grief – Lessons I learned after I turned 30

Mental Health Mondays – 14. Something is always better than nothing.

Some days are harder than others. Some days your mental (and sometimes physical) energy is just drained by all the meaningless, pointless tasks that just had to be done.

It’s mind-blowing the amount of time we waste on little and not so little things because of others, either because they are disorganised, ‘last minute’, ‘idea but not action’ people and so on, or because of… well, life, chores, responsibilities, expectations.

On those days (Monday often is one of them), what matters is, to find the strength to do at least the bare minimum, if you can, so you keep up with what’s really important to you.

I used to be horrible at this. I gave up too easily and when I felt like that, I just wanted to lie down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, but lately I tap into my newly discovered persistence to not let nuances interfere with what I really want to do and not allow anything to keep me down.

For example, although I love running and yoga, some mornings I wake up exhausted and I feel I barely have any energy to walk, let alone exercise. But I still do it, I might go slower, run for less time, do an easier yoga session, but I get it done. I also love reading, so on a busy, stressful day, when I don’t have much time left before bed to read, I try to read at least a page or two, so I feel I’ve had a few moments for myself to do the things I truly enjoy.

Same goes for these Mental Health Mondays posts. I hoped I’d be able to write every single Monday, and I soon realised I couldn’t, but I still post every now and then, to show that it’s OK to just do something, as it’s always better than nothing (but don’t confuse this with time to rest, relax and do nothing, that’s different, and ESSENTIAL).

Namaste

Eleni

Mental Health Mondays – 13. Overwhelmed

When it rains it pours, they say.

January is tough enough as it is, life slowing down after the hype of the Christmas holidays, but this January was just… overwhelming.

It started badly, well horribly actually. On the 4th of January, our beloved family friend Doros was beaten to death, brutally murdered. I’ll write about it when I get the chance and I can handle the emotional pain that takes to describe how we this wonderful human being, an angel on earth, had a truly horrific tormented death.

After that, a combination of really cold weather, which caused my knee muscles to hurt when I ran, so I stopped running for a few weeks (I miss the mental clarity and hype I get during and after a run, and the sense of achievement), running low on money and confidence, going through a stressful period at work, leading to tough realisations I need to deal with soon-ish, and an overall feeling of mental exhaustion made January hard to navigate.

Of course there were a few positive highlights. Yoga with Adriene’s January 30 day yoga kept me going, even on days I felt I couldn’t possibly make it, and my Surviving January calendar, with little every day activities to do to cheer me up, as well as precious time with friends, family and loved ones.

I also started a daily journal, in an effort to help myself remember what I do, since anxiety can literally erase memories, I have huge blanks from previous years because of it.

We are now in the middle of February, and there’s a lot going on, I’m working on a few things, building up my confidence, and pushing hard for a better future, whilst also finding my feet again. I continue my yoga, my daily journal, and a few other things I’d like to write about like my lean in circle powerful, inspiring ladies, and the Women Fit 4 Business programme I got in, I just need to make time to sit down and write, and get back to running again, because both of them are vital for my mental wellbeing. I also haven’t played the guitar in months, which saddens me and makes me wonder whether why, since I loved it so much, and I still do, but I never seem to find the energy or the mood.

There’s a lot of issues I need to explore, but my primary aim for this year is to keep raising awareness about the importance of mental health for all aspects of our life and to also help in practice as much as I can. So cheers to that!

Namaste

Eleni

Mental Health Mondays – 12. Grief

I don’t really know how to start this blog. I find it hard even writing about it.

Last Monday, our baby dog of 13 years, Oscar, who would sit next to us and comfort us when we were ill or sad, who was a genius when it came to stealing food (including opening the fridge!) but would let other dogs bite his nose off, the family’s favourite companion, who’d do anything for love and affection, died.

He was old, I knew that, we all did, but as much as we kept reminding ourselves, we didn’t want to believe that he might die soon.

Even in his last couple of days, he didn’t want to overburden or cause any more pain to my parents.

On Monday morning, my mum messaged me, whilst I was at work. Oscar hadn’t been eating that much lately (his teeth were not in the greatest condition due to his age), though he’d still eat anything he could chew, but on that day he ate almost nothing. And that wasn’t the worst symptom. His legs gave up and he couldn’t move at all.

At this point, I felt that it might be the end. My heart kept beating faster and faster, I felt my blood freeze, and I could barely keep it together. I told my mum to let my sister Stella know, and take him to the vet.

Stella took our baby with my dad to the vet. She called me an hour later. ‘Are you on your own’? She asked.

As soon as she said that, I realised what happened.

He died in her arms, just outside the vet’s office. As the vet poignantly noted ‘You brought him to me when he was a puppy 13 years ago for the first time, and today you brought him back for the last time’.

Needless to say, we were and still are devastated about it. We all loved him to bits and we are trying to deal with his death each in our own way. His passing inevitably triggered painful memories of other loved ones’ deaths over the years, which makes it even harder to deal with.

I keep replaying what happened on Monday, in my mind, until my brain accepts the fact that he died. Some days I feel more sad than others, other days I’m just forgetful and irritable.

There’s no right or wrong when it comes to grief. And it makes no difference whether a human or a dog died, or whether you grieve the end of a relationship, friendship or any other end.

