Jane Samuels

So apparently grammarly stole my fuckin identity

A path lined by tall dark limbed trees. It is very early spring: the trees still leafless, yellow flowers blooming in the banks.

Away to the edges: the border between England and Wales. The age of the land sinks into you, here. Makes you ancient too.

It lost the legs Grandad turned for it somewhere along the way, and not so good with wood, I bought these (the originals were beautifully shaped). It's still missing one altogether, so I'll have to learn a thing or two. Grandad taught me to draw, and he's still teaching me.

You can't... repeal... a scientific finding. At that point it's just called lying about it.

A wooden games table standing on short legs. There is a chess board in laundry in the top. In the open drawer, sections hold playing cards, wine glasses, chess pieces and draughts pieces.

As before, but without my big hand obscuring the drawer.

The table with the drawer closed, sitting in my living room.

I inherited this games table from Mum. Grandad made it for her: clanging and banging in the cellar of their red brick terrace until he emerged to say "I've made you something". He carved all the pieces: drew little faces on the knights.

Its a legacy of love, isnt it.

Photo-realistic close-up of a hard boiled egg sitting in a blue and white ceramic egg cup. The top of the egg has been roughly taken off, ready to eat

Beautiful everyday Ladybird things.
Boiled eggs and Cornishware (2nd Picture Book, 1970)

Artist: Harry Wingfield

A local pub is accidentally growing its own wood ear. Entropy, listening at the threshold.

Hello void. Are you staring back?

Ahh, I'm so sorry. Three of mine in that list chose to leave too, and its hard, isnt it. A lot of questions and a lot unfinished. My Mum died three weeks ago and one thing I'm so grateful for is there was nothing unsaid.

So I'm really drinking quite a lot instead.

Autism complicates grief. I process things by analysing and study things until I understand them. Then I can process them. I can't eff the ineffable.

I wonder if I'll get to find out?

And maybe its about growing. Shrinking. Of going to meet the world and hiding from it. Im not ready yet: of all losses, Mum's is the one that has flattened me. There's no air in the rooms that I enter. But some time coming, I need to step out from the churchyard.

Rebecca, who was driven, intelligent and full of surprises. The last time I saw her she said "let's plan loads of adventures", and then she was gone. I wonder how old I'll be when my friends list tips? When Facebook becomes a social space for ghosts.

Dan, with his glorious wildlife photography and his fierce dedication to protecting the animals in them. Steph,who I lived with when we were both stoned, drunk, lost and dancing. Her alt account she made when her bipolar peaked into psychosis.

Spooling through my friends list is a growing obituary. KT who was kind and loving. Kate, who was brilliant, brave, beautiful and who I miss each new week. Little Leanne who lived her beliefs and was the most wonderful poet.

I only add people I meet at least once on Facebook. Yesterday an acquaintance died. No need for condolences: she seemed brilliant, but that grief belongs to her closer friends and family. It made me think about the nature of the space there:

wow -- with Trump standing behind him, a man (not sure who he is) offers this prayer: "We pray that he would be mindful of the poor and that he would be invested in the alleviation of suffering happening in the families preparing to bury their loved ones in Minneapolis."

I am cleaning. Mum was in hospital for almost two months and my house became...interesting. its a terraced house so I can't burn it down, but boy am I filling bin bags today.

A wall is covered in crumbling render, the colour of sand. Where the plaster has fallen, it makes the shape of a cloud. Years of staining and leeching around the patch has streaked the wall below, looking like rain.

Cloudburst.

Thank you Sarah. In the end, it went well and I got to do this extra thing for her. ❤️

Thank you Marie.

She had a crazy kind of logic 🙂 It went well, in the end. I did the best I could and I think she'd like it.

Thank you. It's a very grim thing.

Thank you Gail ❤️

Thank you. Natural Endings have been amazing: we're very lucky in the valley to have them.

Thank you Paula. All the best to you, too.x

Thank you.x

Thank you Elinor. She was the best, I was very lucky indeed. Gosh it hurts to lose her. x

She really was. X