So discombobulated, I can’t think straight, I can’t eat. My brother came down and ‘let’ me tell him about mum. He was nasty- I know it’s because he’s an emotional luddite but it was still horrible. My little sister is coming home for Christmas, but she’s staying at a hotel instead of with mum so she doesn’t get stuck with our brother too ( 53 and lives with mum!!). Mum’s sad about that now- even though she understands that she’ll actually get to spend more time with my sister as she’ll come and get Mum and take her out each day while she’s down. Our brother made it very clear he wouldn’t be going out of his way just because it’s mum’s last Christmas, but he’ll go out of his mind if the rest of us do stuff with her and he’s left out.
Parents are supposed to die, it’s still not ok when it’s happening, but it is a normal part of living.I can do death- I know my feelings are normal reactions to learning that my mum is on limited time. But why oh why do others have to complicate everything with selfish attitudes and ostrich behaviours? A lighthouse doesn’t seem far enough away at the moment, might need to consider a space station….
It’s back- that anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, that subtle gnawing that says things are not ok. I managed the initial guilt of me on holidays while cancer gallops merrily across my mum’s body. I calmed myself when my son rang with the fabulous news of his upcoming interview for the uni of his choice, though I was thinking ‘ how can you contemplate moving away when your grandmother is dying?’ I have justified every happy moment up here as ‘gathering my strength for what’s to come’ I woke from cruel dreams of mum looking fabulous while explaining to me how her end will come, not with a bang but a long drawn out whimper. And when I call her today I know she’ll say she’s fine and want only to hear news of my holiday. But I’ve got a feeling there’s a lot more she needs to say
I don’t want you to think I’m a whinger or a pessimist, in fact I am the exact opposite, at times positive to a fault. I’ve had a fabulous day,my school had it’s annual fair which is such an amazing community effort. It warms my heart to see so many people come together for a common cause. I’ve been comfortably busy all day, with no spare room in my brain for maudlin thoughts. Then came the drive home. I was quietly content, very pleased with how the day had gone. My kids and husband came along to the fair and helped out- one of the many times when my work and home life melded seamlessly. My playlist kept me smiling- some Arctic Monkeys,a bit of Temper Trap and even a walk down memory lane with Bruce Springteen. Then Megan Washington was soulfully singing ‘Underground’. This is an amazing song about what she wants to happen when she dies. The chorus begins with ‘if the day is sunny let my father say some words and if the night is starry let my mother tell you all her stories’ . I lost my dad 16 years ago and it certainly doesn’t look like mum will be around to tell any stories, not that I expect nor want her to bury her children, but I’d hoped she might tell a story at my 50th next year. And with that chorus my contentment was gone and reality was back. I so don’t want my mum to die.