jmgoyder

wings and things

Closure

Yes, I realize that the notion of closure is a tricky one but for me it happened when I wrote, published, then subsequently deleted, a post about the car accident, a few days ago. For the very last time.

The self-pitying self-indulgence of that post sickened and embarrassed me for a couple of reasons. Firstly, that I would mourn what-might-have-been (death, disability) when it soon became apparent that everyone would be okay. Secondly, that I know people now who have lost their children to death, so why the hell am I complaining?

Instead of rejoicing, I kept picking at the scabs of my confusion, family wrangles, guilt and blame, dead-end conversations with Ming.

It is now an incredible relief to be able to say that the accident is over and done with. Of course, I can only speak for myself, but, no matter how selfish this sounds, I am over it!

The best thing about closure is the anticipation of the next chapter….

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YES

YES?

It was because we were friends first – you my ‘big brother’ at 40ish and me a kid at 17. Is this why I continue to need to be close to you for most of every day now?

I ADORED YOU, so much so that your mother noticed and winked and encouraged, but you were too respectful, and I was too innocent. When you take my hand now, you smudge it into yours. My hands are small and yours are large but, when we have an arm wrestle, I have to pretend to be weak.

I remember how you gentled a more vivid blush into my cheeks than usual, when, for the first time, you took my hand and dragged me outside to see the once-a-year bloom of the moon-flowers. Now, contrary to your theory, the moon-flowers bloom haphazardly, unpredictably, and more than once a year.

Today, you couldn’t form words, so you were mostly incoherent, and totally confused and it was a bit of a struggle for me, but my presence helped, I guess – and when you seemed to be asking me something with your sliced up words, I just kept saying yes and you were okay with that.

YES.

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I am so fortunate

I awoke to a soft wind that sounded like a distant ocean. Its breath cooled my face and stroked my hair. Through the window I watched as it choreographed so wild and unpredictable a dance for the blossoming pear tree, that the giggling wrens couldn’t keep their footing and toppled. More and more birds arrived as if to join a game – doves, parrots, willy wagtails, crows, butcher birds, their laughter contagious, raucous, fantastic. I could see all of this from my bed but suddenly I wanted a closer view so I leapt out of bed and pressed my nose against the screen of the open window. There, beneath the tree, stood all of the peafowl, spread out in a circle on the sun-dappled lawn, their feathers frolicking out of control. And that’s how the wind made itself visible to me this morning.

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Mischief

Anthony: I’m in constant pain.

Me: What? Since when? Where is the pain? Oh my God, I’m so sorry, Ants – you never told me this before!

Anthony: Oh, these things (stretching his arms out), and these other instruments (stretching his legs out in a rather swaggery way).

Me: What kind of pain is it?

Anthony: Agony.

Me: Well why the hell didn’t you tell me this before? I’ll ring the doctor! For God’s sake, Ants, I’ve been telling everyone for ages now that the best thing about your situation is that you are not in physical pain, and now you tell me this!

Anthony: Um… (beginning to do his half-smile)….

Me: So you are kidding? Joking?

Anthony: Just stirring you up, Jules

Me: You want pain? I’ll give you pain! (We have an arm wrestle on the side of his armchair and I win.)

He is so tired that his eyes weep; my laughter is raucous and I apologize but he says he loves my cackle; I leave to come home and he says, unsadly, see you tomorrow.

If Anthony were in physical pain, we would not be able to cope the way we are coping now.

And if Anthony didn’t have his mischievous sense of humor, everything would be horrible. Okay, so everything isn’t wonderful but it is definitely not horrible with Ants in the picture.

(I have learned how to make chili hot chocolate, which Anthony loves, so I might put an extra chili into the mix tomorrow – ha!)

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‘Phinished’

My fantastic friend, Dr Nathalie Collins, at her graduation the other day!

DSC_3470a

Ever since I met Nathalie, she has been either a breath of fresh air, or a ferocious wind. She talks a lot but she also listens. She can transform anything to anything with her wit and wisdom.

Dr Nathalie Collins is an incredibly skilled philosopher, so watch this space!

Congratulations, Nat!!!

