by Michael Angus | May 7, 2018 | Blog
Over the past three years there’s a phrase that has been said to me many, many times: that wherever I go, I take my son with me….
I’ve always nodded and agreed – partly out of politeness, and partly out of acknowledgement of the implicit truth in the statement – I have not however felt that truth, to be either factually nor viscerally true. My consented nodding and words of agreement have been expressed in acquiescence, and hardly whole-heartededly embraced nor believed.
It’s actually been a rather difficult phrase to hear – because another part of me has silently raged at the falsehood. I do not take my son with me, for how can I? He’s dead …….
Lately however, there has been a marked change…..for something remarkable has happened. I can truly feel Christopher …..with and within me, and not on occasion, but all the time. I do therefore now take him with me, when and wherever I go.
This may seem like a strange thing to say (then again, this situation is hardly the epitome of ‘normality’, rather it is the complete opposite. Strange has become anything but, and as familiar as air…..). To any parent this is of course the norm – we’re not separated from our children just because they’re out of sight….but neither is it so if they are out of life. Its taken a while for this to properly sink in, just how ridiculous this would be ……my sons heart stopped, but that didn’t stop mine, nor did it stop me being his father; it certainly did not stop me loving him.
It’s quite something to discover just how vast and capable love is, quite staggering actually. Words are inadequate here to be honest …..
to realise that my son didn’t go anywhere; I did ….. it was not him that was lost, it was me …..I’d lost sight of him, is all, drowned as I was in the loss and the inference of culture and others.
I don’t think this is going to make much sense to anyone who has not lost a child, and quite rightly so – why would it? The universe is not usurped ….. but mine is, it is estranged, and yet the truly strange thing is to find that within that completely reversed world there has been hiding a horizon line, persistent and unchanged – and now that it is suddenly revealed, it cuts sharper and clearer than I either knew or remember.
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It’s been a steady shift towards this enhanced comprehension – despite much exhaustion and fluctuating resolve these past few months, something has been at work behind the scenes which has provoked the re-revelation, of that immutable connection we have with our children ….so solid, and fixed, resolved, about which all else revolves.
I took it for granted, that connection, and yet don’t we all? That gifted easiness that exists between parent and child, that immeasurable and undefinable bond…..
It would be as easy to imagine that my tangible recovery of this bond is simply that: my imagination; it would be easy to be skeptical, it would be easy to refute – and I don’t look too closely into this feeling, from fear that it might evaporate. There’s always a shadow on my shoulder, threatening to darken any light…. but somehow I think not, not this time. The power’s definitely back on, and with it an advanced sense of purposely infused joy: because I have my son back……
If I have to pick a song for this week, for this post then I’d cite the one I’ve avoided for a long, long time, as played at Christopher’s funeral: ‘Ocean’s Away’ by Roger Daltrey.
Love to all,
Mx
by Michael Angus | May 7, 2018 | Blog
Yesterday I attended the Compassionate Friends annual gathering, in Perth.
I was surrounded by fifty or so fellow bereaved parents…. some who had only recently suffered loss, others, like me, who were emerging from the shadows …. and others, clearly, more in the light….
The distance we’d travelled in our relative grief ‘journeys’ (though as time passes I’m becoming ever more conscious of the less than accurate nature of this term – I’m certainly not travelling in ‘Place’, but more so in ‘Time’ perhaps; it feels more like an evolutionary process than a movement process, as the term journey implies, and there is definitely no destination…..but if it were movement related, I’d have to say it’s on the ‘z’ axis, and vertically more than horizontal….) was a factor, for sure in determining the tone of discussions and interaction, as were the specific tragic circumstances of loss, but the predominant mood was one that subsumed any slights of distinction: it was one of togetherness….
It’s not the first time I’ve been surrounded by the company of bereaved parents, and not therefore the first time that I have enjoyed that unique feeling of togetherness. That was over two years ago when I went to a meeting of the Brightest Star bereaved families support group.
I’ll never forget, from the moment I walked through the door, the incredible and almost unbelievable feeling of comfort, of safety, of peace…..it’s a strange thing to highlight perhaps, as being one of the most memorable moments of my life, but it does perhaps illustrate comparatively a most debilitating circumstance resultant from grief of this nature: isolation.