Oscar for us was a member of the family, who we love more than a lot of other humans.

We feel grateful and blessed we got to enjoy his unconditional love and affection for 13 years, and his death was as less traumatic as it could have been. My parents were worried he might die at home, my sister Stella worried that he might get gravely ill and she would have had to make the horrific decision whether to euthanise him, and my little sister Anna was worried he might have died as soon as she had left for her studies a year ago. Thankfully none of this happened. He loved and cared about us until the very end.

We love you our lixi (‘greedy’ when it comes to food, in Greek), now and always. Thank you for making our life more fun and colourful, thank you for all your cuddles and all the adventures we’ve been together. You will forever be the 6th member of our family.

Goodbye Oscarello.

Grief never goes away

Thursday, the penultimate day of what felt like the longest January in the history of time.

I woke up in tears. I couldn’t stop thinking of the day my little sister called me to break the devastating news that my grandpa, pappou Costas had died and the day afterwards, the day of the funeral I did not attend, as I was stuck in Cambridge doing my CELTA course.

I remember it vividly, in details, colours and feelings, like it was yesterday. Little moments that I’d normally forget if it was any other day I can recall in excruciatingly painful detail, my little sister and mum messaging me first to say that ‘grandpa was ill’ (he had died but they didn’t know how to tell me), the dreaded phone call afterwards, wandering by the stairs on a quiet corner of the corridor, Shalala asking me if I was OK some time later when I could barely speak at our TP feedback session, crying my eyes out that evening whilst planning a lesson for the following day, the following morning Jonny asking me if I was OK and and his reaction when I burst into tears, sitting outside in the sunshine just before I were about to teach about Mongolian horse racing (the same time as the funeral was taking place in Cyprus) looking up in the sky wishing my grandpa farewell, then remembering that ‘teachers are really actors’ and thankfully making it through my lesson.

Naturally, I started thinking of uncle Spyro’s tragic death just two months later. Again I remember every single detail, visiting him at the hospital a week before he died, in excruciating pain not able to say more than a few words at a time but still in good spirits, getting ready to go see him again a week later but receiving the dreaded phone call to inform us that he had passed away, the eulogy I wrote and ended up reading because my sister couldn’t manage through the tears (not that I did much better), the funeral, the burial, the memorial service for both of them a week later.

I wrecked my brain desperately trying to figure out why. Why do I suddenly feel so overwhelmingly sad about it, 4 months later, 6 months later? Perhaps because I wasn’t there when it happened and I never got closure when grandpa died? But I was there when uncle Spyros died…

Am I still grieving?

Then I remembered something a couple whose daughter died of cancer and came to share their story at one of the Touch storytelling events said.

Jon and Chris described grief like a circle, the circle is everything about the loved one you lost. At the beginning, you are in the centre of the circle, you cannot see past the sadness and the chaos. As time goes by, you get out of the circle and it gets smaller, you can see beyond it, but it’s always there. You just learn how to live with it.

And they were right..

They were right. It’s always there and at any given time you are back in the middle of the circle again. It’s always there, like an old scar that sometimes bleeds and hurts as much as the first time. And this one isn’t even that old of a scar.

So, grief never really goes away.

I did not suppress it. I cried throughout the day (exhaustion did not help) and choked every time I tried to hum a farewell song written by one of my favourite Cypriot composers, Costas Kakoyiannis, beautiful lyrics by his partner Pambos Kouzalis, who had just lost his brother to cancer, sang by an incredible 14 year old, Georgia Neokleous, who had sadly lost her mum to cancer too. Life is cruel like that sometimes.

That’s grief. It never goes away, if from time to time the pain comes back and you should never suppress it. There is no specific amount of time that you need or have to ‘overcome grief’. You just learn to manage it, but some days it hurts like hell and that’s OK.

Today is one of those days. I miss grandpa’s laughter and silly little jokes, his smile when all his grandchildren were visiting, running around the house, uncle Spyro’s wit, advice and little remedies he always suggested, his endless kindness and patience. It hurts but it’s OK.

I was lucky enough to have them in my life and that’s worth all the pain of losing them.

This is for you. Mr Kakoyiannis song (I translated the lyrics as they were too beautiful not to share and the composer included them in the description of the video).

You left and I didn’t get even get the chance to bid farewell,

say my last goodbyes.

How could I live without you for so long?

I throw water on your path, so a plane tree can grow.

To protect you from all evil, always keep it away, keep you safe.

Eleni

I won’t know where I’m going if I don’t know where I am…

A few days ago, I woke up in a sweat, tears streaming down my face, in the middle of the night. I saw my uncle Spyro in my dream, he looked so alive and healthy but he was sad. He knew he was going to die and I was painfully aware he was already dead. It took me a few seconds to realise where I was. I’m in Italy. How on earth all of this happened in just few months?

That’s when it hit me.

I have no idea what is going on. Not a clue. Now that the dust has settled and I’m getting into a routine, a routine I’m not familiar with and not quite sure how it should be, teaching English in a foreign country is brand new to me, I’m making time for myself to reflect, to make sense of what has happened in the last few months.

I don’t know where to start and how to end this post but here it goes.

