Has anyone ever written anything for you?

There was a saying often quoted to me as a child that 

“Sticks and stones may break my bones 

but words will never hurt me”

Thankfully we recognise all too well these days that some words can be very damaging. 

I have had plenty of things said to me in the past that on a bad day can still weigh my down and I can trace back a lot of my own insecurities to a few key spoken words and phrases which have left the deepest of scars.

I’ve been very aware over the past week how many other people out there have been stung by a misplaced and careless word too. Some of which I will admit have probably fallen from my own lips and I am truly sorry.

But I don’t really want to dwell on the bad, sad words any more than necessary, instead I want to delight in the happy words and compliments I have been given, especially recently.

It started two days ago when out of the blue I received a compliment on Twitter about my hair!

Without boasting I have to say that my hair has always been one of my best features, long, luxurious and now the colour comes from a bottle probably even more striking!

Now I’m the type of girl who gives compliments to strangers all the time when I meet them.

“I love your dress/coat/hair colour/shoes /nail varnish etc etc!”

But these are compliments from one girl to another and my kind words the other day were from a man I’d never met, just a follower of a friend and our paths crossed for the briefest of moments.

He just made a comment in a Tweet that my hair was AWESOME in capital letters just like that! WOW!

I don’t know how I’m supposed to react in these situations; I usually blush, get tongue tied and feel like I am fourteen again! My finger hovers precariously over the send button wondering if I should tweet back. 

However for once I just responded politely saying thank you while quietly smiling to myself. I am beginning to learn how to graciously accept kind words when they are given. It is something we all seem to need to learn.

But then yesterday I had a whole string of words written for me, actually an entire poem.

I have always, desperately wanted someone to write something for me, the nearest I got to Andrew writing anything was a shopping list of what we needed from B & Q!

My special poem is not a romantic love poem in the traditional sense. It is about my love for Andrew and the boys, words about loss, finding the strength to carry on, dry my tears and laugh again.

The man who wrote my poem for me also suffered an unexpected bereavement around the same time I did, because of this I know his kind words are written straight from the heart and are therefore extra special. I am truly flattered he took the time out to write this for me, I know it wasn't easy.

However it really doesn’t take much to make people feel loved. A poem is not always required and you are stuck for words to say; a smile, even the smallest compliment, a “like” on Facebook or “favourite” on Twitter will often do the trick and let people know you care.

But if perchance you do decide to write or speak just be sure you always use the kindest of words in all situations because words somehow last forever, buried deep and lasting long in our memories when all else is faded.

Kind words rescue us from the saddest days, make us bolder and somehow fortify us for what lies ahead.

Honestly I haven’t stopped smiling since I watched my poem appearing on the Twitter time line and in preparation for that day when my smile slowly begins to diminish I have printed out a copy ready to read those beautiful words once more and just smile! 

Or if I cry it will be those happy kind of tears, the ones that fall when you realise you are loved and someone out there really cares...

I’m not the girl I used to be…

For the past few years every time I’ve sat in the hairdresser’s chair I’ve looked with dismay at the woman staring back at me. She gets older and older with each visit and more and more tired – I thought getting your hair done was supposed to be a treat!

The lovely natural colour has slowly faded from my hair and after losing Andrew an extra spark was lost from my features. Oh I don’t suppose many people really saw it, maybe it’s just the passing of time and the pressures of modern family life taking its toll.

However yesterday was strangely different.

As I sat in the hairdresser’s chair and watched her blow dry the golden pink strands that currently frame my face, giving me some much needed colour, I know for certain Andrew wouldn’t have liked the "drastic" colour change but I do – I like it very much. For once I smile at my reflection and my eyes somehow sparkle.

I am suddenly aware that I’ve changed inside and out, slowly and sometime imperceptibly over the past almost three years – how did time fly quite so fast?

And then I read this poem which Mark Ethridge has written for this week’s #MWBB (Mid Week Blues Buster) and it makes me cry because I can hear Andrew’s voice, although he would never have been so eloquent with his words. 

READ IT BY CLICKING HERE!

It explains that if the person writing the poem had stayed the one left behind couldn’t have grown or ever realised their true potential.

And deep down I know this is true for me. 

(But I’m never sure how it works for the boys; they should never have lost their dad at such a young age. I guess some things will remain a mystery and I will never understand God’s way of doing things. )

Anyway Mark’s poem inspired my own, whether it is a proper poem or a prose poem or just some random thoughts I’m not sure but this is my reply…

I’m not the girl I used to be

I don’t think I’m any stronger, more resilient, extra resourceful

But with tiny steps each day I grow ever so slightly more confident

I’m not happier or more sad in my situation

But now when I laugh it’s louder, 

          the noise so precious I want it to resound forever

and when I cry it comes out from such a depth 

          that I never knew existed before

I know I wouldn’t be this person …

          … if you had stayed

I couldn’t be this person …

          … if you were still here

I found her lost and lonely in my own reflection 

          but together we have grown

I don’t want to be better without you than with you in my life

But part of me really likes the new me

And I like her more and more each day

As she grows and changes, forever a wonderful new work in progress

And sometimes I wonder what you’d think of me now

… if we could somehow meet

… because I’m not the girl you left behind …

… I’m not the girl I used to be.

The story behind the story...

Have I told you I have dyed my hair pink? One of my Christmas presents was a box of pink hair dye – Rebel Raspberry it is called.