I became the absolute centre of my own grief when Christopher died, and that in and of itself was (and remains) isolating – but the more crippling aspect is the separation that the grief provoked, between me, the one who has lost a child, and everyone who hasn’t. There is absolutely no way to bridge this comprehension gap, which has put me at distinct odds from others, to the point of universal absence – and constant miscommunication promotes even greater incentive to further absent oneself from the world.
Which is a conundrum for sure, because the last thing I’ve needed is to be isolated…
I knew it was a critical issue to deal with, this enforced isolation – and that it was imperative to ‘keep in touch’…it would have been so so easy to have slipped under …….
Yesterday reminded me of why it was, and remains so critical to maintain ‘contact’ – because empathy is a primal and fundamental human tenet. We’re not ‘loners’ on the whole, the plight of the castaway is one to which we can all relate, as being an un-natural condition, a troubling and inherently terrifying prospect: of abandonment……
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As I was preparing to write this post today, two magpies flew in front of me – one for ‘sorrow’, two for ‘joy’ – and later, whilst walking, a flock of birds flew past me overhead, in fluctuating but constant formation….. journeying clearly, with purpose and direction …..
Seems the birds were making my point for me, about the value of togetherness – those times when the individual is made stronger by the acknowledgment of another, that they are not alone …..and that their abnormality is nothing more than a result of geopgraohic distance, relative numbers and (missed) opportunity.
Abnormality dissolved yesterday, and indeed, I suspect any visitor might be surprised at just how normal it was ….. of course there were tears, but there was plenty of laughter too…. if anything was abnormal there was perhaps an overabundance of talking – but I think that’s just because there’s a driving need to talk; talking is all we have after all…..one could predict that silence would not reign; I doubt though one could predict the tangibility of warmth that existed, that I’ve discovered exists at all such gatherings – I could cite this warmth as being generated by the openness of shared experienced, but it seems to me that it comes from somewhere else, from some deeper core, born from an understanding so implicit as to deny any language – very little needed to be said yesterday to be honest; words typically were confirming only what was already known….
I’ve sought always, for the good that might come from Christopher’s death – it’s quite something to have a good so evidentially revealed, the priceless worth that can come from being together ….. quite something indeed.
Song for the day: ‘Eleanor rigby’ by The Beatles.
Love to all,
Mx
by Michael Angus | May 7, 2018 | Blog
I’ve been reading posts lately as regards holidays, and how, or rather, how not to survive them (assuming ‘survive’ is not too strong a word….under the circumstances I think not).
I can recall, now, from what seems like a lifetime ago, a feeling that I would never again be able to ‘go on holiday’. The idea of ‘holiday’ was a total anathema, undeserved, unfruitful, untenable and unwarranted. I’d consigned ‘holiday’ to my past – and buried the whole idea, along with all memories of holidays past (curiously, of mine, rather than of those spent with Christopher. Thinking of my past holidays somehow provoked a profound and incisive sadness; this could be linked obviously to the regret that Christopher would never again enjoy such wonderful occasions, but there was something else, guilt perhaps: that I had had my share, and that he wouldn’t have his….
This sadness persists…..).
Holidays then, and especially holidays in celebration of one thing or another, Christmas, Easter, those holidays that carry with them all the associated expectations of celebration, loudly decorated in ritual and meaning …these occasions were consigned to the ‘not for me’ bin, (de)classified as simply periods of time that I had to ‘get through’, to smile and act accordingly, to dutifully perform until such time as I could resume ………..
They were however all subject to the ‘fuck it’ rule, to do just that, to engage rather than totally avoid – and as such, rewards are becoming evident….
Easter has just passed, the fourth without Christopher – and not long after the fourth Christmas – and on both occasions I’ve rested (up to a point), I’ve smiled and been able to delight in the rituals, to share with others the seasonal recognition, savour the tastes and sounds without resort to pretence or the erecting of emotional defences. I can’t say it’s been as entirely fulfilling nor relaxing as it’s been in the past: there’s still no presents for Christopher, no Easter egg or silly gift, no card, no anecdote nor no new memory made – and that is far from being ok. But neither has it all been reductive …… these holidays have added again to life, not stolen.