I still sometimes feel I’m on a long, albeit random and bizarre holiday and I’ll be returning to the UK anytime now. I don’t miss my job, or the grey weather, OK I do miss British autumn, golden leaves across the park, hot chocolate at Mettricks, reading a book or watching silly TV on a Saturday afternoon with a blanket, a cup of tea and some chocolate biscuits whilst pouring down with rain outside, but other than that I don’t miss the UK.

I miss things from the UK, the convenience of it all (Amazon Prime aaah), actual little daily things like decent tea, Hobnobs and Chocolate Digestives, but most of all I miss my friends, my dear friends. Not that I don’t love my new colleagues and friends I’ve made already, but I miss my people.

So far I’ve enjoyed working as an EFL teacher. But is this the career I’d like to follow?

I don’t know, I genuinely don’t. I don’t even know if I’m any good at it. I’ll soon get feedback from my managers after they observe me but for now I’m doing what I think best.

Of course if I decide that’s not what I’d like to do long-term I can change careers again, but to do what?

For now I’ll give it time and not think that far ahead, but it’s always at the back of my mind.

I’m strangely not stressed or too anxious, not as much as I expected I’d be. Being one of the oldest teachers and having lived life already comes with its perks I guess. I do sometimes feel I let the rest of them down when I’m too tired or too ill or too old (in a ‘been there, done that’ sense) to follow them in some of their excursions.

It’s still unclear in my head whether I pursued this so fast to not disappoint my tutors who gave me a Grade A or to avoid dealing with my grandpa and my uncle’s deaths, I feel I haven’t processed still what has happened.

I remember the last time I was at my grandpa’s house, where my auntie now lives alone, without pappou Costa or theio Spyro and I caught myself waiting for them to show up. A horrible, sad realisation they will not ever again.

I also feel terrible guilt. I feel guilty I didn’t give my home, Cyprus more time. I was so occupied worrying not to get stuck I left after just a month. I didn’t travel across the island, I didn’t see all my friends and family. I needed an escape and ended up changing my plans at the very last minute.

I know deep in my heart I made the right decision leaving my job and leaving the UK. I’m not sure I made the right decision rushing into my first ELT job, but time will show.

For now I need to find myself again, I have felt the black cloud of depression getting closer over the last week and I desperately want to keep it away.

I need my remedies, my writing (which I’ve done a lot, this terrible cold I can’t shake off did me good in other ways), my Yoga- God I miss Adriene-, my guitar- God I miss my guitar-, and I need to feel like myself because at the moment… (I couldn’t have described it better than Wind and the Wave’s Lost)

That I won’t know where I’m going
If I don’t know where I am
But I feel more
I feel more
Lost

Eleni

Funerals are so surreal…

On Wednesday, 31st of July, the first week of my CELTA course, I received that dreaded phone call, my little sister letting me know my grandpa had died. A few days later I had a chat with one of my tutors and he inevitably asked me how I felt. My least favourite question at the time. It was the first time I didn’t cry when I was asked that after grandpa’s death and I just said:

‘I hope my uncle doesn’t die too, if that happens, I’m out. I’m definitely quitting this course. I won’t be able to handle it’.

I immediately changed subject. I couldn’t even imagine it might happen anytime soon. He had just been diagnosed with cancer and was recovering from his operation before starting chemo.

Less than two months later, my sister, my mum and I went to see my uncle Spyros at the hospital. His operation was successful and he had his first chemo, which caused him unbearably painful sores, he couldn’t speak or eat much, but his mind and spirit were still strong. He was even joking. I genuinely thought at that moment that he would definitely recover. He would never give up.

Exactly a week later, his health deteriorated (he unfortunately caught an infection when his immune system was at its lowest) and he was asleep or unconscious most of the time. He could hear though… so my sister and I were to visit.

We didn’t make it. Just before we were to leave for the hospital, I received that dreaded phone call. Uncle Spyros died. Ι burst into tears, devastated. He didn’t want to die, that bloody cancer and chemo killed him.

The kindest, sweetest, funniest, most generous man, always smiling. We all loved him to bits. How is he now gone??

My mind couldn’t comprehend what had just happened. How is that possible? How did we lose both my grandpa and my uncle in less than two ? How can my aunt, who used to live with both, deal with this?

How is it possible that less than a year ago, at Christmas time, we all had a laugh at grandpa’s house and now they are both gone??

Death and funerals are awkward, sad, surreal, especially in the Greek Orthodox religion.

I was asked to write the eulogy a couple of hours before the funeral. Nobody had the strength to do it and I couldn’t not do it. His son Christos, with tears in his eyes shared some beautiful sentences and I did the rest.

I wept and wept writing it so I asked my sister, Stella, to read it, as she rarely cries in front of others but I was going to be right next to her the whole time, in case she breaks.

After a short, half an hour service, it was time for the eulogy.

Stella and I went up. She read the first sentence and then burst into tears. I looked around, his three beloved sons, my aunties, my mum, my cousin, everyone weeping. Flashbacks from the last time I had to read a eulogy, my aunt’s funeral 4 years ago kept coming to my mind.

I needed to do it for my uncle. With tears streaming down my face and with breaking voice I took over and managed to read it until the end.

‘Until we meet again. Rest in peace our beloved Spyro’…

And then the priest said… ‘Δεύτε τελευταίον ασπασμόν’ (‘the last embrace/goodbye’) where for the last time we say goodbye. Probably the worst but also the most necessary part of the service. A final peek at the dead, to help the brain realise their spirit has left their body. (in theory anyway, he just looked he was peacefully asleep). Closure.

