Layla likes kissing…

Confession: I actually wrote the blog below about 3 months ago, but ironically got scared and didn’t post it (you’ll understand why it’s ironic when you read it) - but since it’s a new year, I decided it was about to finally publish it.

Here goes…

There’s a bit in Bridget Jones when Bridget is trying to make a good impression and her friend advises her to introduce everybody with an ‘interesting fact.’ It’s quite a funny scene, I’ll link it.

I love when someone is introduced with a fact because I nearly always remember it. Most people hate ‘get to know you games’ but I like them. In fact I’m usually the person everyone hates at an event because I usually suggest one of those games!

I went to a youth theatre course when I was 16 and we had to go around the circle and say our name and something we liked. I still remember that ‘Layla liked kissing.’

I know nothing about this girl now-her surname, where she lives, what she’s doing with her life- I probably wouldn’t even recognise Layla if I saw her in the street! And yet, I remember when she was about 16 she liked kissing because that’s the fact she gave about herself 19 years ago!

Sometimes I’ll tell my sister about someone.

Our conversation will go:

‘You know Clara?’

‘Clara? Is that the one that loves onions or the one who once swallowed a wasp?’

‘The onion one’

‘Ahh yes.’

My art teacher in secondary school permanently referred to me as ‘the girl whose dog fell off the cave hill and survived.’ I’m not sure I’d have chosen that fact, but he liked it! (And yes this is a true story- one for another day!!)

My point is the facts or little stories I know about other people is how I remember them. And it seems others are the same as me.

Andrew always said he didn’t want to be remembered as ‘that saxophone kid who died really young.’ Realistically that will be exactly how some people will remember him and despite his desire, what someone else thinks about us and remembers about us, is (frustratingly) not up to us.

A fellow choir member asked me the other day why I don’t write blogs anymore. I’m always flattered that anybody notices I haven’t been writing it!

She wondered was I just too busy? I am busy (very busy actually), but that’s not why. I actually write blogs all the time as if I’m going to publish them but then I get scared and don’t.

I started this blog as a cathartic outlet so I tend to write about the hard stuff and sad stuff in my life as a way of processing it. Yet, I realised I didn’t want people who read them to think ‘wow, she’s miserable’ or ‘does she think about anything other than grief?’

If all I write about is the fact that I really miss Andrew and my kids have been hard work, is that all anyone will think of me? Just like Andrew, I hate the idea of my interesting fact (and therefore somehow my identity) being ‘that girl who was widowed really young’ or ‘that girl who’s really miserable all the time.’

It also suddenly felt like, for a while, I shared too much. People on the street that I hardly knew had read my very personal blogs. Some people I barely knew told me they’d read them. I felt cringy and too public and I felt embarrassed that I’d been so open and honest and raw, especially about grief. It made me want to retreat and to keep my private life very very private. The truth is, I am still grieving and I still really miss Andrew. However, it’s not my whole life now.

My life is busy and exciting but also boring and mundane, it’s delightful and joyful and awful and happy all at the same time. (Probably like most people.)

I don’t get to choose what other people think, so I guess that’s not for me to worry about. But I also don’t want my interesting fact to be ‘she used to write blogs.’ So, I’ve just written something down, put what’s in my head on paper and been brave enough to share it.

If you need a fact to introduce me I’d be happy with ‘this is Ruth, and she is simply marvellous.’ Ha!

Over and out,

Ruth