When Life is a Soap Opera, Go to the Panto

An EastEnders-style end to 2024 results in an unpredictable start to 2025

To see how Sam Pepys spent this week 364 years ago, follow this link.

TRIGGER WARNING: Contains mention of attempted suicide, and some strong language.

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.

Looking back at the start of this week, I’m sure there was at least one moment when I thought of checking in with my mum to let her know we were back, make plans for the week ahead, and find out how she was doing after Christmas Day’s devastating news.

But maybe that’s a trick of hindsight. All I know for sure is that, whenever I thought of her before New Year’s Eve, it was with some regret. My last message to her before leaving for Disneyland had finished with a heartfelt suggestion that she made sure to say “Granddad” instead of “Ronnie” when sharing the news with my sisters – but Mum never replied.

I was worried for my sisters, you see, and wanted to save them the same flurry of emotions I’d had during Mum’s video call with us. However, I couldn’t be sure whether Mum deliberately said the ambiguous “Ronnie”, or whether the word “Granddad” was lost under my response of “Oh?”

So in my message on Boxing Day morning, I tried to explain my suggestion without any hint of criticism. Still, I knew I risked adding guilt atop her grief, and I looked forward to a chance to apologise when we saw her on New Year’s Day.

Except I was driving down to her by 8am on New Year’s Eve, fearing I might never get the chance. 45min earlier, my sister Erica had phoned to say, “I don’t want to worry you…” and then shakily described how she and her wife Lauren had needed the police to bash down Mum’s door so the paramedics could get to her after an attempt at suicide.

By the time I arrived at 10am, Erica and Lauren had remained with Mum in A&E for 11 hours overnight, and were desperate to get home for some rest. They’d only contacted me, not wanting to scare our younger siblings.

As it was New Year’s Eve, A&E was teeming with folks who had suffered accidents at parties, so the hospital were clearly keen to discharge Mum soon to free up space. But I was with her a further 8 hours before a doctor could finally assess her to check if she was good to go.

And she was – kinda. She was still unsteady on her feet – she’d consumed an excess of alcohol in the run-up to her attempt – and in her conversation with the hospital’s psyche liaison assessor, she was asked, “Do you wish you had died?”

She answered, “Yeah. I don’t know why I’m here, to be honest.”

The next few hours were tense. The feelings that drove Mum’s intention were clearly still at the forefront of her mind, a hangover still contributing to her mood, and she expressed frustration at our attempts to look after her.

Meanwhile, Erica initially disagreed with my feeling that we needed to let other members of our family know ASAP. She was worried about upsetting them. I countered that they would be both upset and angry if they found out later – and besides, we could all do with supporting each other right now.

Erica ultimately accepted my perspective, and we contacted our youngest sister Header right there ‘n’ then. Unsurprisingly, she wanted to come down from her home in Berkshire to be with us, but her thoughtful boyfriend convinced her to rest until she could make the journey most safely the following morning.

Mum’s perpetual annoyance with us soon wore Erica down, though, and at one point she ran off in tears. Lauren checked up on her first. When I checked in on both of them, Erica was saying something along the lines of, “I just want her to be sorry! She must see how this has affected us?”

Lauren and I consoled her with words to the effect of, “She will, but she’s not in the right space yet. She’ll get there. For now, we can only be patient and look after her – but we also need to look after each other, and ourselves.”

And, “No-one is to blame here. Mum’s had an incredibly tough year, and Granddad’s death was one blow too many. But you saved her. You picked up the subtext of her last message to you, and that’s why she’s alive. One day, when she feels glad to be alive again, she’ll have you to thank.”

So it was that I saw New Year’s Eve in by watching the London fireworks on telly with Mum, Erica, and Lauren. Three of us wore brave, hopeful faces, while Mum stared at the screen like she’d rather we weren’t – or she wasn’t – there.

Sleep helped. Lauren returned home to look after their furry children while Erica and I spent the night at Mum’s. The following day, a ‘hospital at home’ team visited Mum, and she did seem a little stronger after they left. She sobered up a bit more too. We tried distracting ourselves with the telly till Header arrived.

