Getting older

Today I turned forty-six. Though I choose instead to adopt the age one of my football team guessed, and claim a splendidly youthful thirty-two. Thank you L!

This evening, after a meal out for the first time since BigBear's birthday in March, I am putting some effort into focussing on the positives of the day, and of my life. Mostly because this morning I was not doing a good job of doing so...

This morning, everything felt sad and empty and overwhelming. In the past 7 months only two pairs of feet other than those belonging to us Bears have set foot in this house - PigletBoy sat inside the patio doors with LittleBear yesterday afternoon playing with lego, and MrsBuilder inspected the leaking roof two weeks ago. That's it. A ten year old and a builder in seven months. No family, no friends. Life feels empty of laughter and camaraderie. The friends I used to talk to outside school every day are now just a passing wave from behind a mask as we collect our children on a strict rota, each class five minutes apart from the next. The friends who live more than a five-minute cycle ride from my house may as well be in a different continent*. Even my nearest and dearest friend, a mere ten miles away, I have seen only twice(?) in this whole car-crash of a year. The ones who are in Cheshire, Derbyshire, Surrey, Kent, London, Devon? There is only so far that technology can hold us together. Facetime and Zoom and WhatsApp have kept me sane, but they haven't kept me whole.

I'm forty-six and I feel broken. I seem to give and work and strive and run out of time without reaching any of the goals I'm aiming for. I don't manage to be the mother, sister, daughter, wife, friend, physicist, football coach, mentor or volunteer that I want to be. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe there are too many things I'm trying to be, and not enough me to go around. I'm tugged in every direction, and stretched so thin that I snap. I shatter. I splinter into sharp, angry, weeping shards that help no-one.

I'm forty-six and my baby isn't a baby any longer, and every time I look he seems older and more serious. Responsible beyond his years. Aware of a global pandemic and the manner in which our lives are being shaped by that in ways I wish I could protect him from, but I can't. I am not ready to lose the little bundle of warmth that still climbs into my lap for cuddles, not even when some of those cuddles are just an excuse to delay bathtime.

I'm forty-six and my mother is ageing, and becoming weaker and frailer. I've seen her once since February and I miss her. I miss seeing her as we all are now, but I also miss being young and being looked after. I miss knowing that she could drop everything and rush to my aid, no matter what mess I'd got myself into. I don't need her to rescue me, but I miss knowing that she could. 

I'm forty-six and the world I see around me just looks shit. It's filled with selfishness, and racism, and arrogance, and ignorance. People who won't stop to consider anyone except themselves, or their concerns and views. People who have lost all trace of empathy for those with nothing. Meanwhile politics appears to be dominated by fools and charlatans; men (and a few women) who place self-interest, personal advancement, and public adulation ahead of leadership, intelligence, honesty, integrity, decency or even just Doing The Right Thing. I genuinely despair, not simply of how we got here, but of how we claw our way to a better future. I cannot see it with our electoral system, our press or our current crop of politicians.

This morning, all of that was too much for me. All of that meant I struggled to see and feel the good in my life, and the love that surrounds me. This evening (aside from writing about all of that) I have tried to move the good things to the front of my mind, and to remember that even in amongst the storms that rage in my mind and in the world, there is good. There are people who will strive to do what's right, for no reason other than it's right. There are people who offer up their love and their friendship unconditionally. There is light in the world, and for as long as that is true, it is always worth adding my tiny candle flame of light to the world, to keep on keeping on. To keep giving and working and striving for the world I want for my baby-who-isn't-a-baby.

So here's the other view of today...

Today my boys gave me a lie-in, followed by breakfast and presents in bed. 

Today my gorgeous little boy was as full of cuddles, and love, and compassion and helpfulness as he always is. 

Today I had a birthday cake that Piglet made for me, chosen specifically to be a variety the rest of the bear household don't eat (coffee and walnut, since you ask), so that I could have a cake all to myself. 

Today my lovely friend C, and her little boy, cycled round with a card and a jar of home-made jam, also that the rest of the bear household don't eat (blackcurrant, since you ask), so that I could have the whole jar to myself. 

Today my lovely friend H hand delivered a card, and just snuck it through the door, though I'm sure she knows she would have been welcome to ring the doorbell for a chat. 

Today I had messages from friends in Alberta, Victoria, Singapore and Rotherhithe (among other places). 

Today I was able to talk to my mother on a screen, share a crossword, laugh and smile, though miles separate us. 

Today an adorable band of five-year old boys and their parents sang "Happy Birthday" to me at the end of the under-6 football training I'd been helping out at.

Today I went out for dinner with my two bears, and we had a nice, quiet, civilised meal together, filled with smiles, and laughter and silly jokes.

Today, totally out of the blue, a friend offered to lend me her home in London while she's away for a month in case we wanted a covid-safe place to stay away from home.

Today I was reminded of the love and warmth of friendship.

Today I turned forty-six in a home filled with love, and my two favourite people in the world, and a slightly annoying cat.

Today the sun broke through the clouds.

* Some of them are, but that's not the point.