Homesick

For places that no longer exist.

Dearest Readers,

This week I had a window to travel back to Perth and work for a few days in the bookshop.

April proved a challenging month for me, professionally. A few pieces of work news were a blow to the ego and whilst usually I am great at recovering from these disappointments - this time I found it harder to bounce back.

Putting yourself out there - in a public capacity and to sell anything (books in my case) is not always a comfortable experience. Having spent four years writing my first novel it has been an incredible lesson in vulnerability. The truth is, I love being an open book. I love sharing how I feel and what is happening on my planet but I am also an incredibly sensitive, deep feeling person who takes on what others say about me.

My grandmother, who died almost a year ago, was my biggest supporter. Anytime I felt like an imposter I would go and see her and she’d remind me that the person I am is actually just the person I’ve always been. The five year old version of me used to perform at my Mum and Dad's dinner parties, dance in ballet concerts and write really dramatic stories. Nothing much has changed.

I am often on instagram ranting about a book I loved or speaking on something I’m passionate about. I have an energy and enthusiasm for life that can often be labelled as ‘showing off’. It’s something I’ve fought against since I was very little. It is cringe to put yourself out there but I’ve never been shy about sharing my achievements but more importantly, my failings!!!!

There is nothing more ick to me than thinking that people believe me to be a show off. That those who don’t know my heart think I am projecting the veneer of a perfect happy life without also showing the awkward mishaps of someone who is constantly makes mistakes. I have always tried to achieve that balance. Sometimes I let the judgement of others (or perceived judgement) seep into my pores and I won’t write for months, hence why I stopped posting here for so long.

At various points this year I have found myself going to call my grandmother, Mama. I listen to voicemails she left me and looking at trinkets she bought me, sitting on my shelf and think ‘Okay can you please come back now?’. Throughout these challenging moments I wonder what she might say if I gave her a call and will myself into hearing her voice.

If I had to put a label on it I’d say I am homesick. I’m desperately homesick for places that no longer exist.

Last year our family sold both my grandmother’s homes that I grew up in (one in the UK and the other in Perth). I also sold my family home after the divorce was finalized and all three sales happened within the same month. It suddenly felt like I had no anchors, and although I have written many times about home being where my children are, I was suddenly feeling helplessly unmoored.

Within a year my grandfather, uncle and grandmother passed away. I felt too young to be going through a divorce, and one where so much was at stake. I toed the line between feeling like I deserved everything and also, nothing. I had kept so much from my family and been performing the role of ‘happy and thriving’ for so long that when everything collapsed I was going back to every person I’d performed in front of and saying something along the lines of ‘Remember that time I said this or was acting like this? … I’ll tell you what was really going on that day’ .

My grandmother, who had been a divorce lawyer, was around for a year into the separation process and was a great emotional resource encouraging me to lead with kindness and love. She loved my ex husband and knew his heart, she also reminded me that despite my anger I needed to consider his heart too. I tried and continuously try to emulate the grace she showed during her own separation, but it wasn’t always easy.

I felt like, and still feel like, the 13 year old version of me crying at school camp - begging my teachers to call my parents to take me home.

I want to feel the cold stone floor of my grandmothers entry way again. I want to sit on her sofa with the scratchy rug. I want to look out the window and watch squirrels climb up trees. I want to walk into her kitchen and see her sitting there reading the paper with a cup of tea. I know the recipe to my Granny Alex’s coffee and walnut cake, the one she no longer can cook, but I want her to make it for me just one more time.

It won’t happen. She is now in a care home and the last time I saw her I was sewing some clothes for my son’s teddy bear. She was impressed and with eyes wide said ‘Aren’t you clever? I can’t do that. Where did you learn to sew?’. Totally taken aback I said ‘You taught me Granny! You’re the best sewer there ever was!’.

Her face screwed up with confusion. It was a dagger to the heart.

I think I took these photos as I felt this was the last time I’d be in the house. I was right.

Sofa with scratchy rug, fireplace and one of my children on the floor for a nappy change.

I saw a quote the other day that said ‘I am a museum of everything I have loved’ and more and more these days I feel like a museum of memories and the holder of my grandparents love for me. It is a heavy but beautiful weight to carry. The weight of old recipes, sewing skills, fine china and tradition.

I love this responsibility. I love that they knew I’d keep things safe and act in a way that was true to how I was raised but I often need reminding. That I am not the person people perceive me to be, I am just a big version of ‘little Jessie’.

I needed this week in Perth. I needed to sleep in my childhood bed and watch the news with my parents. I needed to hug my customers (shout out to Rick!) - to remember I have a community there. I needed to eat my dad’s smoked salmon pasta and go for a walk with my mum. I needed to remind myself that little Jessie is in there still and if I am ever homesick I don’t have to go far to reach her and the museum of all the things she loves the most.

This week I’d been thinking about how I’d like to honor my grandmother, Valma, at my wedding next year. It kept crossing my mind that I wish she’d left me a little bit of blue material for me to sew into my wedding dress but how hilarious and unreasonable that post mortem request was. But this morning I exited the shower and spotted a tub of things that hadn’t been there when I’d gone in. My mum called out to me ‘Jess, there’s a box of things there from Mama - can you pack some of those into your suitcase to take home?’.

At the top of the tub was a light blue table runner with lace through it.

My jaw dropped and I laughed into an empty room. Another item for the museum and a reminder that my grandmother is always with me, no matter how far away she feels.

Mama and I at my first wedding

Thank you everyone who came to visit this week in store. It buoyed me in ways I can’t articulate enough.

Happy Reading!

Jessie

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