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Blogging update

I’m gradually (and unguiltily!) getting back to reading, and commenting on, other people’s blogs, and re-subscribing to those I have lost touch with. Like many other bloggers, I feel such gratitude for the community of friends I’ve connected with over the last three years. The fact that I can’t consistently keep up with everyone’s posts no longer bothers me and it is quite a relief to dip in and read when I can, comment if I want to, and not read any blogs if the day is too busy. Having said that, I am very appreciative of those friends who continue to give me their support and friendship. It has been an extremely difficult year for my family, but things are finally returning to normal, whatever that is.

Perhaps my blog-reading will, from now on, resemble the unpredictability of Ming hanging out the washing!

photo (6)

The expression on Ming’s face here is exactly the same as when he sees his name in one of my blog posts – ha!

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I went to a funeral today

Martin was 90 and his room was two rooms away from Anthony’s. He died a few days ago and I went, with my mother and one of the carers, to the funeral service at the Catholic cathedral today. After the service I was able to give Ruth, Martin’s wife, and three of his daughters, a series of quick hugs before withdrawing from their private grief. Ruth and I have formed a friendship borne of mutual care and grief over the endless months of our husbands’ deterioration so, even though it sounds selfish, I am not sure how to go on without Ruth’s visits to Anthony’s room. Already, there is someone else in Martin’s room and, even though I had just been to his funeral, I caught myself just about to wave goodbye to him – as I have done every afternoon/evening on my way out. Martin’s ‘gone-ness’ has been so swift.

This morning, as I psyched myself up not to cry at the funeral, I checked my emails and discovered that my blog friend, Bill, had died from COPD. The shock of it was terrible. His friendship, humor and rapport had blessed me for over a year. Here is his last, heroic post: http://dealingwithcopd.wordpress.com/2014/08/29/how-i-feel-for-the-week-ending-08-29-14/

Then, hesitantly, I opened another email about another blog friend, Rhonda, and my heart did a somersault of dread as I read that she, too, had died. Jennifer’s post here honors Rhonda beautifully in a way that respects the horror of this tragedy. http://jenniferkellandperry.wordpress.com/ Jennifer’s post provides links to Rhonda’s blog.

My heart goes out to all of those who have been left grief-stricken by the death of their loved ones.

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Beware of the dog: a cautionary tale

I wrote about the accident yesterday, naively thinking that if I regurgitated the stones in my throat, it might be possible to reach a place of calm, cathartic peace. How stupid was that!

The dog was here, again, its initial growl sounding like a lullaby until, once I had written my words down, it began to bark madly as if I had done/said something wrong. So I edited what I had written until the dog swallowed my extra words, until it attacked my thumping heart and painted it red with slices of stillness, until it put its big paw against my throat and whined until I woke up.

Jet black, this dog blends into the evening sky invisibly, sleeps in the pocket of the dark blankets around my feet at night, wakes me up every morning with the audacity of its sudden absence – not my best friend, not my worst enemy, but my closest companion.

Of course I hate the presence of this black dog, and its black eyes, and its black waving tail, and the black fur of its snuggly black snout but recently I have noticed the growing yawn of its absence. Hurray!

That dog was blocking out the sun with its big, dark presence, its ridiculous attempt to be a metaphor, its wolfish editorial antics. Beware of the dog.

I wrote about the accident yesterday, naively thinking that if I regurgitated the stones in my throat, it might be possible to reach a place of calm, cathartic peace. How wonderful was that!

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From listless to listful

Over the last few weeks I have discovered something wonderful about lists. You know, the kinds of lists that read like this:

Monday:
– pay bills
– ride bike
– groceries (don’t forget toilet paper!)
– change bedsheets and do the washing
– vacuum house
– write 1,000 words of new book
– ring plumber
– buy new hoses to replace leaky ones
– see Anthony
– cook a healthy meal
– catch up with other people’s blogs
– wash car
– plan next week with Ming
– ring Mother to arrange lunch
– start new filing system
– get prescriptions from chemist
– book lawnmowing people
– do tax
– return library books
– start taking photos again
– start praying again
– make soup
– make a cake for Anthony and Ming
– go to bed earlier and get up earlier
– do a cull of clothes
– sort out rubbish to take to the dump
– do tomorrow’s list

Okay so, despite the fact that none of the above tasks is, in itself, onerous, it was this kind of list, that rendered me listless. (Interestingly, the word ‘list’ derives from the Middle English word, ‘pleasure’). I would only ever be able to accomplish a few of my listed tasks, I would then feel like a failure….

