I see dead people.

I’m on a train back to my hometown, Salisbury (now infamous for Novichok) to see an old friend and more expressly to talk to dead people. 

My mum and dad are both buried in Salisbury, as are several generations on either side. My mum’s ashes are under a tree in Elizabeth Gardens, (recently reopened after the latest Novichok scare). I bet she enjoyed the peace and quiet. 

My dad’s ashes are in a local churchyard in Harnham, he died in a car crash when I was three, meaning I more or less grew up with a single parent. My siblings are all at least ten years older, I guess I always felt slightly isolated without knowing it at the time, that all comes with counselling…

My emotional wheels fell off about three years ago and I’ve been trying to put them back on gradually. Prozac helped and Headspace and eventually weekly visits to my ’talky lady’ (thank-you Erbie).

I’m going to be 50 in a couple of week’s time and it feels like a major transition. Hence the journey homeward to see a lady that can commune with the other side. I have a lot of people on the other side. What if someone I don’t want to hear about turns up? What if no one turns up? Which would be worse, I wonder. 

I’m seeking closure I guess. It would be nice not to carry everything around inside, stuff I have pushed down so deeply that etching away the layers has been consistently hard work. I know there are still a couple more places I need to get to. One is making peace with my dear friend, Fiona, whom I lost too soon. I need to say goodbye, so that I may carry my memories of her fondly, she deserves that. 

I need to be able to mourn.  

Harnham churchyard ©WEM