“He was a scribble of a boy, all hair and mischief” – Jean Coyle-Larner
Last week I shared a piece of writing on grief and as we approach the end of summer, I’ve been reflecting on a lyric, “summer of love, so full of pain”. I think that summarises a place so many of us find ourselves in, on different occasions in our lives. A lot of us spent four hazy weeks declaring that football was coming home, it so nearly did. The weather was hot, the nights were long, the pubs were full and the gentle waft of bbq coals lingered in the air. We were together, through the adulation and in the commiseration. As the whistle blew on England’s WC adventure, I stood teary eyed, in a pizza restaurant, with the pictures beaming on to a piece of white MDF. Gareth Southgate consoled his young players, as I imagined what it will be like to hold my son in his grief, and then how my parents have stood with me in mine. Joel, you’re coming home, I felt, but just hold on.
Over the years there have been moments where I’ve been stood, quietly staring into the blurry nothingness of the busy world and I’ve felt completely alone. I’ve found myself in dark headspace’s imagining that it would be easier for it all to end. That the chaos of was too much. That maybe I was too much. It’s candid to pen (type) and tough to read but it’s that, candid. When someone suffers in their head, it’s hard to explain the thought process, because so often there isn’t one. Just a whole load of nothing and a heap of numb. But that is not truth.
When I first heard Sun of Jean ☝️ I was moved by a verse written and read by a mother bursting with LOVE for her ‘Mowgli’. “He turned the world upside down and we’re richer for it. He was and is a complete joy” she says. And I am that, to my mother, as my son is to me. We mess up, we make wrong turns but it’s all process.
I’ve had these words inked on my arm this week to remember who I am. That I am loved. That I love. So if you know that pain that rushes like a speeding train, embrace it, it’s okay ‘coz we’re in this thing together. It’s not the end. I am and will always be Jackie’s “complete joy, (her) scribble of a boy” and you will be someone’s too. Sometimes it’s just a case of hanging on in there.
It’s Joel, actually. 