Who am I, and perhaps more to the point, who is C.G. Ayling?
Since people are generally inquisitive, here is a little information about me.
First, and possibly most important to some, C.G. Ayling is the pseudonym of a real person. Charles Gilbert Ayling was a real man, and I – the person using his name as though it were my own – am also a real person. Though I happen to be male, I hesitate to deem myself a “real man” since that is a topic deserving of its own post…
Why am I writing under a pseudonym, you ask? For a number of personal reasons, a few of which I’ll detail here as they might give you an insight into what makes me tick.
C.G. Ayling was my Godfather, and one of the most important people in my life for many years. My father passed away when I was very young, my Godfather took the place of father figure and perhaps as importantly, that of a true friend.
Uncle Charles, as I called him from the day I first met him till the last time we communicated over twenty-two years ago, was a truly honorable and selfless man. He never married, and thus was denied progeny of his own. His branch of the Ayling line ended with his death. There are no children who bear his name, and few surviving people who will remember him now. Frankly, he deserves far more than that. This is my main motivation for taking his name (believe me it is not in vain, but with intent). Even if my work is never a success it is now digitized and has been done so with his name affixed as its author. In a way that grants him immortality in another way than my thoughts.
My Godfather passed away in 1990 after losing the fight to tobacco. Tragically, I never had a chance to say goodbye – he was living in the UK, I was a continent away. He never told me he had throat cancer, and though I know he kept that information to himself in order to save me anguish, it took me many years to forgive him for denying me the chance to bid him farewell. To be denied, by kindness.
I miss him terribly, and always will.
To any of you who think you’re protecting your loved ones by keeping dire knowledge from them, I beg you – reconsider. If you die today, will they be content? Or will they be overcome with guilt, knowing they could have said goodbye – if only they had known? When you die, you’re done – they, however, are left to go on. Don’t make them walk that lonely path filled with regret.
A quote from Beltamar’s War captures my feelings on this sad topic, “Words of love withheld, soon to be forever unvoiced.”
It goes both ways, let them love you, and show your love to them.
If you’d like to see more of my shorter thoughts, also known as tweets, you can find them here.
*smiling* and you know the reason why! Flew over from Twitter 😀
Good to learn more about you … sir!
Funny how we discover through connections, that though the world might be an enormous place, it is filled with similar people, from all corners of life.
There is far more bringing us together, than tearing us apart.
Thanks for the stopping by, I hope to see you on Twitter!
Yours is a very interesting bio and moving to the heart. I could say that even if people know someone is going to die a good goodbye is never guaranteed. I lost my brother to smoking– he was given 2-4 months and lasted 2 years– mostly because he loved his kids (all adopted) to bits. We never said goodbye but had a good last phone call an d a good visit the year before. But my other good-byes to the dearest and closest to me have not been ideal. Caretaking drains one totally. And it is hard to keep up the golden good-bye when death comes slowly. I guess I am saying this in an effort to make you feel better about your case but realize that it probably won’t.
Thank you for the comment Ellen.
You’re right, it doesn’t make me feel better, indeed it brought a tear to my eye, as every memory of my Godfather does. Yet encapsulated within that anguish, is another memory, another prompt, another precious moment I can share with him.
Glad to bring a good memory but sorry for the pain! Of course, you are right, it is better to know the truth.
So sad and so inspiring the same time!…thank u for sharing!…have a nice day!
Thank you for visiting, and taking time to respond.
Moving writings! You leave a wonderful legacy for your godfather, I’m sure he is proud to see you adopt his name!
Also I want to thank you for your kind comments on twitter.
See you there,
You have an interesting bio. You write poetically. I thank you for following me on twitter. I agree it is an amazing medium designed to shrink the world. My furthest follower is in New Zealand. Thanks
There are so many ways to honor those we love. Yours is unique, but nonetheless touching. It’s true what you say about sharing with those you love. Many think they are showing their love by not sharing their pain. The opposite is true. As you say, it was painful not knowing what your godfather was going through. I wish you well.
What a lucky man he was. What a legacy. This gives me chills. Thank you. Patti
I feel I read your most important words first.
As a poet who believes in honoring those
we love–I can connect with your heart (shall we say).
Life, Earth School, presents so many opportunities
to evolve. The fact that you wish to honor
your godfather is a beautiful thing.
Thank you for being so authentic.
Connie Nelson Ahlberg
Writer in Residence
Thank you Connie,
“Life, Earth School…”, a hard place, in which the deserving sometimes die. Poetry really does bring people together, whether for shared pain, or for pleasure.
I really miss him. I miss the little limericks he’d make, and which I’d mistake for the work of others. He never claimed credit for his art, and me – thinking his words were the working of others – well I never noted them with the diligence they were due. All I retained, are snippets of joyous strings….
You may find comfort in some
of my prose on my blog. I’ve written a lot
on loss and healing. I’m planning
on publishing a series on honoring.
You should. Each of us has our own way of retaining the most important treasure we possess, our memories.
That’s a beautiful reason to use that name as a pseudonym. What a tribute! He was lucky to have you in his life as well.
Another George R. R. Martin, at first glance. I’ll contact you after I read Beltmara. I’m psyched! My father lost the battle with RA and heart disease 13 years ago. We were so psychically bonded that I almost went with him . . . twice. But I continue to survive, and he watches over me. He left my life on December 13th and my grand-daughter was born 01/01/01. She’s a little Scottish redhead, like me. I’m the only child that resembled my Scottish father, and my grand-daughter is my clone. The week before he died, my father told me by phone about his heart being insufficient since April–when I, too, had a cardiac episode. He did not want to tell my mother and live everyday with her watching him die. I lived 5 hours away, and I received his DNA. I, too, have his ailments. The family ostracized me for quite some time, after the fact, but it’s a little better now. Family, love, health, and happiness. Don’t turn your back on it.
I was so touched reading about you. How you honor someone you loved dearly brought tears to my eyes. I guess because I am that kind of person, also. My husband, Skip, is that kind of person.
I’m so sorry you didn’t have a chance to know, so… you could say goodbye. To do some special things with, for him… because you loved him with your heart… you needed to.
I’m honored to call you ‘friend’. I’m no one special, but… I am a nice friend. :))) Gloria
I was touched by ‘about you’, and how you honor your Godfather. I read the love you hold in your heart for him.
I’m so sorry you didn’t have the chance to say goodbye to him; maybe do special things with, for him. I felt the pain where you expressed that.
I guess I commented because when I see people like my husband, Skip and I… I recognized ‘good’ people. I am no one special… I am a good person, though.
I’m honored to be friends. Gloria
Amazing story and what a way to honor your Godfather.
I’m glad I stopped by …
I’m glad I stopped by…
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C.G! I was here, read who am I. Don’t have anything to say, so I guess my silent here is also a form of lie? Hahahaaa – in answer to your tweet…
Only you didn’t remain silent… even though you may have felt you had little to say, you said it.