Oucm Losing my mum has been painfully lonely. I won t miss the devastation of this year
One morning in late September, I woke up just before dawn still at my computer. I had been attempting an all-nighter, my fourth or fifth in six months. As the sky started to lighten I went to bed, setting an alarm for two hours time; then I started up again, racing to meet a noon deadline. By then
stanley cup I had been working most of the last 24 hours, and most of the last six weeks.The crash, when it inevitably came, was more of a hard stop. At around 11.30am my hands froze on the keyboard: I simply could not type another word. Trying to will myself on was a surprisingly physical sensation. I was pushing on a pedal that had got me this far 鈥?and finding, with mounting distress, that the tank was bone dry. Closing my laptop felt like a failure.I have always
stanley cup loved to work. My job as a journalist permeates my life in a way that is highly rewarding, but occasionally destructive: in 10 years I have burned out three times, from taking on too much and not asking for help. I have learned to guard against these instincts by making plans away from my computer. With lockdown, those external checks were suddenly gone.Work quickly expanded to fill the gaps 鈥?partly in the absence of anything else wort
stanley becher hwhile to do, and partly because of the fear 鈥?as my peers were made redundant and budgets shrank 鈥?that every commission would be my last. I said yes to everything I was offered, and pitched to do more. My mantra, when friends expressed concern or I let myself feel daunted, was: The only way out is Fhnv Teaching children about LGBT issues is not brainwashing 鈥?it equips them for life
My father s body is in the dementia ward of a nursing home in Cornwall, being washed and sung to, fed and dressed. I don t know where
stanley cup his mind is. That mercurial, original, perceptive mind I always respected. It s ebbed away. But everything else tangible that remains of him is locked in a filing cabinet in the corner of my study.The paper trail of his existence on Earth: bank statements, bills, snapshots, letters from his accountant, insurance documents, tax summaries 鈥?and a tattered photocopy of the power of attorney that authorises me, and my younger sister, to look after his affairs. Since he s now so far away 鈥?not just geographically, as I live in Lond
stanley hrnek on, but in every sense 鈥?this administrative role is the closest I can get to the real him. It s no substitute, of course. Scanning in the correct documents to claim an outstanding share entitlement. Setting up direct debits.Such tasks don t really evoke Dad. But they help me to feel as if I m doing so
stanley website mething for him. And they re easier, so much easier, than going to visit him now is. At least, pushing paper, I can remember Dad as he was. Charming. Proud. Frugal. Painfully shy. And handsome, like a film star when he was young, so everyone said. A man whose mood you could discern from how he opened the front door. Ricocheting from exuberant whirlwind full of plans, to paranoid loner, suspicious of pop music, parties, any signifier of fun. A real person at any rate, however flawed, not the husk that shuffles along the corrid