This is a guest blog written by my Mum! Enjoy……..
Is rummaging through your daughters notepad considered snooping or being an attentive parent?
Fortunately Gracie wants me to read it. I love to read her writings, her snippets of ideas, half started stories, poems or philosophical musings. She never ceases to amaze me with her creativity, her way with words or her maturity. She has an amazing understanding of life which often seems beyond her years.
She has allowed me to write a guest blog today because I am having a proud parent moment and I wanted to share it with everyone.
Whilst ‘snooping’ through her notepad recently I found this half started story which almost bought me to tears and left me wanting more…… She wrote it whilst we were in Lynmouth on holiday earlier this year and it is based on a true story of a young boy drowning in the river.
It’s hard to learn to disown something you’ve loved your whole life and that, try as you might, you can’t quite deny that you still love, deep down in your heart.
I feel wicked for loving the river, even after it killed by best friend but the weird thing is, ever since he died, it’s become even more important to me than before. It’s like being comforted by a murderer. Yet I truly feel that Dipper wouldn’t mind it, that he forgives the river and is glad that it is there for me in my grief.
He was an older brother to me, we went everywhere together, fishing, swimming, exploring, climbing. He was tall and boyish and just a little over a year older than me, fourteen when he died. We grew up with the river, the River Lyn, which runs through Lynmouth in North Devon. We lived right by it, in twin cottages, his family and mine, backing onto the water.
I remember the time we climbed right across the ridge of The Valley of Rocks. With 500ft drops on either side, we reached the top of the highest rocky pinnacle for miles around and just stood there, arms outstretched to the wind, gazing down at the sea on one side and the green valley on the other. “Cassie”, he’d said, “Look out at that ocean, there are foreign lands beyond that hazy blue. You wouldn’t believe it would you? To me the sea just looks never-ending. But then you can’t always see what’s beyond the horizon can you?”. He looked right into my eyes and grinned. He was right, eight months later he died.
I miss him so badly, miss his spirit, miss his brown messy hair, miss his company, miss his strong hand on my shoulder, miss the way he called me his girl-shaped shadow. Miss the way he listened, miss the way he talked. Miss the way he was honest and frank and humorous. Miss how he loved me like a sister.