I’ve been grieving for my uncle for the last week but because I never said goodbye to my grandpa, I still feel he went somewhere else and he will soon be back. It’s crazy.

After the funeral, probably the most surreal part of a Greek Orthodox funeral took part, the burial. We followed the car carrying him to the cemetery. There the priest read a few prayers and then his sons, my aunt and other relatives said their very last goodbye. He was lowered into the grave and then bread and other random things including a plate the priest broke there and then were also put in the coffin, before we all threw a bit of soil and the graveyard people did the rest. Customs I don’t really know much about.

After the burial, my grandpa’s home where a week before we gathered for grandpa’s 40 day memorial, was bursting with people who came to pay their respects. Bittersweet moments, sharing stories of my uncle, grieving him whilst at the same time celebrating life. A cruel reminder life is too short and we should enjoy and appreciate every minute.

‘Why are all crying, uncle Spyros is just resting and we will all see him soon, when we die? My 7 year old nephew, Angelos, who uncle Spyros adored, asked me with his little eyes full of questions on what he just witnessed.

‘Because we’ll miss him, we don’t know when we’ll see him again.’ I said. It was hard to answer most of the questions he had, I didn’t know the answers either, this was the only one I had a genuine response for.

A lot more happened this week, I’ll tell you soon, but the biggest and saddest was uncle’s Spyros death.

We’ll miss you θειε μου. Until we meet again.

Eleni

When life gives you… grief

Monday, 5th of August, 2019

“What if my uncle or grandpa die and I don’t get to see them again? ” I wrote on my latest post about a week ago.

Less than a week later, one my of worst fears was realised. Pappou Costas, everyone’s favourite grandpa, the kindest, sweetest, funniest, loving, genuine man I had the blessing to have as a grandpa to look after me, take me cycling, take me down town on the bus at the big market in the old city on a Saturday, attend every birthday, name day, every single celebration, died a few days after his 83rd birthday.

When I talked to him last Saturday I promised I’d go see him first thing when I’m back in Cyprus in just a few weeks time. After he lost himself in his own thoughts for a moment (dementia is a horrible, horrible disease) he told me ‘I’m not going to be here, I’ll leave this place’. I cried after we hang up. I hoped he meant he’d leave the nursing home he was temporarily at but deep down I feared he meant he’d leave us, for good.

On Wednesday afternoon whilst observing my classmates teach, I got a message from my little sister and my mum saying that grandpa was not feeling that well. As soon as I got out of the classroom, I called the little one. I knew what she’d tell me before she spilled the words out. Pappou Costas died that morning, on his own at a nursing home, after a stroke.

I couldn’t stop crying but I went to the loo, washed my face and went back into the classroom. I can’t even remember how I managed not to cry in front of everyone. As soon as I walked out of the classroom I burst into tears and cried until bedtime.

I thought of quitting the course and flying home for the funeral the following day. But that wouldn’t have helped in anything. Grandpa’s only wish was for his children and grandchildren who adored, to be happy. Quitting the CELTA course and not having the option to teach English after my Cyprus break would have been a terrible decision.

“Please don’t quit, you flying here just for the funeral won’t make anyone happier. Stay, finish the course” my mum, my sisters and my cousin said.

They were right. And if I want to travel in the next few years, I’d have to learn to deal with terrible situations like this. I have been through them before, but it never gets easier.

I had no idea how to manage it. I was to teach the following day and all I could think of is that I’ll never see my grandpa again. I’ll never see his wide smile, with the odd hair from his moustache always falling into his mouth. I’ll never hear his laughter, his jokes, the way he greeted me every time he saw me or spoke to me on the phone.

But I had to find a way. People go through this every day. I can do it. First I emailed the course leaders. They may well notice my puffy, red eyes and they might misinterpret it and worried I’m not happy with the course.

I then sat down for hours preparing my lesson plan. Honestly, I can’t remember much from Wednesday night. It’s all a blur. Only thing I remember is all the messages I got from my friends. I never missed my friends more than last week and I’ve never felt them closer. I never felt so loved but so lonely at the same time.

I hardly remember anything from Thursday.

“Remember, teachers are really actors“, my dear auntie Sophie said. That’s what I tried to do. I cried my eyes out on my way to the college but when I walked in I pretended I was someone else. It worked for most of the day. I only broke down a couple of times.

When I walked into the classroom, one of the tutors, Jonny, took me to another room.

–‘Please don’t ask me if I’m OK otherwise I’d start crying’, I said.

-‘I know. I’m just checking…’ he replied.

And that was it. I started crying. He welled up. He gave me a hug and offered me a tissue and a few days off if I wanted to. I didn’t want to though. It would have probably made everything worse, staying at home in a house full of strangers, with no friends around. I will always remember that hug, a human feeling empathy and crying with another human’s pain. So poignantly beautiful.

I did OK in the input sessions but just before 2pm, when the funeral was just about to start in Cyprus, I went outside for some fresh air before the class I were about to teach. I had a moment of silence to myself in honour of my grandpa whilst I felt the sunshine warming up my face. It was cloudy all day but at that very moment the sun came out.