It’s supposed to wash out in 6 to 8 washes but I did it just before New Year my blonder/pale grey/white strands are still reasonably vibrant if not quite the same shade as the girl on the box.

It’s been causing a bit of a stir. People are divided.

Youngest son immediately came out on the “I don’t like it” Team. He said it is NOT the colour God intended! 

However most people said it looked great until a quite forthright friend challenged them the other day.

“Honestly do you really like Sarah’s hair?”

Opinions were grudgingly swayed from positive to negative. So later that day I sought out the more artistic fraternity for their views, particularly another woman in our church whose hair is also pink, but sometimes green or even blue!

Several thoughts occurred to me…

1. Often people just say what they think you want to hear, originally apart from youngest son everyone “loved” my bold hair colour.
2. How easy it is to follow other people and agree with the most forthright person in a crowd. The only other person who openly said she didn’t like it to begin with soon got others to admit their reservations.
3. Why is it so important to find seek out favourable opinions anyway?

I know for a fact Andrew would have HATED it. I would have NEVER even tried it had he still been alive.

Although I have occasionally dyed my hair in the past it has always been more natural shades and always a wash out variety. I’ve only just started experimenting again since he died and I feel like a kid in a sweet shop presented with a whole range of possibilities to try! 

Maybe I am still in a reinvention stage, figuring out how I want to behave as a “widow”. Do I want to shock and challenge other? Maybe. Is this me rebelling? A mid-life crisis perhaps – well I am 45 next month – when does mid-life actually begin?

Although I now find myself on my own I still have a need to have my choices validated, I need people to say they like my hair, my clothes, my writing, what I’ve done with the house, the list goes on and on.

Andrew told me every week when I dressed up for church “you look nice today”. OK so it was always prefaced by the phrase “hang on a minute…” as if he had suddenly remembered what he should say but I knew deep down he truly meant it.

Now I have to find other people I trust and rely on their opinions or better still stand on my own two feet and have the courage of my own conviction that I am doing alright! 

As I’ve said it isn’t just about the colour of my hair but all aspects of my life.

So what do I actually think about my hair?

My first thought was - what have I done now? Then people said they liked it, my confidence increased and it grew on me.

I worried at the start about how I would feel as the colour faded, would it look washed out and somehow a bit tacky? In reality now it is not such a shocking colour I love it all the more, it’s become easier to colour co-ordinate my clothes to match; honestly my new red dress with bright pink hair just didn’t work!

Despite the murmurs of dissent or perhaps even because of them I shall be dyeing my hair pink again. I might even get better at it and it won’t look so patchy. Better still I’ll ask my friend who bought me the dye in the first place to give me a hand – I partly regret not having the patience to wait for her help last time.

But jumping in with both feet is becoming my trademark setting.

Life is short and once again I have gained the confidence to say this is me and this is how I want to do things. You may not like it and that’s fine, just let me play – you never know one day I might just grow out of it!

As for my Five Sentence Fiction, the girl in the story isn’t exactly me but the line between fact and fiction is a blurred one!

Five Sentence Fiction - Forgotten

A short but bitter sweet story for this week's Five Sentence Fiction.

The prompt FORGOTTEN can conjure up so many ideas. 

Tomorrow I will share the story behind this story.

*** You can now read that HERE! ***

I stared at the old photograph in disbelief.  

Was it really over twenty years ago I had sat by that fountain laughing in the sunshine? 

The rebel with bright pink hair complimenting her quirky personality. 

Layers of responsibility had overtaken me in the intervening decades. 

My sparkle had diminished but opening this magic potion would set the real me free.

The long and the short of it

For no apparent reason the other day I started crying. Grief once more rearing its head, spitefully poking me until the tears flowed like an unwelcome acquaintance.

At the time I was standing with a friend. She is glamorous, slender, always made up to perfection and wears her hair stylishly short.

Beside her in my jeans and sweatshirt I feel positively old and frumpy.

Pulling my woolly hat from my head I asked what I should do with my hair.

It has always been long, apart from once having a bob but I soon grew it out.

Andrew, a typical man, liked it long and hated me going to the hairdressers, he worried I would get it all chopped off and how I used to tease him that I just might!

My dad is another matter altogether. He likes to stir things up a bit and playing devil’s advocate he says I should wear my hair short. “It will always grow.” He retorts with glee.

Actually despite their disagreement in how I have my hair cut my dad and Andrew really had a lot in common. Andrew had that awkward streak about him too. Always being controversial just for the sake of it. Arguing black is white for fun.

Maybe that’s why I married him, maybe girls marry a man like their father in the same way we become like our mothers. There is some kind of inevitability about it.

My friend’s advice was I should grow my hair again. Although hers is short she wishes it was longer and claims it is not stylish but a mess! Isn’t that always the way?

So I am caught in the middle of my dad and my husband. Whose opinion matters most?

I have come to the conclusion - MINE!

And that’s the thing, I can ask as many friends as I want but what’s going to make ME feel great?

Yes I can get my hair cut short now without offending Andrew. I can wear make-up and perfume to my heart’s content, always aspiring to look more like my glamorous friend.

I love to dress up and I sometimes wish I had more time to apply my make-up and do my nails but then there are days when I’m happiest in my jeans, not having to make an effort before I cross the threshold to meet the outside world.

Just because I CAN re-invent myself doesn’t mean I HAVE to.

“There was nothing wrong with the old Sarah!” said another friend when I shared these thoughts with her.

And my hair? Well I think it may be a little while before I see the hairdresser again because personally I like my hair long too!