On the morning I took this beautiful picture I was walking along the river. It was exactly two months ago today. I went for a walk that I regularly take, hiking along the banks of the river, passing underneath the Humber Bridge, and then weaving through the leafy country park.
But because of a parcel I went an hour and a half earlier than I usually would. It wasn’t even my parcel. On his way out to work, my husband asked if I’d be in all day to sign for it. I said I wouldn’t, that I absolutely had to take my walk, after all yesterday I’d been on a mental health awareness course at work, and it had reiterated what I already knew – that physical exercise is up there with good sleep in combating depression and anxiety.
We argued half-heartedly, the way you do when you’ve been married almost twenty years, and in the end I said that if I went for my walk there and then – at just after 8am instead of at 9.30am – he could hang about for the ‘bloody parcel’and just go into work late.
On the walk, in the early mist, I saw these gorgeous daffodils by the water. I took the picture, intending to maybe share it on Instagram or somewhere.
I never did.
That afternoon my phone lit up with my sister’s name. She lives in Grantham and I knew she was at work, so I frowned, knowing it must be quite important. She said, ‘She’s OK,’ first and I knew it was bad news. Someone must be in trouble, but alive.
Then she said, ‘Mum jumped off the Humber Bridge.’
I don’t actually know how I felt immediately. It’s a bit like the misty picture of the daffodils where you can’t fully see the water, and nothing of the opposite river bank. She garbled the facts, clearly in shock. Mum jumped this morning. She’s at the hospital now. A miracle she’s alive. Life-changing injuries. I called my other sister. It took ages to get hold of her because she too was at work, and with every ring I dreaded changing her life the way mine had just been changed. I’ve always liked to protect my siblings, but there was no protecting them from this.
We rushed to the hospital. My brother was waiting there. We have been together, the four of us, through so much, and this was no different. The rest is a blur of medical staff and cups of tea and lists of injuries and standing around a bed and hearing the machines and having to tell my mum’s only brother in Australia.
If I had gone on my morning walk at the usual time, I might have seen my mum walking up to the bridge and changed things. Or I might have seen her on the bridge and been able to do nothing. Or worse. And this haunts me every day. Thanks to a parcel – that never actually came that day in the end – I wasn’t there when she was.
Four days after it happened, I had to go away.
Until the day before, I wasn’t going to, but my family persuaded me that I should, that I could come home if anything else happened. A good writer friend told me to go and be Louise Beech the author, which really helped. I had an awards ceremony in London that I couldn’t miss, and a book tour that despite everything, I didn’t want to miss. I did it. I smiled and did it. But I really was broken inside.
I like making other people happy. One of my earliest memories is sitting at my mother’s feet when I was perhaps six or seven, trying to make her smile. She was depressed. I didn’t know that then. I didn’t know that nothing would have made her smile.
So it’s two months on.
And I found the photo of the daffodils on my phone, with the date 28th February.
Daffodils symbolise spring and rebirth. If you look up their meaning, they also represent memory and forgiveness. They belong to the genus narcissus, a name that comes from the Greek God Narcissus. He was so enamoured with his own reflection in the river that he drowned trying to capture his reflection. The daffodils growing along stream banks took on his name, due to the beauty of their reflected image in the water.
Anyway, I’m writing again, like I always am.
And I’m smiling again, like I always am.
But just like in the photo, there’s always way more to it.
Oh, Louise, so very, very sorry to hear what you and your family have gone through. How is your mother now? You are so amazing, being able to keep it all together during the roadshow. And this is such a beautiful post – as always, your writing reaches out and grabs my heart.
LikeLiked by 1 person
🤗
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh wow Louise my heart is breaking for you. What a dreadful time for you and your family.
We always believe our parents will be there with us and for us forever. Knowing that they want to take their own life kills us inside.
Remember that depression did this and not your mum.
Your picture of the daffodils makes me feel like filling my lungs full of fresh air.
Take a deep breath and put yourself back in that moment before the nightmare of life took over.
Keep smiling xxx
LikeLiked by 1 person
One day I will tell you a story about daffodils and the meaning they have for me. This is such a beautifully written piece Louise and I’m glad you are writing and smiling again. 💔 xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
What a heartfelt and inspirational post Louise Thank you for sharing it xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
A day without writing is like a day without sunshine. It helps emotions sit where they should be in your brain, we get our balance back.
The daffodil holds many secrets, follow the history of the national flower of Wales.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Beautiful words for a very traumatic time for you all. Sending much love, hope and strength xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
I don’t really know what to say. Not often I’m lost for words. Those words can’t of come easy for you, especially to share something so personal with the world. Sending you and your family lots of love. X
LikeLiked by 1 person
Profound post…. I hope your mother’s condition improves. ♥️
LikeLiked by 1 person
A beautiful and such a personal post, sending you much love and hoping your mum has a brighter future with the right help x
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh Louise – in tears for you and your mum. And so beautifully written. Sending you both love, and so glad you’re smiling again xxx
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sending you, your mum and family big hugs – such a beautifully written heartfelt piece.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh my. I wish I knew what to say but I didn’t want to scroll past this without acknowledging you and your family. Lots of love to you all xxx
LikeLiked by 1 person
My heart breaks for you. Sending you and your family so much love. ❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thinking of you and your family. xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
Oh Louise. Much love to you and all your lovely family. I know it’s a long slow road but I do hope things feel better for your mum soon. 💕💕💕
LikeLiked by 1 person
Such a moving post. I’m so sorry. Sending love and best wishes x
LikeLiked by 1 person
Sending you, and your family, love. Xx
LikeLiked by 1 person
Please please please publish ‘Daffodils’ in paperback. My sister and I have experienced catharsis listening to it on audible but I need a paper copy to underline, highlight and simply hold. Thank you, thank you, thank you!
LikeLike
Hi Louise! Your wish is my command. Bless you. Thank you. It’s out 27th April as Eighteen Seconds, exactly the same book and words inside, just a title change after my fave little chapter. xxx
LikeLike
You are a life saver! ♥️
Sent from my iPhone
<
div dir=”ltr”>
<
blockquote type=”cite”>
LikeLike