‘My grandpa brought the sunshine out all the way from Cyprus to me, to tell me everything will be OK. I love you grandpa’ I heard the little voice inside my head say. I wiped my tears, took a deep breath and walked back in the classroom.

If anyone told me a week ago that in the next seven days I’d lose my grandpa, cry in front of both of my tutors and somehow manage to pretend I’m OK for days and actually deliver a great class, I’d have never believed them. Who? Me! I cry watching TV adverts and wear my heart on my sleeve, how on earth did I manage this?

Sadly I didn’t make it to Chris’s wedding and I feel terrible for that. For those who know me in person or have been reading my blogs, you know how much I love Chris, he’s one of my favourite people in the world and I’d have loved to be there and celebrate with him the happiest day of his life, but I just couldn’t. I was exhausted. Mentally and physically. Drained. I couldn’t feel any other emotion other than numbness and deep sadness.

5 days later and I’m doing better. I’m still sad and I cried my eyes out writing this, but I can control my grief just enough to get me going for now. It will hit me as soon as I’m done with this insanely intense course. For now, a day at a time.

This post is dedicated to my grandpa and I couldn’t not write a few words.

“A society grows great when old men plant trees the shade of which they know they will never sit in”. Good people do things for other people. That’s it. The end. Anne said to Tony on Ricky Gervais ever so relevant After Life. That’s what our grandpa did all his life. Good things for other people without expecting anything in return.

This is the last time I saw him, last Christmas, watching his grandchildren and grand grandchildren laughing and playing.

I asked the family to share some of their photos. Always surrounded by his loved ones, always laughing. That’s how we’ll all remember him.

I love you pappou mou. Our lives will never be the same without you. I promise I’ll always try to follow your example. Do good things for people. Make this a better world for everyone.

Eleni

Three years ago…

With every passing year, the memory of that day fades away… But somehow, still, there are things I can’t forget.

My cousin screaming SHE IS NOT BREATHING!! The smell, oh my God that smell. The smell of the body giving up, the smell of death… And that image, the image of what could have been my aunt. But she looked so different. I’m still amazed how different she looked a few days later at the funeral. Then she looked like herself, how I knew her.

Death is a natural part of life, we should be familiar with it, deal with it better.

But is it really? Cancer is not natural is it? The way it ruins your body and mind. Pumping your body with so many chemicals to kill it that they end up killing your internal organs is not natural is it? Feeling so exhausted and worrying you may not make it another day is not natural is it?

A couple of weeks before she died, I sent her flowers hoping to make her smile, and they did. That’s the last image I had of her alive, an image still painful to share. Living abroad when your family goes through something so horrible is immensely painful. And as tough as it is to think about it, you never know when it’ll be the last time you see them.

I’ve read somewhere that grief doesn’t really go away. It’s always there, you just learn to live with it. That’s why sometimes all those feelings come back as strong as they were that day.

But this how we will always remember her.

I’m grateful my mum had such a great eldest sister and my cousins such a lovely mother figure. That’s what my mum said to me when I asked her earlier.

Η Μεγαλη μου Αδελφη. Σπανια Ψυχη. Ανθρωπος θυσιας και προσφορας σε ολους μας. Η γιαγια μου η Αννα, η Μαμμα μου και η Αδελφη μου η Αννα τις ειχα κ τις εχω προτυπο στη ζωη μου. Μπορει να πεθαναν αλλα για μενα ειναι ζωντανες στην καρδια μου κ στο μυαλο μου. Εζησα μαζι τους Ευλογημενες κ αξεχαστες στιγμες.

Η αδελφη μου ηταν μαζι μου την ωρα που πονουσα οταν γεννουσα τα παιδια μου κ μου κρατουσε το χερι κ με στηριζε. Οταν πηγαιναμε σπιτι της ηταν πολυ φιλοξενη. Οτι ειχε μας κερνουσε. Το τελος της ζωης της ηταν δυσκολο κ πονεμενο. Δεν μπορουσα να τη βλεπω να υποφερει…

(My eldest sister. A rare, pure soul. Always gave her heart for everyone else. My grandma Anna, my mum and my sister Anna have always been my role models in life. They may have died but for me they are alive in my mind and in my heart. I lived some unforgettable, blessed moments with them.

She (my sister) was with me, holding my hand when I was in pain, giving birth to my children. She was always so hospitable.

The end of her life, tough and painful. I couldn’t watch her suffer so much…)

I’m grateful she brought to live and raised two of my favourite and dearest loved ones, Andrea and Georgia. My cousin, Georgia posted this beautiful poem of a famous modern poet. It’s as if she wrote it herself for her mum…

Να φωνάξω ξανά: Μάνα μου!

« Μάνα μου…κόρη μου» ήταν οι τελευταίες σου λέξεις σ’ εμένα,

όταν αισθάνθηκες ότι η ζωή σ’ εγκαταλείπει σιγά – σιγά.

Μέσα σ’ αυτές τις λέξεις φώλιασε όλη σου η αγάπη.

Δυο λέξεις – δυο ιδιότητες, εκ διαμέτρου αντίθετες κι όμως,

σε κάποιες στιγμές τόσο όμοιες, σαν τις όψεις του ίδιου νομίσματος.