That additive value is not of course the same as it was – if these occasions were metaphorically perceived as harvested fields, the yield is neither replicated nor of equivalent abundance.
But they yield none the less….there is produce, and I believe that this is so, largely because of the attitude to the soil. If the fertile earth is ruined, whether contaminated or flooded or dried to dust, that being nature’s law, what point is there in raging at the injustice? It serves no purpose to continually scratch in the dirt looking for vestiges of the growth that once blossomed there. I’d rather treasure the memory of the previous harvests and meantime, get busy tilling what soil there is, sourcing seeds, digging channels for irrigation and keep praying for rain (hardly necessary here on the West coast of Scotland) or sunshine.
It’s all part of an inbred refusal to indulge the loss; I see no point nor purpose in giving it more weight than it deserves – for if I do, I diminish the potential for future yield.
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Summer holidays are now booked, and I’m looking forward to going on them, I truly am; I’m not saying this to make it so….
I couldn’t have believed that this would have been possible a couple of years ago – but I’m getting used to the associated feelings of guilt and distance and anxiety and sadness, they are becoming allies rather than opponents; as such, they are losing their power to consume, and to devour the yield – rather they are becoming significantly more aligned with the fresh furrows being created….
Song for the week: ‘Living in the Past’ by Jethro Tull
Love to all,
Mx
by Michael Angus | Apr 10, 2018 | Blog
To all my friends,
It’s been a while since posting updates regarding my training for upcoming treks – monthly training posts to follow therefore, beginning with this one: March 2018.
Grand Canyon Trek is booked for October, which is only a little over six months away, so it’s good to be able to report that training in March has gone up a gear – broke the 700 minute mark this month, 715 to be exact, which equates to nearly 36 miles walked. That’s a big improvement on previous months…..since completing the Rockies Trek last September things have definitely been on a bit of a lull. Previous best was November at 34 miles, otherwise training has been averaging 25 miles/month, which is way down.
Lulls are inevitable though, post Trek blues have become the norm, so it was only to be expected after the Rockies that things might slow down somewhat – and October/November/December are the dark months; altogether that’s put training into hibernation mode.
But it’s spring again (according to the calendar and the clocks, seems the weather has yet to catch up…..), time to get moving. Next months target: to get back to the 50 mile mark….all good, for keeping those blues at bay; every step counts….. and it’s all for a good cause : Glasgow Children’s Hospital Charity.
If you wish to donate you can do so securely at: https://www.justgiving.com/fundraising/michael-angus2
or by texting: CHRA66 to 70070
All funds raised go to the Christopher Angus Fund, supporting initiatives in the cardiology unit of the Royal Hospital for Children.
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March steps: 71,500 total ….. 348000 total since completing the Rockies.
Pics from Glen Fruin and Peaton Hill.
Song for the month: ‘Sparks’ from Tommy, by the Who.
Love to all,
Mx
by Michael Angus | Apr 4, 2018 | Blog
To all my friends,
Whilst reflecting last week upon the passing of time, attendant has been an acknowledgment as stated that the grief has indeed changed.
The constancy of the visceral onslaught has definitely receded, and that is definitely a plus – can’t say it was particularly pleasant, being Jekyll and Hyde…..
Unfortunately, although I can attest to a change having occurred, I cannot offer any empirical evidence as to ‘how’ or ‘why’. I have no method of measuring the implications beneficially of anything I’ve done, and I have nothing with and by which I could make comparative judgement anyway – there is no datum, no ‘norm’. I can only make (hopefully) intelligent and informed observation …. and apply some common sense. In this latter regard, I’m sure that all the exercising I’ve done over the last two years has helped – it certainly could not have hurt (apart from the blisters and muscle aches of course…) Every step taken ( and there have been a lot of them – currently pushing the 2,000,000 mark…) that I would otherwise not have taken must have been to my benefit – that’s a lot of endorphins, and a whole lot of associated positivity: because I can recall saying this a lot over the past couple of years, which is but one example of numerous pieces of writing that I have written, which have been turned (or at times, contorted) to the positive – and these self regulated musings have definitely assisted the compass reading. (It would have been remarkably easy to have become lost, to have misread direction, or indeed, to have realised that there was any direction at all…..)
