Creating Outer Space: The Cinema Was Calling Me again...

the Oompa Loompa gave me joy in my heart, and Happy Birthday to James!

He loved Grandad’s Pasties. He liked to do impressions of him - he did a good accent, finishing his last bite, he’d say, ‘T’woz ansome that woz!

This is my son, James Edwards, on his birthday in 2019. That day I took him to Rock Bakery, our family business where at the time I worked in the deli kitchen. I loved taking him to work, to show him off. All the staff made a fuss of him. Afterwards we got the ferry over to Padstow for an icecream.

One Life

Last night the cinema called to me again. Come in, it said, forget about everything. We went to see One Life at The Regal in Wadebridge. There were only about half a dozen people in there. The film has been on a while and is on for another week. I urge you to go. Just like life, heart breaking and heart-mending, all at once. To imagine children taken from their parents, taken on a train with strangers to a strange country… You cannot imagine. It is one of those stories you need to know. And how many more times will we get to see Anthony Hopkins on the big screen? You can’t take your eyes off him. You can’t help but think he really is this man who achieved this incredible thing. Cried my eyes out. On a daily basis it’s hard to comprehend what humans go through. If only the world was full of humans like Nicholas Winton. And Helena Bonham Carter, who plays his mother, is equally brilliant. Mother and son, what a team. This was my second trip to the cinema this year. Two weeks ago we went to see Wonka. We were tired and sore from James’ birthday the week before. At the last moment with ten minutes to spare, I said to Simon, ‘Come on, lets go!’ We grabbed our coats. ‘I want to feel alive.’

Simon always gets mint poppets. I can’t resist the smell of popcorn. And just one little gin and tonic. (Because I am doing damp January.) I smiled and cried from beginning to end. Feeling joy can be terrifying. It was pure entertainment. It’s worth seeing Wonka just for Hugh Grant as Oompa Loompa. Pure magic. All the way through I couldn’t help thinking, James would have loved this so much. His little face, beaming. And like The Bee Movie and The Grinch, he would have watched it over and over again. Every time another character popping a chocolate in their mouth I could feel James’s joy in my heart.

The cinema calls to me, to take me in, take me away… ‘Come on in,’ it says, as I take my seat in the magic of the darkness, my face begins to glow, its walls embrace me, I am out of the house, ready to receive another world, ready to imagine that something in my messy life can be shaped and ordered – a beginning, a middle and end is of great comfort. And even though I know life is not like the movies, it’s nice to see the light in the dark and get a sense of a tidy structure. I think James only went to the cinema twice. I had to put cotton wool in his ears because he found it too loud. He laughed out loud during Peter Rabbit. I can his face, glowing as he shoved popcorn in his mouth.

Something I wrote last year:

Today is the 28^th of December 2023 - 9 am

Happy birthday to my Son, my darling boy, James, nine today. But of course, he is not nine today. He is not growing up. But he is always with me. He must be - because my life is the way it is because of him. I am the person I am because of him. I am suspended in the wonderful mind of a six-year-old.  I’ve been thinking, too much as usual, about how I know the complete story of this boy’s extraordinary life. Most of you will die not knowing what became of your child. What was the complete story of their life? That’s a strange thought isn’t it? I know the complete life-story of James; of his Six Year Mission to make me a better person.

Because of James I am suspended in a surreal place, out in the wilderness, finding ways to love my loss. Life just is uncomfortable.  This does things to you. It gives you more confidence and less confidence at exactly the same time. Life is lived in pieces. Life is a dual carriageway. I exist on parallel lines. Stepping out - Retreating. Hibernating, waking up, flourishing.

Today I woke feeling punctured and deflated. Like an old tyre at the side of the road. After lots of tea and marmalade I perked up a bit and found some momentum, a way of feeling closer to James today. I can treasure the day that he came into the world, the day I became a mother. I will do things today to honour his zest for life, eating my toast on his Gruffalo plate, sitting in his seat. We will walk Ernie to the cemetery. I am taking my Christmas wreath that I made. I wanted to take it on Christmas Eve but never got there. I put off going because it is so disappointing. I go in hope of a connection, in hope of proof that he is somewhere. But often when I get there, I feel nothing. When there is a connection, a settling in of the truth, the tears come. Knowing and not knowing. It’s all a fleeting thing.