Τις έχω κρατήσει μέσα μου, κερί αναμμένο στο μανουάλι της θύμησής σου,

μπροστά από τα εικονίσματα τόσων αναμνήσεων.

Ναός η ύπαρξή σου κι η καρδιά σου ένας διάφανος θόλος

που έβλεπε κατευθείαν στον Θεό.

Εκεί σε φαντάζομαι τώρα, ψηλά αλλά όχι απόμακρα.

Πανταχού παρούσα να παρακολουθείς τις πτώσεις και τις ανόδους μου,

τις θλίψεις και τις χαρές μου, τα λάθη και τις ευστοχίες μου.

Σε φαντάζομαι και σου μιλάω τις ώρες που τα πάντα σωπαίνουν.

Σε φωνάζω χωρίς στόμα, σε αγγίζω χωρίς χέρια, σε θρηνώ χωρίς λυγμούς.

Γιατί, μάνα μου, δεν είμαι πια η ίδια χωρίς εσένα.

Μεγάλωσα απότομα από τότε που σ’ έχασα.

Ξεριζώθηκα σαν το δέντρο που το θερίζει ο βοριάς.

Έμεινα άοπλος στρατιώτης στο πεδίο της μάχης,

που τον εγκατέλειψαν οι σύντροφοί του.

Ένας στρατιώτης σακατεμένος και κρυμμένος στα χαρακώματα

να περιμένει την επίθεση του εχθρού.

Τα διδάγματά σου, όμως, οι γαλουχίες σου, η αστείρευτη αγάπη

που με ανέθρεψε με ατσάλωσαν.

Μου έδωσαν τελικά θάρρος να συνεχίσω, να μην λιποψυχώ.

Να βγω έξω και να συνεχίσω να δίνω τις μάχες μου.

Έγινα εγώ η σοφή που συμβουλεύει, η αγκαλιά που παρηγορεί,

η αισιοδοξία που παροτρύνει, το άγρυπνο μάτι που περιφρουρεί.

Κι ας κρύβω μέσα μου το παιδί που ορφάνεψε.

Το παιδί που κλαίει, όταν χτυπάει στην αλάνα της ζωής

κι αποζητά το μητρικό χάδι και την ζεστή αγκαλιά.

Συνεχίζω να ζω κι ας μην έχω πια την ευλογία να φωνάξω:

«Mάνα μου» και να σε δω να εμφανίζεσαι στην πόρτα.

~Σαντίνα Δεναξά~

( To shout again: Mum!

My daughter… your last words to me, when you felt that your life was slowly slipping away. You put your love into those few words.

I kept those words inside me, as a candle lit in your memory. Your existence, a church and your heart a dome looking straight to God. That’s where I imagine you now. Up in the sky, but not far.

Always here, watching my rise and fall, my happy and sad moments, my mistakes and my successes. I think of you and talk to you at the most silent moments. I talk to you with no mouth, I touch you with no arms, I grieve for you with no tears.

Because, mum, I’m not the same without you. I grew up suddenly, the moment you died. I’m like an uprooted tree, battered in the wind. A soldier without their gun, in the battlefield, abandoned by their fellow soldiers. A wounded soldier, hidden, waiting for the enemy to attack.

But your nurture, your advice, your endless love, made me stronger. They gave me strength to keep going, to never give up.

I was now the wise one to advise others, the one to console, the optimistic one, the watchful eye that protects.

Although, inside, I’m still a child without a mother, a child who cries when she gets hurt and is looking for their mum’s embrace.

I keep on living without the blessing of you showing up at the door when I shout ‘Mum’.)

I’m grateful my sister Stella had such a wonderful godmother. I loved the special bond they always had. I asked my sister for some words. I burst into tears when reading her reply. I’ve never heard of this before.

-Δηλαδη να γραψω που διαβαζαμε μαζι και εκαμε υπομονη ωσπου να μαθω την γ*****η την ιστορια; Και που με έπιανε κάθε φορά που ξεκινούσε η χρονιά να μου πει καλή αρχή και να διαβάζω? Και να προσεχω τον εαυτο μου γιατι αν δεν τον προσεχουμε δεν θα μας προσεχει.

Και όταν εγεννήθηκε η Ειρήνη είπε μου να προσέχω τη βαφτιστικιά μου και ειπα της πως όσο καλή νούνα είχα, τόσο καλή νούνα θα’μαι για την Ειρήνη.

Και όταν μιλούσαμε για τα φαγια της είπε μου να μου δείξει και είπα της πως όσες φορές και να μου δείξει δεν θα είναι ίδια με τα δικά της. Και λέει μου, γιατί; Και λέω της έχει ένα συστατικό που βάλει που δεν το έχει κανένας. Και λέει μου μα τι; Και είπα της η αγάπη που βάλει στο φαί της όταν το φτιάχνει.

(She used to sit with me and help me with my homework. She was so patient, especially when it came to f****ing history. She used to call me at the beginning of every single school year to wish me well and remind me to be a good student.

She used to say to me: Take care of yourself, because if you don’t take care of yourself, it won’t take care of you.

When Irini was born she told me to take care of my goddaughter and I told her I’ll be as good godmother as she’s been to me.

When we used to chat about her cooking, she offered to show me how to make some of her recipes and I told her, she can teach me as many times as she likes but it will never taste the same as her food. And she asked me, Why?

