things that break my heart - council house

Mum lived in a council house, so from the day after she died my sister and I were charged full rent on the house she had lived in since 1975. We are both fortunate in having mortgages to pay, so for financial reasons we had to clear Mum's home as quickly as possible. Because of the speed of this I decided to keep a pile of Mum's belongings, thinking at a later date I could be more selective. It turns out everything I kept fitted perfectly into the floral box I bought for the purpose. 

It was traumatic clearing Mum's house immediately after her death. I gave myself a whole day over her bedroom, folding her knickers, tights, pop socks, carefully placing items into bags for recycling/the tip/charity. While the house still looked like her home I allowed myself an afternoon of watching TV and taking a short nap in her bed - quietly observing her view, the ceiling with its textured paint and cracks, the nets I hemmed years ago, the view to the small landing where we thundered about as children. 

When we moved to the house I was four, and the first thing I did was to sit crossed legged in the corner of the living room and spread my Ladybird books out in front of me. On my last moments in the house, I sat again, cross-legged, 42 years later in the empty living room. Thanking the walls, I thought about the next family to inhabit this space, call this house home and enjoy the view of the forest from the living room window, The cycle continues, and I was glad that my family never had the money to profit from social housing, that another family without the means to own property would benefit from a sturdy, safe council house.  

things that break my heart - hair and teeth

Ring box containing baby teeth and hair on top of my keepsake box for Mum

Address in the ring box: Dawson & Briant, Goldsmiths & Watchmakers, 281 Kentish Town Rd, London, N.W.5.

Mum had a heart shaped, fabric covered ring box, and forever I've known about it. It contains mine and my sister's baby curls. Mine a dull blond, my sister's shiny with a reddish tinge. This precious box also holds two baby teeth wrapped in toilet tissue, the first teeth lost? Mum was not one for stories, of telling her/our past and we were scared to ask as much of the time she would become upset and silent, her eyes reddening, the atmosphere altered somehow. Her way of signalling the end of a conversation was to stare at the ever present TV.

When I open this box it feels incredibly precious. A woman in her late 30's kept the hair and teeth of her daughters, a symbolic and significant act. Was she a poetic soul? Moved by the love for her girls? One of our cousins talks of Mum being a joker and a laugh. As a child Linda would walk from Camden with the family dog Judy, meeting Mum every Friday on the Euston Road where she worked. Mum would take her to a toy shop on the way home, encouraging Linda to pick a toy and Mum would buy it for her. Sadly, my sister and I don't recognise this woman years before we were born, Mum suffered domestic abuse from our alcoholic and traumatised Dad, it's understandable she would lose herself during her married years. We knew Mum as anxious, a worrier and not much fun to be around, though in this she was doing her best. I always hid parts of myself, making sure I was the version she needed. 

The ring box now lives within a larger box. A box I bought to contain selected belongings of Mum's, personal items that in the coming years will evoke her. This box contains:

1 x pair of black shoes
1 x turquoise fleece
2 x Damart tops
1 x M&Co embroidered shirt, Mum had shortened the sleeves, so her hand stitching is evident and makes me cry
The Epping Forest Guardian Newspaper containing her death notice
The Order of Service from her funeral
1 x M&Co hat, bought on our last trip to Loughton together
Glasses and case
Purse containing bus pass, bank cards, Morrisons card, VIP Taxi card, stamps, door key, an old £1 coin and a photo of my sister and I
Magnifying glass, that belonged to Dad
Old green comb
Wrist watch
2 x lipsticks, Smoked Peach and Pink in the Afternoon by Revlon
Spider's Web (tape), Francisco Yglesia plays the Paraguayan Harp, bought in Harlow
Letter opener
Fresh mint tictac's
Jessie's identity disc, our dog who died in 2005
Heart shaped ring box with baby hair and teeth

things that break my heart - chair

Mum died at 5.45pm on the 2nd of May, 6 months today. I've decided to mark this first half year with a series of writings, collectively titled: Things That Break My Heart.

In the lead up to Mum's death there were moments I knew I'd never forget, even as they were happening. Mum had a beautiful oval mirror above the fireplace, and one day while helping her to her chair I glanced into the mirror and saw a bent old lady with thinning grey hair and stooped posture being helped by a broad shouldered giant of a woman, young looking but middle aged, her arm through the old ladies arm, supporting her tiny juddering steps before she folded (collapsed, sunk, fell) into the chair. The difference in us was a sharp slap to my face. As if the mirror showed the truth where my eyes could take the edge off the situation, my brain performing a trick to help me endure.

There was something about her dusky pink cardigan, bought last Christmas by my sister, hanging off her even then, that was tragic, its knit, colour, buttons just looking so sad. Mums back so curved and she appeared much shorter than her 5ft 4in frame. Mum, reaching for her chair, anxious to sit down looked worryingly frail, the effort of getting to and from her commode a few feet away a marathon. There was truth in our distance in the mirror, Mum in her final days, me at the midpoint (hopefully) of my life, I walk onwards, without her.

resting place

Furmage Family Plot

This Sunday, my sister and I went to our Mum's grave. We added another bag of compost to the heavy clay soil, planted spring bulbs and perennials and edged the grave with white stones. It was a beautiful, cool, bright autumn day. Before this work I cleansed the space using burning sage, ridding the grave of any residual bad energies. We had a dreadful experience with a member of the cemetery staff before burying Mum's ashes, and sadly, this tainted our goodbye, so cleansing the site was very important.

With soil under our nails we traveled to St Paul's Cathedral, for the Bart's Health NHS Trust & St Joseph's Hospice Annual Service of Remembrance. This service is held in memory of all who have died in Bart's hospitals in the previous year. People of all faiths are welcome to attend and the service included readings, music and poems from a variety of religions. We were invited to write the name of our loved one on a card and this was taken to the altar in a symbolic gesture. It was moving to see the baskets of cards and consider our collective grief.

Attendees were given a beautiful long stemmed white rose to take home, it was heartwarming to see these roses carried tenderly down the cathedral steps, onto the streets, the buses and tubes. It was an unforgettable experience, shared with strangers who walk a brave path with their grief. 

Mum would have been thrilled by the idea of a service in her honour at St Paul's.

ashes

Yesterday would have been mum's 82nd birthday. Yesterday we buried her ashes in the family plot. Doreen Edna Logan joins her mother and two of her sisters on the East Road in Islington and St Pancras cemetery. 

Mum kept a photo of her mother by her bed until the end of her life, this photo was placed in her coffin before cremation. They are reunited. 

My mothers ashes in her petal urn

life drawing

Countless hours at collage were spent honing my observation and drawings skills, and now I rarely draw. This Tuesday I tootled up Leytonstone High Road and attended a class with East London Life Drawing. The assembled group were focused and companionable, and we lost two hours in the best possible way: in the moment, solving the problem of how to depict a living form on 2D paper. For me, it all came together when I got my hands on this red crayon, a blunt, early years type crayon with both beautiful and frustrating qualities.   

fairy

Mum loved brands. When clearing her home I took some comfort in gathering everyday items purchased by her: fabric softener, washing up liquid, soap, shampoo... and using them up in my flat. Mum's presence lingers a while longer in her favourite products, ones I wouldn't buy myself. Some items, particularly the fabric softener bring back the smell of her wardrobe, the sheets on the single beds in the front and back bedrooms. Just over three months have passed since she died and I've been using this Fairy Original, thinking of her as I squeeze green liquid into hot water. Almost used up, its time to buy another and to say goodbye to Fairy, I have not inherited my mothers loyalty to brands.