It’s getting late and the dog is waiting. He knows it’s raining. He’s been out once to bark at the waning full moon. The crows circled in the trees above Gonvena Woods where my childhood home was. Is. We, the dog and I, stood outside with sleep in our eyes, stared hard at the moon and the wide cold sky, and said, Happy Birthday Jamesy, I love you. Ernie Barked again and then stuck his head through the cat flap. We went back to bed for a while. First though I stopped on the way back up the hall, went into James’ room.  I found a tiny handmade pair of Pyjamas in my sock draw, (my socks at the front, a few of James’ at the back. Nana Norma made the tiny pjs for Buppy, James’ monkey. I got Buppy out from the covers on James’ bed and dressed him for the first time since James died. I said Happy Birthday again out loud in his room. Getting back into bed, we tried to decide how to mark his birthday. The third without him.

I will eat something he loved, like fish and chips. I will find the wonder in the day that he did. Paint something, make something, laugh at something. What about Padstow, a walk around the harbour, some lunch? Simon agreed.

Nine years ago I met the most wonderful human being. Nine years ago I woke up pregnant for the last time. Simon and I went for a long walk with Ernie on The Camel trail towards Padstow. James was two days overdue.  We went to St Kew Inn and ate roast beef. We finished eating around 3.30pm. At 6.30pm James was in my arms. As the midwife held him up for me to see him, Simon said, Jessica, Look what we’ve made!

Molecules, cells, my flesh and blood, had joined together and made a home for a free spirit. Into the world he came. He taught me so much. How to value kindness above everything else. He taught me how to plunge into making great art without fear. He taught me how to love. I really don’t think I knew what it was to really love someone before I met him. Or perhaps it’s just a different love. Or I was too busy being loved. It can be hard work being loved sometimes. You feel yourself needed, watched, cared for deeply, sometimes too much. You become dependent on it, tuned into its needs and in the midst of this confusing transaction, sometimes it’s not easy to get the balance right. Turning from being loved to loving was a shock. I could never quite believe he was real.

It's eleven o clock. Back from the woods. One short sharp shower and then golden rays like darts between the columns of the trunks. Second cup of earl grey and cornflakes in James’ Gruffalo bowl. Silence in the house, apart from the chomping of biscuits. Ernie eating his breakfast. And then he’s on our bed, wet muddy paw prints. We are going to Padstow. Need to get out of the house now. In the woods today I saw life from James’ eyes. And Ernie’s Nose. We walked without aim, following an old soul spirit and the ginger spark of Ernie, dashing here, sniffing there, he led the way. I catch the strong scent of Pine, I feel small, I watch the tops of the trees sway, hear the roar of the gales. Sometimes I get the feeling that James is just up ahead, behind the next tree. I’ll keep walking, one day I’ll meet him again. I watch the Birds, not flying, but being thrown about by the gusts high up in the forest above the canopy. They’re having fun, swooping and diving, tossed about. I stopped to spy through dying ferns -  a meandering stream down below the track. It carried on regardless, flowing, eager to get somewhere.  I thought of the mouse, the scrambled snake, the owl ice cream, I thought of James, the look on his face as I read - OH NO, NOT the GRUFFALO. I thought of all these things, of the love in my heart, and the winter light, another year ahead without him.

Bird Car, By James Edwards

Grief is this – you go to work one day, and you never leave. You fight like hell to find the love in your heart. You spend your days pulling it up, like a bucket from a deep well. You’ve got to keep the love on the surface. Because when you let it settle too far down you feel numb and lost.

