Life Imitates Heart
Will Week 2 of 2025 leave us with something to look forward to?
To see how Sam Pepys spent this week 364 years ago, follow this link.
TRIGGER WARNING: Contains mention of attempted suicide.
DISCLAIMER: This post, while relating true events, is entirely one person’s perspective – i.e. mine. I don’t claim to know what’s going on in anyone else’s head. If I give an impression of someone else’s thoughts, it can only be my opinion.
It seemed the world didn’t want Ermma to leave. Trees fell on two of the three rail routes north from Canterbury, forcing us to dash from one station to another so she could be home in time to deliver a tour of Pepys House.
My mission for the next few days was to help my mum recover her strength to live, if not also her will. Yet there I was needing to send my own chief source of strength away.
Luckily I wasn’t immediately left alone. For the first two days, my sister Header got Mum into crochet and cooked us some incredible vegan dishes, while her guinea pig Piggy gave unconditional cuddles in the way that only animals can.
Mum’s most genuine smiles of the week arose in those moments.
In addition, the hospital’s Home Treatment Team continued to visit throughout the week, albeit now only every other day. As part of their support, they provided Mum with a sensory pack that, by beautiful coincidence, contained multicoloured wool similar to that left by Header.
I’m not sure my presence made much difference, to be honest. I helped Mum pull together a music book for her ukulele group, finishing something she’d been working on for over a year. I also helped her make important phone calls she didn’t feel ready to make herself, and encouraged her to go when she hesitated about visiting her clubs.
But would she have achieved all this without me being there? The only real evidence of there being a point to my presence was the week just gone.
We both knew I would leave on Monday, since I had a school visit. As the end of the week drew nearer, I grew increasingly worried about whether it was wise to leave Mum alone yet. And when the HTT suggested their last visit might be Monday too, Mum told them she was nervous about all her support finishing on the same day.
HTT reassured her that they would continue a little beyond Monday, and that she’d then have another service to rely on.
When I joined Mum for one of her clubs, I felt proud of her for not letting shame prevent her sharing her ordeal with her friends – only to then wince as she told them, “There’s a part of me that regrets being saved.”
Such made me nervous about taking Mum to the police station to collect the items they’d seized when they gained entry, the principle one being a bottle of vodka. Mum and I still weren’t seeing eye-to-eye about the possible role of alcohol in her actions of the last week.
Still. What I certainly did achieve was clearing Mum’s Sky box of some recordings she’d kept especially to watch with me, chief among them being documentaries on Christopher Reeve and Robin Williams, two big heroes of my childhood.
We had no idea how closely these individuals were linked until we watched their docs, but wow – how those two took the suffering they were dealt and tried to make some good come out of it… These were inspiring stories that it felt timely to watch this week.
Likewise was the story we picked up from a random encounter in the supermarket. Among the factors that led to Mum’s suicide was a belief – nay, a knowledge – that a certain group of people had been out to get her. Up until Friday, though, she’d been unaware that some members of that group were actually on her side – and had in fact left the group because of their treatment of her.
This put a bounce in Mum’s step that night, springier than any pill or concoction could’ve provided.
These beautiful coincidences continued into Saturday, when we went to visit my sister Erica and her wife Lauren. We settled to watch a Derren Brown show, in which he focused on the idea of living the life you want, not what others want for you – all while touching upon the loss of his father.
Again, it was all very apt and inspiring. Perhaps that’s why Mum’s mood seemed the lightest it had been all week, and she offered to buy us an Indian takeaway as a thank you for all we’d done for her.
She said the phrase “thank you” so matter-of-factly that I wasn’t sure my sister picked it up. But I did. This expression of gratitude – especially to Erica, the one chiefly responsible for getting the paramedics to her – was a wide stride away from the “regrets” she’d shared with her uke group just days before.
The beautiful coincidences ended abruptly on Sunday, when our programme of choice was Cunk On Life. There, the creators had chosen to satirise the bleakness of a world without God by portraying one of their crewmembers committing suicide, after the tactless presenter bangs on about the pointlessness of life.
Well, we couldn’t let the week be too supportive, could we.
Our last evening together was spent making plans to attend Granddad’s funeral. It wasn’t the most joyous of events to look forward to, but it was a meaningful one – and we were looking forward all the same. Plus, we’d already made a date for Mum to come and join Ermma and me in Pepys House the following weekend.
I’m pretty confident I’m leaving Mum at home feeling much stronger than she was when Erica found her the week before. I can’t recall whether the words need to be attributed to Christopher Reeve’s son William or Matthew, but they ended his documentary with a phrase that lodged in my mind, and I hope got lodged in Mum’s:
“A hero is an ordinary individual who finds the strength and perseverance to endure in spite of overwhelming obstacles.”
You’re my hero, Mum. And while the analogy would work better if Christopher had played Batman, I hope I can be your Robin.
All of the above is shared with the permission of my Mum, who increases in strength and confidence every day.
In return for me sharing these words with you, please pay just one word of yours. What hero’s name (real life or fictional) fills your heart with a surge of inspiration?
Want to know why I’m asking for this? Flip back to this post here.
Let’s share tales again soon. In the meantime, ciao for niao…
$;-)
What hero’s name (real life or fictional) fills your heart with a surge of inspiration?
For me, from real life, it's hard to pick one. But from fiction, it's obviously Superman. To have that much power, but only use it for good – that's an aspiration. Plus, embarrassing confession: as a 4-year-old, I used to begin my prayers with, "Dear God, Jesus, and Superman..."