I’m writing this from the balcony of my hotel room in sunny Bognor Regis (no, trust me, it actually is sunny and around 18 degrees). I booked this break when I was last here at Christmas, giving myself something to look forward to, making sure I had time planned to just be. I guess from outside the need to give myself some time off and permission to rest probably seems strange. I mean I don’t actually do anything, do I? I don’t work, and I can’t even claim to be looking after the boy, so how could I be doing less than usual? Well at risk of being called out as lazy, living everyday with a serious enduring mental illness can be exhausting, especially when that illness is unstable like mine. So I’m taking time off from appointments, cooking, cleaning, looking after the pets and generally doing all the little things that others do without thinking and take for granted.

I’d quietly been looking forward to my break. In a kind of a ‘I’ll relax when I’m there and unpacked’ sort of way. When I’ve nested into my environment I’m fine. And I do joke about it, but Butlins at Bognor has become so familiar to me over the years it does feel like my second home. This hotel in particular. I know the layout of the rooms like the back of my hand, and being the creature of habit that I am, I usually pop my possessions in the same places visit after visit.

So at the end of last week I was just beginning to think about my break away and what I needed to pack, when we received the news that my father in law was critically ill. It took time to obtain some clarification as to how bad things were, but it appeared it wasn’t good at all, and he may not get through it. The boy was devastated. Things have been difficult at times between the inlaws and the boy and I since his Daddy died. Contact has been fairly minimal in recent times, but he loves his Grandad and was determined to see him in case the worst should happen.

At first I offered to do the drive to the hospital in Tonbridge Wells. It was late at night and we were both emotional, but by the morning, with hindsight, I was regretting my decision. I had been struggling with severe depression all week after crashing down from hypomania the week before, and I seriously doubted I had the necessary concentration to attempt the M25 on a Friday. It was difficult expressing this to the boy, especially as I’d been doing my best to hide my low mood from him, but fortunately for me, his wonderful foster Mumma stepped up to the plate and took the pressure off me completely. 

I still was faced with, “But I thought you’d want to see Grandad?” to which I had to explain this wasn’t about what I wanted, but about putting our safety first, and indeed the safety of other road users. Not to mention the small matter of my brother in law not being on speaking terms with me at present, and my having no idea how I would be received at such a sensitive time. 

But anyhow, the boy got to see Grandad late Friday evening, and after chatting with his foster Mumma it was decided he wouldn’t visit over the weekend, but let me rest. I didn’t protest. I was shattered. 

Over the weekend father in law’s treatment continued, but he was failing to respond. The decision was made Sunday that if he was still unresponsive on Monday they would withdraw active intervention and concentrate on making him comfortable. I knew those words only too well from the night Andrew died, except Andew being Andrew, he didn’t wait that long. And it seems his dad was no different. He passed away in the early hours of Monday morning. RIP Ted. Reunited with your boy.

So I made the difficult decision to still come to Bognor. I am quietly grieving in my own way, but my real concern is for the boy. I’m not home and his foster dad is in Spain, but I’m very confident in the abilities of his fantastic foster Mumma for a few days. Hopefully by the time I get home Friday we’ll know the funeral date, and in theory I will be rested ahead of the travelling and dealing with family.

My heart goes out to my mother in law. She has been with Ted since she was 13 and they were practically inseparable. In the next few weeks she will be told by various people, “I know exactly what you’re going through…” and they’ll mean well – but they won’t have a clue. Trust me, I know. 

As for me, I’m definitely more relaxed here and much less depressed than I was last week. I’m just dipping into this and that, a bit of reading, a bit of scrapbooking, and mainly just enjoying the warmth and fresh air. Not doing much. Resting. Looking forward to some pampering in the spa tomorrow and Thursday. Letting the ripples of grief come and go, as I reflect on father in law’s passing, and another imminent sad day for me Friday – 27 years since I married The Big Guy ❤️