Grief is this – lost love looking for somewhere to go. So you work hard and you pull up your bucket full of love and you water everything with it. I used it to make a vibrant cranberry and orange sauce for Christmas day. I saw the glistening red in the pan and thought of James spreading paint on a canvas. I stirred my love for him into the sauce. I took my sage for the stuffing from the garden where the beds have been mulched by my own compost. At the bottom of that heap there are treasured morsels of James’ DNA. My mother cut his hair and I swept it up and put it on the heap. He is fodder for beauty. He is growing my garden.

Christmas for people in loss is about findings ways through as it’s impossible to avoid. The avoidance takes a lot of energy and fills you with bitterness. (I know this newsletter comes too late. The days leading up to it always begin to race. I lost the ability to sit and concentrate.) It’s like a maze of madness with pockets of light. If you were avoiding as I was the commercial side of things then this time of year is about finding small festive joys, the season outside in nature. I walked through the woods to find holly with berries intact, to bring the outdoors in. I have a jugful of heather also from the woods. Bowls of clementines, walnuts and chestnuts. Narcissus bulbs flowering. A bowl of dried orange and cinnamon sticks. For me it’s all about smells. Tactile things too. Living things going round in circles with seasons.

I am proud of us. We got through another Christmas. Too much time spent dreading it was futile. Because what is the worst thing that can happen? We get pissed and cry. We don’t enjoy ourselves. So what, it doesn’t matter, it’s just a few hours. That is the worst-case scenario. But we joined family celebrations, cooked for hours and played good music and danced and drank and ate and ate. Exhausted afterwards and yes, of course, many tears on boxing day, but so what. The alternative was to sit alone, ignore Christmas entirely, feel totally isolated, and then cry on boxing day anyway. Christmas is for the young and the old so when you’re between the two I think the best way to get through is to think of other people. I thought of my Dad. I focused on his smile as he watched us all, his three children together, around a table - eat, drink and be merry. Far too merry perhaps.

Later - In Padstow, I realise now, looking back that I did not even look at the water in the harbour. We marched to the nearest bar and ordered two glasses of champagne. We looked each other in the eye, smiled, raised our glasses and said, ‘Happy Birthday James.’ The barmen was playing Nirvana and tapping the drum beat on the bar. We both found this excruciating. We went outside to finish our drinks in the cold. Next – we stomped to The Golden Lion. I drank a pint of ale, too quickly. I had a piece of hake with a butterbean stew. Simon ate gammon egg and chips. Delicious. Simple. Homely.

I wish I had sat down with James’ paints. Instead, the day felt like white water rapids. I was on my phone too much, needing it for support. Many messages from family and friends. The day took me. I can’t blame my phone. The bubbles and the pint was like a ride for the emotions. I drank to fill the empty day up. Nevermind. We don’t know what the f we are doing. Jessica -You got through the day - give yourself a break.

As long I am writing, I will be ok. It helps. I come to sit and find myself here. My fingers are like trotting hooves, trip trapping over bridges, my mind is travelling miles and miles, searching FOR YOU, people to connect to, you out there, looking for me, for words to heal. I am here. You are there. Are we all a searching? Like that scene with Matt Damon in The Martian at the end, when they spin through the black to catch each other. (I seem to be drawn to films right now, looking for complete narratives, wondering what my destination is, a life without a child to parent???) When things resonate it’s like being thrown a life raft. Thank you for reading again. It helps. Because today is a lonely day. James’ Birthday. The 28^th of December. (Posting far too late after running out of steam again.)

I can picture James on his 5th birthday, also in Padstow, another mild December day, he was standing on the slip way, waiting for the ferry to take us back to Rock. He was holding on tight to the cone in his little hand, always vanilla, carefully licking, taking his time and then out of nowhere from behind his head, came a giant seagull, with his claws scraping across the top of his head, pushing his cap down over his face and knocking the scoop of vanilla clean off the cone. Splat, it landed on the wet slipway. Oh THE ANGER, if you could have seen his face, what a picture. Absolutely fuming. That was all part of his strong spirit that I love so much. It keeps me alive.