Letter to My Mum, Two Years On…


Dear Mum

I woke up with a headache at the start of this heavy day, and tried to slow the spiralling circles of head locked thoughts whirling round my brain, in the still too early and bright hours of dawn.

My body claimed its’ pain: a hurt head, a pulled muscle in my shoulder, thoughts running on from a night of intermingling dreams and nightmares…

The light outside my nestling room announced itself as bright glorious summer, with all the inherently delicious possibilities of sun, slowed time and sacred space. A time to rest and regenerate; to enjoy the seasonal fruits of nature; to live an animal life outdoors.

Instead now I fret in my sleeping cell, door shut against the world; head boxed in, with stamping thoughts traipsing round in never and ever decreasing circles, the lid on the box firmly shut – the thoughts wearing heavy boots, they are determined to stomp and stay, instead of escaping to the light and setting me free.

You see there is a wolf out there, out to get me – growling and prowling around my homely borders and literally threatening me for money. And that wolf is one thing, I will either ignore it or fight for my right; whilst the abysmal howling canine creature circling instead in my head, is quite another matter…

So I breathe deep and distract myself… I read; then set myself up for resolution and for this gorgeous (and tortuous) gift of a day – I pray and meditate; then I energise – I get up and off the bed and go out into the quiet, light world outside – to walk off my woes, shift my psyche and earn my breakfast. Sunshine and fields and rivers accompanied by music and marching happen, and then I return to my door step. Then it’s on with my day.

And as the day unfurls, it comes to me, quietly… the realisation that another year has passed since my mother passed away…

And now I keenly feel my orphan loss. There is no one to fiercely defend me (as only she would) from such big bad wolves. The sorrow washes over me and then out of me, splashing its’ exit in hot, slow tears.

I feel a sudden selfish jolt at my childish thoughts. She was many things my mother, and now – the attacking thought goes – I seek to eulogise her, in order to simply feed my stringent self-pity.

Then the next, protective impulse clicks in and now I allow… She was/is my mother and she is physically gone – so now it is simply time to grieve again, and naturally I will overlay that on my current state of mind – so allow this to happen Sandra, just allow…

My mind whirls on and then winds back; and a Mum memory comes into my mind…

Around the age of 10 I was bullied by not one, but three he wolves from my school. Yes – three bully boys lay in wait for me, to and from the trek to school. And they menaced me for money, just like my present day wolf. They picked me, and then plotted together to take from me. ‘Tell’ they told me ‘and we will beat you to a pulp’.

I kept their threats within and did not tell. I used my dinner money to pay them. When payment was chased by the school I pretended I had lost the money. But what I gave them wasn’t enough of course – wolves can never have enough blood. So one day at home I crawled into the secret dark hole of the cupboard under the stairs, to quietly break open my noisy rattling, pink piggy bank.

Suddenly my mother flung the door open and caught me in the act… Coins scattered guiltily and sharply, falling all around me; and that’s all I remember… The details after that are bleached out in relief… I don’t remember the act of telling her about the wolves and their money menacing, but I do remember the consequences

My mother was off, like a rocket; no telephoning or courtesy, she just marched straight down to the school and right into the head master’s office, with me in hand-held tow.

The wolves were named and then very publically shamed. This was still the time of corporal punishment. In a penalty pantomime, each boy was pulled out of the class room, literally by the ear – one by one, and then soundly caned.

Then those wolves left me alone.  Little Red Riding Hood was saved… This time…

And now, back to this ‘sorry’ sunny day – I wished my ‘she wolf’ mum would rocket off to the head master again and call off my present day prowlers…

So then I prayed: ‘Mum, please would you go to the Head Master (God), and call off the big bad wolves for me again??? The wolves don’t need to be punished Mum, we’ve all been through enough now. But please, please, PLEASE ask God to make it STOP. Let us learn from this. Let us move on from this. I want to live my life, love the summer, savour today and then tomorrow’s next steps.’

As well as this, here and now, I pray for surrender (of thoughts and burdens), and I pray too for the harder goal of the greater good. That last particular prayer scares my ego… what if it doesn’t go the way my ego wants it to? So now I pray that I let go all of the thoughts and feelings that do not serve me and that in doing so, the inner wolf will stop howling and keening.

It is time instead to breathe deep into my heart’s reality, to feel the beauty of now, and not to live in future fear. You see all this follows a sustained period where it feels as if my very safety is threatened in so many ways. And now these emotions manifest themselves and transmute into tangible wolves.

I haven’t wanted to share the wolfish details publically, (I’ve shared them with family and friends), since there are always two sides to a story; and whilst I will absolutely defend myself – I want to use love, not war, for a change of hearts and history.

And to move this forward I have asked for love, support and healing from the wider world, without saying why; and because I asked, so I received and this, I know with all my heart, (and despite my loud and fearful ego), will make a difference.  And will my mother answer my prayer too? Surely the very act of asking is a benediction in itself?

So now I pray for resolution and for love. I allow myself time to grieve for my mother and am also leaving space to celebrate her too. To celebrate my mother, who has partly made me, and who has done so many things, including defending me from the world’s wolves.

Thank you for that Mum.  Time for Little Red Riding Hood to leave and for the wolves to be gone then…

With love, from your cub, always…

          Sandra xx

The author of this ‘Love Letter to Life’ has written a whole book of love letters, for you to peruse, to dip into or to read from cover to cover – whether to answer life’s puzzles, to celebrate or know you are not alone. You buy your own copy of Peachey Letters – Love Letters to Life on Amazon and book websites around the world, in both paperback and Kindle.

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