Because you add an ingredient that nobody else has. What’s that? She asked.

The love you put into your cooking…)

I’m grateful I had Anna as my aunt for 29 years, I’ll always cherish the memories of the big parties and relaxed summer evenings on her terrace, her delicious food, her love, her intelligence, her sweetness and kindness.

And although I’d rather she was still alive, I’m grateful of what I learned and how much I’ve changed because of her death. Appreciate the little things, love and care for myself, do what makes me happy. I’ve become a stronger, more resilient human.

Αιωνία σου η μνήμη θεία μου καλή μου.

Ελένη

A week of Arts, Lights, Fireworks, Magic and Harsh Reality

A week ago on my Insta stories I was wishing all a great week and actually said out loud “Whatever happens, even if it’s a bad week, we are humans, we got this, we can do it”.

Some weeks as a dear friend said, the best thing you can do is just survive and that was one of those weeks.

It wasn’t all bad, but the horrible news of my friend’s dad passing away just before her 30th and the effect of it on me cast a shadow of sadness to the rest of the week.

The highlights

Pancakes!

I celebrated one of my favourite non Christian orthodox religious days, Shrove Tuesday or as most famously known Pancake day with my new favourite ladies, Charlie and Di and Charlie’s lovely friends who I got to meet on the day. Delicious Nutella pancakes, interesting conversations and lots of laughter, a great great evening. Thank you Charlie for the invite!

Meeting the cadets

On Wednesday morning I found out about my friend’s dad’s death, more on that later, and I was emotional throughout the whole day. I spend every Wednesday with the Student Achievement team, the highlight of my work week and they distracted me from my sorrow for most of the day. At lunchtime little Miss Sunshine, Miss Holiday, my lovely Linda invited me to join her on a campaign raising awareness and supporting students with a little quiz and snacks, at the Warsash Campus in St Marys, the home of our cadet students.

It’s a whole different world down there and I loved every minute of it. What took me by surprise was the maturity of the students, compared to any other students I’ve met. They have to learn to be responsible from a very young age and most of them spend time at sea, often in dangerous areas like Somalia by the time they are 19, they are forced to grow up fast. I wish I was that mature when I was their age.

Some of the conversations I had with these 20 year olds were more mature, deeper and more meaningful than ones I had with 35 year olds. I can’t wait for my next visit.

Happy Girls Are The Prettiest

In our effort to bring back the magic back on Valentine’s day, we decided to set a love box in our department and send each other kind messages anonymously, as it used to happen back in the day. Thank you to whoever sent me the sweet message below. It was just what I needed on Wednesday. Our work may not be exciting sometimes, so a little bit of fun is necessary to keep us going. I may not be happy all the time, but I promise you, we’ll always have a laugh, even at the toughest of times, and you can always always rely on me.

Let there be light

On Thursday I finally made it to the Festival of Light at Westquay and the lovely Chloe and Taylor joined me. I’ve been meaning to visit from the moment I first heard about it, it sounded magical, like a fairy tale, and it really was. No need to say more, just look!

The Stand Together exhibition

On Friday lunchtime, I popped to the Solent Showcase Gallery in the hope to catch the dancers rehearsing a dance portraying Brexit, something that really affected me especially on the day of the referendum and I really wanted to see how they channelled this through dancing but unfortunately they were on their lunch break. Instead I had a wander around the rest of the Stand Together exhibition and I had the pleasure to meet the artist himself Kev Munday.

Kev is a Solent graduate and now a famous artist! I was shocked when the first thing he told me was that he recognised me because he just drew me!

I saw an ad on Portal, our internal Solent page a while ago, asking for a selfie and a little blurb about me, so I sent a photo of me and a short message on me living in Southampton for 8 years now and how it’s not always easy living on my own in another country, but I wouldn’t change it. I thought I was too late sending my photo in, but it seems not!

I didn’t want to disturb him but he kindly let me film him whilst drawing and had a chat about his inspiration behind the exhibition.

Fireworks!

After work I was meeting Charlie and Di for a drink and then off to watch the opening of the brand new Arts Complex (The New Nuffield Theatre, City Eye and the John Hansard Gallery) in the heart of the city!

On my way there I was unexpectedly joined by Chris and Helen, what a lovely surprise. I love it when my old friends meet my new friends and get along and have a laugh from the first moment. That’s something we often do back home but rarely happens here.

After a couple of drinks it was time! After a beautiful, fun and sweet dance performance, fireworks went off from the roof of the new Nuffield Theatre. I can’t tell you how excited I am there is now a new theatre, gallery and studio, just opposite work, in the heart of Southampton. I can’t wait to check them all out and indulge myself in more art and culture. I may be going to my first ever event there tomorrow. Excited much!

My little duckling’s birthday

On Saturday my little sister, my mini-me turned 20 years old and we spent most of the night before and the day face-timing. I am incredibly proud of the amazing, ridiculously talented, humble and caring human being she turned out to be. For me it will always be my little one. It’s hard living abroad but it’s even harder when I can’t be there for special family moments like this one. I love you to the moon and back.