Eventually, I realized that this kind of list-making was making me extremely unhappy, so much so that I could hardly face each and every day. I resented each and every task I didn’t get done and each and every goal that went by the wayside.

Nevertheless, every night I would make another list for the following day. Energized by a pre-midnight spark of incentive, I would make more do-able lists. But with no job to go to, with no Anthony at home to care for, and with Ming out of school, there was rarely anything on my lists that couldn’t wait, so it felt as if I were continually failing myself.

As a result, the familiar depression curled itself into a small bundle of rock-hard heartburn that only left me alone when I was asleep. So I slept away many days in June until, on the 29th, I woke up with a new idea; I would write my daily lists differently; I would write them backwards instead of forwards; I would write what I had done every day instead of what I should do.

Monday:
– paid all of the bills
– communed with dogs
– did all folding and put a load of washing on
– cleaned kitchen meticulously
– made a cake!
– saw Anthony from 1 – 4.30
– bought a bunch of coriander for the first time in my life
– made a curry from scratch
– washed hair
– communed with birds
– watched a show with Ming
– began reading a library book

To have done even some of the things I had listed as to-do for weeks (but not done), catapulted me out of my fug and into a fantastically different way of seeing each day. Now, with my listful notebook always handy, I list every single little thing I do on every single day – everything from washing my hair to planting strawberries; everything from poaching eggs to making friends with a new resident at the nursing home; everything from catching up with long-lost relatives to picking camellias for Anthony’s room.

This new listful method has also evolved into a better daily routine whereby I am in the nursing home every afternoon, seeing Anthony, doing the volunteering, seeing Anthony again and usually getting home by 6pm.

It is so wonderful to NOT be listless!

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My second home

Anthony

In my last post, I wrote a bit about how, instead of taking Anthony out for drives or bringing him home for the day, I have begun to make myself home in his room in the nursing home. For those who don’t know, Ants has advanced Parkinson’s disease with encroaching dementia, advanced prostate cancer and several other conditions. He is 78 and has been in the nursing home for nearly two and a half years. I have already blogged about the heartbreak of that mutual decision, and written about the ongoing ups and downs since then.

Several weeks ago, I realized that I had to stop getting Anthony up and out, and back home, and visiting friends and relatives, and going to restaurants etc. because I could no longer lift him in and out of the car, wheelchair etc. Well I could actually, but the physical strain and emotional stress of all of this maneuvering was taxing for both of us, and Ming too of course.

You see, all of the above jobs were infused with a panicky anxiety. Will the pills work today? What if I can’t get Ants to the toilet in time? Will he try to walk around the farm/restaurant and fall again? What if I have to get the ambulance out to the farm? Will he be too cold and insist that every heater is on? Will Ming cope? Will I cope? Will Anthony cope with going back to the nursing home after being out and about? Will there be more tears than we have already cried?

So, almost as an experiment I guess, I began to spend more time in the nursing home, something I couldn’t have done even a year ago – too boring, too sad, too scary, too confined, too uncertain – I hated it. But gradually, over many weeks now, this has become the norm and the fact that I am spending several hours a day with Ants in the nursing home means that he is no longer so desperate to come home and often, by late afternoon, he thinks he is home.

I keep long-lasting stuff, wine and snacks in one of Anthony’s cupboards, bring a favourite food every day (blue cheese, chocolate, olives etc.) and sometimes it’s a little bit like a party. If the heater isn’t on, I turn it on, put a blanket on Anthony’s legs and do up his jacket up (he is always cold). Then I turn the television on to whatever our program is for the day (Master Chef, Midsomer Murders, Neighours). During the commercial breaks, I mute the TV so we can talk but lately Ants is having a bit of trouble with speech so I have to help a bit. Yesterday he couldn’t get the sentence he wanted to say out so I told him I could read his mind and not to worry. And I can read his mind.

But then his words came out:

ANTS: You make me nervous, Jules.
ME: Why?
ANTS: I’ve fallen in love with you again.
ME: Hell, Ants, we’ve already done that!

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