Whether it’s been the exercise therefore, the writing (of self fulfilling prophecy), the associated research, plus the dedicated the friend seeking, coupled with the natural healing capacity of time, altogether this has provoked (lately) another dynamic shift of attitude.
It feels like the power has come back on …….
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I suppose an analogy of my world as ruined house is not so difficult to understand – that place which one takes for granted, as the place most secure and safe, the repository of ones memories and investments for the future, then destroyed – as an analogy, it’s a good fit.
Consequently, since that moment of destruction, I’ve been busy, salvaging belongings and re-building my house. It was a good moment, when once again my house became wind and watertight; the power coming back on however, is a moment of considerably greater significance ….. with power, comes light, and warmth, and as such, its the first time that this house has begun to feel like home again…..
Home of course, being where the heart is……
Song for the week: a song that few will know, but a brilliant song nonetheless, written and performed by a band I was in many years ago called Moondew: ‘There’s No Place Like You.’ Title says it all …..
Love and Happy Easter to all,
Mx
by Michael Angus | Apr 4, 2018 | Blog
To all my friends,
Over the past few months, whilst re-investing in writing (or rather, trying to complete) a book I began three years ago, I’ve been made aware of something hitherto unnoticed…..about time.
I wrote the first draft of this book, ‘being sad, ain’t bad’, in 2015. I can’t really believe that it has remained unfinished until 2018 – that’s three years.
Three years ….
I know we all have a rather ‘fluctuating’ relationship with time – it is never the constant, experientially, that clocks and watches obligingly infer. Our memory of events, even if chronological, will often struggle to accord accurate distance between; some seem so much shorter, some, so much longer.
I never used to worry too much about this capricious nature of time, time flying or time creeping, this was how life steadily passed: inconsistently – but now time has become estranged, as if impregnated with some sort of devious parasite, as if it’s been kidnapped, and blackmailed into presenting itself falsely despite the numbers remaining unchanged. Experientially, it’s become much more unreliable, and capricious beyond comprehension. Minutes, days, months, they’ve all become deliriously variable and subject to extremes of unfounded interpretation; and as for years?
Years, now that I have three to evaluate, are by far the most affected…..
Perhaps this would not matter so, except that years bear so much import ….. much more so than minutes, or days, or months. They have inherently weight, the determinants of periods of historical significance, the building blocks of centuries; they carry expectation, that this year may or may not, be the one; they expel scope, that there is capacity to achieve expectation …..and, once a year passes, inevitably reflection is provoked, which can be imbued with all manner of attendant feelings; everything from pride to regret….
Now that three have passed, my reflections are anything but singular; they are decidedly conflicted. I can’t really make any meaningful sense of these three years. They’ve passed in a blink, and yet I’ve done so much – so they must have been years, therefore, right enough. But I can’t get a grip on the extent of time past, I simply can’t believe it’s been three years. How could one year have passed, let alone three?
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And what expectations might those years have held? For ‘healing’? One might not have been deemed enough, but three? Surely three should have been more than enough?
I knew of course that they wouldn’t be – I’ve always known, from the moment Christopher died, that time would be forever ‘out of joint’. I suppose it’s just strange to discover the tangible truth of this projected knowledge. In some ways it’s a comfort to discover that it is indeed true ….. that the grief both lasts, and changes – and it has indeed changed. Nevertheless, the loss doesn’t – and I think that’s why time is so skewed. The loss is always now, as in: right at that exact moment. I can be back three years in an instant; and then I’m stretched (further and further) forwards again, and it moves always inexorably forwards, forever forwards, regardless, when in fact it should have stopped……and how can that be so?
Because ‘time is out of joint’, and that’s all there is to it…..
I suspect I’m just going to have to let this go – maybe time will resume its familiar capriciousness, maybe not, either way it’s not so bad – in the meantime I’m going to take advantage of the years, of their literal length and make plans. That might be the trick – to simply keep looking forwards and let the past take care of itself.
I don’t like looking back anyway …… too much time has passed …..
Song for these three years: ‘Time’ by David Bowie. What else ….?
Love to all,
Mx