Chinese New Year celebrations

On Sunday, co-incidentally after posting about my recent visit to Shanghai 1814 restaurant I heard drums noise coming from the same very restaurant on my way into town, I walked in and for the first time witnessed Chinese New Year celebrations. Whilst the drums went on, a dragon danced across the restaurant and then welcomed by a man with a traditional Chinese face mask on who offered it clementines and lettuce. The dragon then threw the fruits and the lettuce (after shredding it) in the crowd whilst confetti flew around. On my way to the bookshop there were more celebrations at West Quay with children and students singing Chinese songs.

The harsh reality

On Tuesday night, whilst I was at Charlie’s I got a message from my friend’s other half. I didn’t read it until the following day, in the morning.

As you may know by now, that’s when I found out one of my favourite friend’s (who her birthday was on that day) dad died earlier in the week.

I burst into tears and I cried most of the day. I felt incredibly sad for my friend but I also for the first time I empathised with someone to a point I could feel her pain in every cell of my body and mind. As if it was my dad who died. The fact that she is an expat like myself and her family lives back home, like mine, made it extremely easy for me to put myself in her place.

The first thing I did was to message my friend and then Sheba. I cried. She messaged back crying. We are always in sync.

As soon as I walked to work I told Donna so she knew why I was upset and then went to meet the Student Achievement Team. Thank you Lou for the warm hug and Sarah, Lee and Ashley for all the laughs.

I’m still sad about my friend but I’m OK. It was a harsh reminder that life is too damn short and being sad, angry and dwelling on things it’s a complete waste of time.

It’s funny isn’t it? Every time death hits close to home we get upset and devastated, we remember how vulnerable we are, that we are mortals and then after a while we completely forget. I’ll try my best not to forget this time.

After two weeks with ups and downs, laughter, fireworks, lights, eating out, drinks, meeting incredible people, old friends, new friends but also sadness, disappointment, anger and frustration, I need some me-time to find my feet again and get out there.

Namaste

Eleni

Two years later…

Two years on this day…

I wasn’t sure whether to post today or not. I’ve been feeling emotional already the last couple of days but today was harder than normal.

But today is not about what happened that day. You can see my previous posts here. Today is about reflecting on what I learned and how I changed over the last two years.

For the last few days I’ve been contemplating about my life so far and what it’ll be better to do next. I’m craving change and I know for sure I want a new job, but should I move to another city? Another country? Another continent?

Change is scary, even when you desperately want it. I’m scared I might make the wrong choices. And I’m even more scared but also relieved it’s just me I need to think about.

I sometimes fall into this hole, comparing myself to others at my age who achieved much more, they travelled more, they’ve done more, they have a better job, more money and so on.

I loved my Uni years and I wouldn’t change those for anything, but I feel I wasted the rest of my 20s paralysed by insecurities and fears, stuck in an unhealthy relationship that left me with confidence issues. I can’t change my past, so there is no point thinking like that whatsoever, but sometimes I can’t help it.

What shook me to the core was my aunt’s death. That was my wake-up call. That reminded me how short life is and how unhappy I was with my then life.

Two years later, I sometimes I feel I haven’t achieved much (the annoying inner voice taking over) but then I take a second and think of what I have achieved so far, how I managed to finally travel more, Edinburgh, Berlin, Rome, Florence, how I now go home at least twice a year, which is essential for my mental wellbeing, how I became a godmother to my gorgeous Prince, how I learned to live on my own, the first time I almost burnt the whole place down because I forgot the pot on the hob for too long and the water evaporated, the first time I forgot to lock the doors, the first time I had to fix the car on my own, the first time I sold a car (God I miss my Indigo), the first time I had so little money left I could only afford food…, the first time I could afford a proper holiday, the first time I posted a blog, the first time I posted a video of me singing badly to Kodaline, the first time I went to the cinema on my own to watch a Louis Theroux documentary, the first time I finally opened up about my struggles and depression and many many more firsts…

Although I go through a confidence crisis every now and then, sometimes triggered by the smallest thing (I know is silly but that’s how the brain f***s you up, cognitive distortions), I’m very proud of how far I’ve come and if anyone thinks less of me then that’s their problem. Rejection is not easy to digest but as with everything, you learn how to cope and overcome it.

I go through my older posts from time to time and I can see how my writing and I as a person matured since I started this blog.

I’d probably be stuck in a horribly boring and miserable life if it wasn’t for my loving, selfless, brave, sweet, incredibly intelligent, kind aunt and her horrible but noble fight until the very end.

Reading her eulogy at her funeral in front of a church full of people who knew and loved her is the hardest thing I ever had to do in my entire life but also one of the most proud moments of my life so far.

One of the many gems I kept from the incredible Derren Brown’s book Happy was that a person really dies when the last person who remembers them dies too. What a sweet, beautiful notion.

We all love her and she will always live through us. Through her children, her grandchildren, her brother and sisters, her dad, my dearest pappou and all of us.

I’m overwhelmingly proud of my cousin Georgia, my aunt’s daughter, and her seven children and all of the family on how amazingly they did the last two years. We’ve been through a lot as a family but we are closer than ever. I love you all to the moon and back.

I’m always amazed by how we humans cope and bounce back from whatever life throws at us.

I’ve learned from my past and thanks to my aunt I’ve made my present and hopefully my future much better.

So here’s to the present and the future. May be better and brighter, full of laughter and incredible moments.

Rest in peace dear aunt Anna.

Eleni