dragonfly hunter, I wonder where you are off to today - Chiyojo

A love letter to Ruby

It is nearly two years since Ruby died. I don't feel like writing. I wrote this letter for her funeral. Two years is a long time to not see your child. 

In praise of point and counterpoint

A point and its counterpoint are not opposites but are complementarily different. A counterpoint is a contrarian foil and not an absence of something. It encourages illumination of the subject ("the point") sometimes without casting a light on even its own existence. A counterpoint provides the space to weigh and consider without refutation. It is exploratory and safely adversarial. Above all it promotes clarification, understanding and balance. 

Points and counterpoints on the tip of my brain:

-Honourable prizes are gained from meritocratic effort and not by being a fortuitous recipient in the right place at the right time. 

-It isn't being at the foot of the mountain that provides the summit's reward, it is the endeavour of the climb. 

-Leaves don't simply die, they decompose and provide sustenance and hence life. 

-It doesn't take hunger or thirst to appreciate repletion, it takes food and drink. 

-Being unloved didn't make me appreciate being in love. That took a broken heart. 

-The greatest reward I receive from helping someone is when there is absolutely no recognition of my assistance or no knowledge by the recipient. 

-It isn't knowledge of death that has made me appreciate life but that I understand loss. It took loving someone so much, and then losing her, for me to live with consideration more than any other experience. It wasn't Ruby's death that made me examine my life, it was my love for her.

From the very fountain of enchantment there arises a taste of bitterness to spread anguish amongst the flowers - Lucretius

Combat atrophy and routine. Question the obvious and the known. Doubt everything - Christopher Hitchens

Reverence and Reality

It is natural to idolise those we love or about whom we are infatuated, to elevate them to a status verging on the inhuman. Similarly for those who die time can dull the clarity of their outline and they shapeshift into an idealised version of themselves. We view someone through a crystalline prism ignoring all but their most clear-cut, obvious and desirable qualities. 

Maybe inevitably this has happened to how I perceive Ruby although I wasn't insightful about it because I had no current reality of her existence to compare her absence to. Until now. I watched film clips of Ruby for the first time since she died 22 months ago. 

Looking at photos and watching home movies and film clips had been impossible for me, too upsetting and painful. There are, of course, familiar pictures in frames all around the house but I am so used to them my eyes barely graze them. They can wash past me fifty times a day with hardly a nudge of recognition. But those less familiar images of Ruby, thousands of them stored on the computer and in my phone, taken every week of every one of her 140 months alive are only one unpressed button away. 

Claire and I have very different experiences of this. She regularly listens to Rubys audio diary, hundreds of entries each minutes long recorded on her iPod over the years. It's pretty banal stuff- "got up, breakfast, school, homework, dinner, played at Poppy's house, bed"- but it's Rubys daily banal stuff. Claire receives great warmth and a closenes to Ruby from this. I, on the other hand, find it torturous. On the rare occasions my iPod randomly skips onto Rubys voice I lose my breath and I buckle. 

I know that to navigate through the process of grief I have to put the hours and the effort in. There is no shortcut. Pushing myself to look at photos of Ruby would be disquieting, I knew that, but I didn't expect it to be as painless as it has been. So far it has been progressive and not too displeasurable. Watching Ruby dance and sing and eat and talk and be bored and stare at the TV again was a spectral experience at first. Also warm and beautiful. And upsetting. 

But the most unexpected emotion, and the most welcome, was irritation. One five minute film clip was of Ruby lying on her bed and filming herself singing the popular song of the week from beginning to end. After five full minutes of total self-indulgence getting utterly lost in the music she panned the camera to one side where two if her friends were perched on the end of her bed staring at her with looks of horror and bemusement. This was very "Ruby". She had a level of precocity in many qualities (intellect, relationships, creativity, logic, interests, literacy) but in other ways could occasionally be infantile, irritating and naively overconfident as children can be. And it was totally wonderful to see again. It was joyous to be reminded of these touching but easily forgotten aspects of her character. That song, that damn song, was sung again and again and again to the point where, as soon as the first note passed her lips I would throw her a minor glare, say "Ruby?" and the song stopped. This may read as a little authoritarian but I am sure parents can easily understand that the things repeated by a child so many times they become painful to hear can occasionally irritate you to the point of requesting immediate cessation. 

When I watched another clip I noticed that tiny scar on her forehead from when she contracted chicken pox. I hadn't thought about that scar for nearly two years. 

I picked up her trumpet recently for one of the first times and got a few notes out of it. It was the cue to recall memories of encouraging her, night after night, to practice, practice, practice. She wasn't the jazz genius I was beginning to remember but a normal human child barely scraping her way through a grade 1 exam and who never wanted to practice. 

In all the photos her hair was perfectly placed. But, as proved by the film clips, she would run her fingers through her hair a thousand times a day to maintain the perfect side parting for those photos. I had forgotten that gesture, her long elegant fingers, the balletic arc of her arms. At times she looked almost gangly like a spidery tangle of limbs and hair but at other time she swooped with the grace of a gliding bird. The film clips clarified this to me. I was beginning to forget. 