At one point, Mum pointed out that she now had the door to worry about. The police had caused considerable damage enabling the paramedics to reach her, and it would be expensive to fix.

“I’ll handle that,” I promised.

“Why?” she replied. “Whatever you say won’t change that it needs fixing, and I’ll have to live with the consequences. The landlord will probably use it as an excuse to throw me out.”

“They won’t,” I replied. “I plan to put it in a way that makes absolutely sure they don’t hold you responsible, and encourages them to see it as a matter for their insurance.”

There was a moment’s pause while Mum and Erica looked at me with blank faces. Then Erica turned to Mum and said, “Ignore everything he just said.”

She would later explain to me that she had just wanted to take Mum’s mind off the confusing and painful subject of the door – and if I’d been in a better headspace myself, I would’ve seen that straight away.

But I wasn’t in a good headspace – and so, for the first time in 30-odd hours, I lost it. And for the first time in 30-odd years, I lost it in front of my sister.

“Yeah, ignore the fact that I’m here to help too!” I yelled – literally yelled – and slammed my coffee mug down. “The last coupl’a days have been fucking hard for me too, y’know!”

I ran upstairs, and hyperventilated until I calmed down and realised what an idiot I’d just been. I went back downstairs, knelt weeping in front of Mum, and said, “I’m sorry…”

She pulled me into a hug, now tearful herself, and said, “I’m sorry too! I didn’t want this to be so hard on you all…!”

Perhaps my emotional outburst may’ve been just what was needed to draw out the apology my sister wanted…

Had this been a soap opera, that’s probably where they would end the storyline – Mum finally regretting her actions, and resolved to focus more on the positives from then on.

But this was only Wednesday. Before the end of that day, Header arrived avec guinea pig, Erica returned home with Lauren, and Mum was desperately searching her house for wine. I confessed to sending it all away with Lauren, knowing that Mum needed to keep herself clean for a blood test the following Tuesday.

Not only did Mum not believe me that the hospital at home team had mentioned a blood test, but she stormed off to bed saying, “You can’t watch over me forever, Christopher!”

True, she apologised the following morning, acknowledging that she’d treated me like crap the night before. It felt like her strength and control was increasing as the week went on, and both we and the hospital rallied around her.

But she had made a good point. I couldn’t be there for her forever. And because she’d said that, I now couldn’t bear to leave her.

Come Friday, though, Mum had her own sister there, and she had Header. I made it back home that afternoon so Ermma and the kittens could help me recharge my own batteries – and also so I could feed Pippa her medication, since she absolutely refused to take it from anyone else. Even Mum and DadDad Sutcliffe hadn’t managed to help Ermma convince her to swallow her pill.

As a result, I got to see Pepys House in the snow for the first time.

But, come Sunday afternoon, Ermma and I were heading south again. This year’s Marlowe Theatre pantomime was Beauty and the Beast – Ermma’s favourite fairy tale – so Mum had offered to take us there.

Mum visits the Marlowe panto every year, but this one felt extra special. Within minutes, they’d had one of Mum’s favourite songs – ‘Bring Me Sunshine’ – played over the drum beat from ‘We Will Rock You’ – a song by my favourite band.

It was hilarious, the performances were incredible, and the music could’ve been ripped right off a playlist of Ermma’s or mine: Bon Jovi, The Offspring, Guns ‘N’ Roses… They even finished with ‘The Power of Love’, the same song I’d sung for the finale of the panto I’d performed in when Ermma and I started dating.

Happy faces left to right: Erica, Mummy Rose, the Beast, me, and Ermma

At last, it looked like all Mum’s cares were as far as they could be from the front of her mind. She was delighted, too, to grab a shot with the star, Maisie Smith.

Was that all it took? Some light-hearted entertainment to counter our recent soap operatic dramas?

Maybe. ‘Far from the front of her mind’ wasn’t the same as ‘away from her mind’, though, and there were more tearful conversations before we all went to bed at the end of this week.

Doubtless there’ll be more to come, not least because those words still echo in my ears…

“You can’t watch over me forever, Christopher…!”

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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 one word describes the thing you can usually rely on to lift your spirits?

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…
$;-)