Ice cream

Since the last post, I've cried a lot.
I've been feeling such strong of tugs of sadness that sometimes make everything seem dark.
I haven't actively searched for happiness, if anything I am longing for it to sneak up on me again. 

Today was nice.
I saw my mum and with her she brought the comfort and love from home. I hadn't realised how much I had wanted to hug her until I actually did. 
She brought me chocolates. Including a present from a distant relative in Scotland who was surprised to learn I was at University. The present was a chocolate bar with a fiver wrapped around it. 

We went out for lunch and I showed her a bit of my Sheffield. She told me about the week she and dad had spent in St Combs and showed me pictures. They look like they had the loveliest time, which made me smile. 

St Combs is a place I was actually going to write about on here over summer. It's far up north in Scotland, near Aberdeen. It's a tiny fishing village. My dad's mum grew up there, my dad spent his childhood summers there and in turn he took our family. It is one of my favourite places. There's rarely anyone else on the beach, it's sunny and you are surrounded by blue and the sounds of waves. It's idyllic.

From this hidden gem in Scotland comes ice cream. We got it all the time when I was younger (I haven't been in about 8 years)  and I used to swear by it. It's home made and just, one of the best things I've ever tasted.

And my parents concocted a plan with the shop keeper to get some home. It involved a big plastic, picnic box, ice cream taken from the deep freeze and my parents buying a lot of ice from a local Tesco to keep it cold for the seven hour drive home.

It worked.

My mum brought me a box of it today and with that spoonful came the memories of that blue, of the sounds of waves and the feel of the sand and your thoughts of the outside world being eroded by the sea. I didn't think childhood or its memories could have a taste but I think I found mine. 

I can't say to you that I'm really, 100% happy right now. I can't say to you that I'm not scared of someone else dying. I can say I have ice cream that took a lot of love and care to get to me. I have parents who love me. I have love that I can rely on and for that, today, I can almost remember the taste of contentment. 

There Really Aren't the Words

It seems some kind of sick joke that the universe has played on me. That as soon as I discover the realisation that my life is in a pretty good place right now, this happens. 

About a month ago now, my friend’s dad died. Mark Kirman. He was a lovely man and out of my friend’s parents, he was one of whom I got on the best with. He burnt me a copy of an Artic Monkeys album. The grief I felt was overwhelming. I knew my own was merely a ripple compared to the resounding, plunging depths that of my friend and her family but it was more so the whole situation that got to me. How my friend had been ill and was just getting better. Her 7 year old sister. The funeral. The family photos. Going to their house, of which I have always felt at home.

Then I tried to notice the happy things again, I tried to focus on the good of life rather than the bad. I got an owl keyring especially made me from Etsy, which I loved. I got my money back from an insurance claim after sending a letter of appeal – which gave me a confidence in my writing I really needed at the time. I went out for a meal with friends before we went back to university and the vibes of contentment seemed a little shakey but there none the same.

And I got work experience at the Guardian.

I can’t even begin to describe what that means to me.

It was my Dad’s birthday – I made him cry with my card since I wanted to make it clear just how much I love and appreciate him. I worked at the flower show with a friend I hadn’t seen much over summer. I got tips and paid and felt the worry of money ease itself away from my shoulders. I had a Thai meal my last night before university at home and thought this year would be better than the next.

It won’t be.

On Tuesday, I found out that my friend from the flat below – Suki (Tom Russell but he was our Suki) died. Seeing it written like that makes it hit home a lot harder. He was one of the loveliest guys. He gave this presence to the flat of pure joy, making everyone laugh – most of the time unintentionally.

I really don’t know what to say. I don't know if I can say any more about him. My words can't describe him well enough. 

Having to deal with a parent death and a friend dying at the age of 19, I don’t know how to cope. I find myself questioning life and what we’re doing here and we’re all just going to die anyway so what’s the point in it all? It's terrifying to see that pattern of thought so clearly etched on my brain.

And then, I think back to the past few days. We’ve been at the lads’ house most of the time since we found out. The other day, there was a 4 person spoon. We all had a beer. We just sat and chatted – there was surprising outbursts of laughter and for a second everything felt normal. And then we remembered. And then it was quiet. But during those hours spent at their house, I can feel ourselves becoming closer with one another. We’re sticking together and growing stronger as a friendship group because of it.

I can’t tell you if life has a meaning, if we have a purpose. 

I can tell you it’s not fair. It’s horrible. There’s no way of getting over it, I’m just trying to get through it – cherishing those close to me as I do. Maybe that’s what we’re meant to do in life. Just hold on to one another.