On Shrove Tuesday this year I made pancakes for us. Pancakes were Ruby's favourite food and they have always been my favourite (I sometimes consider myself a sophisticated "foodie" but my final meal of choice will always be homemade pancakes with lemon juice and sugar). Ruby and I made them every weekend as a breakfast treat and I made them for her last breakfast the morning she left for the fateful trip to Scotland in May 2013. I had not made pancakes since then. But I pushed myself into making my, and Rubys, favourite food. Of course it was upsetting but they were very tasty. After all they are pancakes.

I must remember to remember and I must provide cues for provocation. Then I can simultaneously smile and cry remembering my irritation and joy together. My reflections and grief can feel more holistic, more human and more personal to Ruby. It is easy and comforting to remember the faceted crystalline Ruby shiny and glinting and perfect but, in the longer term, it feels warmer and more genuine to bear in mind other traits. Her chicken pox scar, the way she threw her head back in a guttural laugh, her body odour, holding her iPod too close to her face, scraping her shoes on the pavement as she walked, asking me to make her excuses when she wanted to stay in and read instead of socialise, leaning so close to her dinner plate her hair would drape across her food. The irritations and the love, this was the reality. I revere it all. 

Kintsugi: the beauty of brokenness

The Japanese revere Kintsugi, repairing as art- broken pottery is fixed using gold dust mixed with the adhesive to create an improved, stronger, more beautiful artifact elevating it from mass-produced sameness to a priceless and desirable treasure. In and of itself this has a breathtaking beauty and I would encourage everyone to look up Kintsugi pots online. Philosophically the item has been imbued with an enhanced aesthetic and a sense of individualism. It is only itself and resembles nothing else, certainly no other, uncracked, pottery. Its flaws and imperfections are to be embraced as symbolism of the experiences it has survived and that can be celebrated as its strengths. Breakage is not the end, cracks are not flaws but are natural elements in one's lifecycle that prove flexibility of use, embracing change as inevitable and encouraging safe detachment from the non-essential. 

In ideas of personal identity and as a method of highlighting imperfections and the variations of experience, Kintsugi provides us with a framework to consider our own lives- its ups and downs, fragility and sensitivity, brittleness and toughness, fortune and fatalism, creative point and counterpoint, trauma and reparation, equality and difference and a host of other essential aspects of self and others. Kintsugi celebrates this variety and individualism. 

Repaired things can be more beautiful and of greater value than unbroken things. With such great potential for transformation our scars can symbolise transcendence and therefore embracing damage, and then celebrating restoration, is a necessary part of life's natural cycle. 

Kintsugi also encourages us to admit our fragility. There are times it is acceptable to demand gentle handling due to our delicacy and we should be confident in sophisticated treatment from others. At times we can be translucent and frail maybe as a by-product of compassion or sensitivity- our altruism can make us thin-skinned which, in turn, demands delicate handling from others. We should be treated with tenderness not because we were poorly made or because we are already broken but because we should be allowed to demand a response to our mature fragility that is respectful, moral and based on equality. This is a human duty we can assume from others and which should be afforded from us in return. 

Kintsugi reminds us of our mortality. As Seneca stated "it is not that we have a short time to live but that we waste a lot of it". Nothing is eternal. And if we are not eternal what should we do with the time we have? Maybe we can start by appreciating scars as a sign of life lived adventurously or of grief endured. 

Dream #4 and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder

I dreamt about Ruby last night for only the fourth time since she died 21 months ago.

It was a long aimless dream as I wandered around a large Hogwarts-type school, avoiding running children. But it ended when I entered a long corridor and stood still, waiting impatiently for what I knew was about to happen. A teacher smashed through the door at the other end of the corridor and shouted to me "it's OK, I found her" and then Ruby walked in. She was wearing an outfit she loved which made her look like a character from Middle Earth- pointy ears, cape, short hair, bow and arrows acrosss her back- she saw me, shouted "DADDY" in that way she used to and ran full tilt towards me as I ran towards her. When we were only yards from each other I woke up.

I was cheated, I didn't get my hug. I cried in a way I hadn't cried since I was deep in the raw pain of early grief. 

It was a mini-grief all over again. I was ragingly angry and I felt pain, ache, denial, cheated and, after an hour or so, eventual acceptance that I had to fully wake up and face the day. 

I have been startled how much it hurt because only last week I had written about how much I have moved on and that the raw pain of longing has decreased. But this dream threw me back to the harshest early days of vulnerability and fragility. 

