Tonight, when Ming and I were visiting Anthony and I was chopping his meal up, Ming said, sternly, “Mum, don’t you eat any of Dad’s food, or you won’t eat your dinner.”
You see, Ming had ordered takeaway pizza for tonight, and he had also ordered me to eat with him.
As Ming drove us home, I said, sulkily, “You’d make a great mum, Ming.”
“Don’t you touch that pizza until we get home, brat!” he said, flicking me a patronizing grin.
Arghhhhh!
In just a couple of hours it will be Valentine’s day and the first anniversary of Ming’s spinal surgery. Yeeha!
I have put a few links to that saga below fyi.
![IMG_0073[1]](https://jmgoyder.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/02/img_00731.jpg)
It was 1993 and Anthony and I were engaged to be married in a couple of months. The 1991 325i BMW was for sale and Anthony wanted it so much. My PhD scholarship money had come through so I offered to chip in (my rich farmer had a cash flow problem). He said no, I said yes, he said NO, I said YES, then he said okay.
That was such an exciting day. We bought it and Anthony cherished it to the point of obsessiveness so that BMW spent a lot of its life with us being washed, polished, vacuumed and not driven!
A few years ago, Anthony’s Parkinson’s Disease had reached a point where it was too dangerous for him to drive, and a few weeks ago, we decided to sell the BMW to someone who was willing to double the price, and pay cash, because he wanted this particular model.
Bittersweet but necessary. It was like saying goodbye to a good friend.
I had to search through my blog to find the date of Anthony’s transition from respite to permanent resident at the nursing lodge. It was January 31st, 2012, 377 days ago.
How could this have happened just a year ago when it seems like a hundred years ago?
How could this have happened over a year ago when it seems like a few minutes ago?
377 days of separation.
For the last few weeks I have been having rather dramatic, block-buster-type dreams. Inside the dreams, I am always the hero who knows she is in a dream, but also knows that, in order to escape the dream, she has to either get away from, or else confront, the baddies.
The most recurrent dream is of something preventing Anthony and me from getting married. This barrier is usually a series of verbal and visual ‘stills’ of what really happened (Anthony’s younger brother’s protestations, my bewilderment, and Anthony’s heartbreak). These dreams are becoming so boringly predictable that I am usually able to clamber free.
But last night’s dream was really weird. Inside the dream, I was away at a conference and Ming rang me to say that Anthony’s old girlfriend had dropped in and wanted to stay the night. Then, the next morning, when I got home from the conference, Anthony admitted that he had slept with her.
Okay, so this was all a dream within a dream, but even when I escaped the inside dream, I found myself trying to climb the escalators the wrong way, in an empty airport somewhere in the desert.
I was glad to wake up!
Gutsy9 is now outside for his third afternoon in one of the yards. It is foxproof and I check on him every hour or so. The cage is where he will eventually sleep overnight. In one of the photos you can see how his right leg is deformed. It probably always was but he was so fluffy to begin with I didn’t notice and was mostly concerned about his injured toe (which, ironically, is now his strongest toe).
His transition to the outside for so many hours per day is akin to a child in his/her first week of preschool! In other words, I am suffering!
I remember when you first winked at me
across the dining room table,
when your mother said I had overcooked the poached eggs.
You were 40 and I was a teenager
so the wink was just a wink of humour,
harmless and not flirtatious in the least
But that wink burrowed itself into my psyche,
made me ache for another wink….
If I hadn’t boiled the grapefruit marmalade all over the Aga,
a second wink might have happened sooner.
Oh well.
I remember when you first hugged me.
It was a week after my father died suddenly and I will never forget
the hesitation of that first hug,
your delight and nervousness,
your big, muscled arms,
my tears on your shoulder.
I remember the evening when you first understood me
as we bantered philosophical conundrums across the kitchen table
while your mother snored gently in the next room.
You don’t remember much of this, your eyes have forgotten how to wink, I banter as you snooze, and your arms no longer have the strength to hug me.
The time may come when you don’t remember who I am,
but I will never forget who you are,
my rock,
my light,
my reason,
my love,
my laughter.
It occurred to me today, while Anthony was home for the afternoon, that, instead of getting all anxious about his PDD symptoms, I/we could embrace this phase as a kind of adventure.
I had planned to get Anthony home today, then decided to wait until the weekend so I could also invite some friends to see him. So I left a message with the nursing staff this morning, then rather guiltily rang him this evening. I needn’t have worried because Anthony thought he was home anyway. This is how our rather strange conversation unfolded:
Anthony: Jules, I’m at Bythorne [that’s the name of our farm]
Me: Are you?
Anthony: Yes, where are you?
Me: Well I thought I was at Bythorne.
Anthony: That’s okay then.
Me: Why do you think you’re at Bythorne, or are you kidding?
Anthony: I don’t just think I’m at Bythorne; I AM at Bythorne.
Me: I thought you were at the nursing lodge.
Anthony: No, I’m at Bythorne! When are you coming home?
Me: I won’t be long.
Anthony: That’s good. I miss you.
Me: Well you sound pretty happy.
Anthony: I am! I love you, Jules.
Me: I love you Ants.
The dementia that is part of Anthony’s Parkinson’s Disease always kicks in after sundown (I blogged about ‘sundowner syndrome once before). But this is the first time he has thought he was at home.
I felt a surge of joy about this because he sounded so happy, but it was a bit surreal.
jmgoyder 