What follows is a brief explanation of why some experiences become "traumatic" and why we have to spontaneously relive such negative feelings. There have been various theories over the decades but there is general agreement between neurologists, psychologists, psychiatrists and others about the basic brain processes that explain why some people develop Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) or a similar post-trauma psychological distress that takes months or years to be resolved. The area of cognitive neuroscience is bounding ahead of other brain research and has tendrils of influence that help explain my chosen field, psychopathology (mental illness):

Our sensory experiences are processed by the hippocampus into memories to be stored. When we are under great duress during those experiences, such as having a serious accident, being assaulted or during a disaster, our "stress hormones" such as adrenaline are greatly raised which inhibits the effectiveness of the hippocampus. Our related memories are then stored incorrectly as the hippocampus struggles to cope and, in the future, we have little control in recalling those poorly processed memories. In addition, as we recall those memories our adrenaline levels remain high which cause anxiety and poor sleep.
The most common symptom of PTSD is "reliving" the trauma through flashbacks and recurring nightmares. In essence these two symptoms of reliving are simply a spontaneous, undesired recall of those traumatic memories in a way that is frightening, realistic and reminiscent of going through the original event again complete with the smells, sights, sounds, etc. Other common symptoms include hyper vigilance, whereby you feel constantly "on guard", as if you may be at risk of attack and have to be on the offensive all the time and avoidance/ dissociation, whereby you psychologically distance yourself from the event and can become numbed and disconnected from everyday life.
Flashbacks can "just happen" but can also be triggered by sounds, smells and other sensory stimuli and can be a distressing, horrifying experience.
There are gradations of distress caused by trauma. This can range from the occasionally triggered upsetting memory, spontaneously recalled from goodness-knows-where, towards diagnosable PTSD through to the more extreme types of complex disassociation which causes a serious breakdown of relationships and coping mechanisms.
There is help for all this distress. This type of problem is well researched and there is a breadth of professional experience relieving such suffering. Cognitive Behavioural Therapy (CBT) and Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing (EMDR, in which I am partly trained) are the primary psychotherapies for trauma and some antidepressant medications have been proven very effective too, not only in helping one's depression but in the actual successful processing of those distressing memories.

By far, our greatest help comes from an initial recognition of symptoms and then telling someone, anyone. Maybe someone has read what I have written above and it has echoes. Maybe the self-education of coping can sometimes be a myth, that maybe underneath it all we are naked, alone and just want our mummies. Maybe this is why we deserve gentle, moderate handling from others. Maybe our fragility is a sign of our humanity. Maybe a delicate approach from others is a sign of their sophistication and sensitivity and maybe it can be applauded.
Grief, distress and trauma are well-studied phenomena. A great deal is known about their aetiology, diagnosis and prognosis. There is successful, evidence-based treatment that is easily available and I can vouch for its effectiveness through professional and personal experience. Don't suffer needlessly.

Great Potential in 2015

There are many methods to putting in the psychic energy required to improve outlook and action. This is not to say I need to be optimistic (or, of course, pessimistic) but that I need a realistic approach replete with great potential. My coping mechanisms and the outcomes subsequent to changes in my life have space to become most successful if I consider the potential future change instead of considering the cessation of the past.

There have been recent changes from an achromatic palette to a warmer breadth of colours in my mind so what potential does 2015 hold for me? How will I move forward?

No longer did Ruby die "last year" but instead "about two years ago". I am more comfortable saying "recently" or the specific number of months - most bereaved parents, without missing a beat, can immediately recite the number of weeks, months and years they last saw their child. This lack of "last year", like the loss of "this year" or "in May just gone" initially made me fearful that my connection to Ruby would decrease, that obvious recognition of passing time would pull me away from memories of her. Well, it has done this. Time has faded my mind a little, the relentless distance has dissociated me a little. But it turns out all of that is fine and has been less distressing than I had feared. The advantages of chronological remoteness from Ruby's life have recently outweighed the disadvantages due to the reduction of one narrow, deep, all-pervading destructor- the pain.

My grief is still very real, I still miss Ruby, I am still sad, I mourn for my loss and for hers and there is no closure, I still feel many natural discomforts and aches and yearning. But my pain has lessened. And it is the pain- the tectonic, epic grinding- whose edges are now less jagged. It disables me less, disconnects me less. 

No cost is comparable with the amelioration of pain caused by grief. The pain slices through all softness like a cutthroat razor and crushes like a desert boulder. Any cost I know of its' recess- side-effects of medication, bleaching of memories, separation from Ruby's time alive- is not a penalty but is a sacrifice for a beneficial gain. It has taken time and anxiety and hard work to recognise this but I got there in the end. 

So what potential does 2015 have? The potential for reduction of pain. It also, therefore, has potential for increased autonomy, grater warmth for me and those I know, reduced anxiety and distress, closer relationships and less necessity for courage (I don't ever want to feel the need for courage again). 

Two of the many other things I now know that I did not know before is that failure is a copable option and that it is important to start actions resolving long-term plans and this is why I tentatively started looking at two changes of career. 

Firstly I spent weeks investigating the possibility of becoming a firefighter (I have decided not to but at least I looked). Secondly after many years of baking biscuits, tarts and cakes I have been selling them for the first time ever. Only a handful here and there but, nevertheless, I have been baking professionally. 

Aside from addressing some long-term goals and some improvements in my mental health I have decided to be more adventurous in 2015 so I have strapped on my hiking boots and starting rambling over the local hills through the wind, rain and snow. I am looking forward to scaling greater heights over greater distances and I am looking forward to being with friends on the way.