jmgoyder

wings and things

Imagined conversation 37

Me: Well, you’ll be glad to know that this third bout of anxiety is nearly over. I’m going to tell you about it here because I don’t want to forget what it’s like.

Anthony: Why would you want to remember it?

Me: So I recognise it when it begins to happen rather than being all-consumed by the time I see a doctor.

Anthony: Is it my fault?

Me: Yes and no. It’s because I miss you so much but it doesn’t feel like that at all. It feels like a sense of urgency – constant and about everything – an urgency to clean the house, to socialise, to write the script, to get the motorbike licence, to train Pip as a therapy dog, to do my volunteer visits. Everything becomes such a matter of urgency that I become incapable of doing anything,

Anthony: I thought that was depression.

Me: This is on top of that – this is extreme anxiety, the kind that makes your heart beat super fast and your hands shake and fills you with a kind of flitter-flutter of frenetic energy that beats around inside you but renders you immobile. It’s the kind of fear where adrenaline doesn’t kick in so it’s implosive.

Anthony: So did you get some pills?

Me: Yes.

Anthony: And….?

Me: And now I can function again, I can appear to be okay and I can breathe properly. The good thing is I know I won’t need the pills for long, judging from the last two experiences.

Anthony: Well, take the pills as long as you like, Jules. Just take a break from all of those things you think you should be doing and just be.

Me: Yes I think that’s the key – just being. Without the mindrush. Remember how I used to confide in you about these issues?

Anthony: Yes, I married a complicated woman.

Me: Ha! And you are so uncomplicated. Even when you were so ill and incapacitated, you were like an anchor, a safe place, a solid certainty. Now that you’re dead, I sometimes flounder.

Anthony: You’ll find your feet again, Jules. You always do.

Me: I understand other people’s grief so much better now, Ants, especially the fear thing.

Anthony: Maybe there’s something you don’t realise, Jules.

Me: And what’s that, oh wise one?

Anthony: I miss you too.

 

 

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Imagined conversation 36

Me: Your headstone has become a real headache.

Anthony: How so?

Me: Well, for me, it has been this final thing to do – sort of looming but at the same time something that might, strangely, be enjoyable, like choosing what colour of what stone, what words and….

Anthony: So what’s the problem?

Me: On the surface of things, it’s that I can’t choose the right monument. I mean I know that you wouldn’t have wanted anything ostentatious or expensive but at the same time I can’t just leave that cross the funeral parlour gave us.

Anthony: Why not?

Me: Well because it looked all shiny and lovely at the burial. Now it’s all faded and has probably fallen over in the last storm. Plus the dirt on your grave still hasn’t gone down so I’m not sure how placing the headstone works. Every time I start the conversation with the various headstone people, I stop again. I choose the colour of the granite, I choose the words with Ming, I get various quotes, and then I baulk, and that horrible of sensation of fear comes back

Anthony: But, Jules, it doesn’t matter – none of that matters. You matter, and Ming matters. I’m gone.

Me: So who am I talking to then?

Anthony: You are talking to an imagined me – you already know that.

Me: So what do I do about your headstone? People are starting to wonder.

Anthony: So let them wonder!

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Me: I have it in my mind and heart that placing the headstone should be on August 23, the anniversary of your death. That way I don’t have to panic about doing it right now and that way I can choose more sensibly, without all of this emotion.

Anthony: Wise decision, Jules.

Me: I wish you were here to help me with all of this, Ants.

Anthony: So do I.

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Imagined conversation 33

Me: I have another little surprise for you.

Anthony: Kill me softly.

Me: You really need to see the sarcasm therapist again. Anyway, one of my blog friends is an artist and she’s agreed to work with me on a book of our dialogues.

Anthony: She must be mad!

Me: No, she is really sane and she ‘gets’ you. She has already sent me examples of how she might draw you. And me. Our interactions. Before and after. And it’s perfect.

Anthony: Before and after what?

Me: Your death. Oh and by the way can you please let Marion know that he would be great for the role but I need actors who are actually still living.

Anthony: Noted.

Me: I think I have entered a new phase.

Anthony: Surprise me.

Me: You are dead and I am just conjuring you with these imagined conversations.

Anthony: I’m still with you, Jules.

Me: In my memory, in my consciousness, yeah, but you’re also gone and I am so sick of feeling so sad.

Anthony: So don’t feel sad.

Me: How?

Anthony: Write.

 

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Imagined conversation 32

Me: Ants, guess what? I found out about this film writing competition yesterday that had a deadline of midnight last night so I worked all day on my submission – it only had to be a few pages of script, with a synopsis and….

Anthony: Steady on, Jules….

Me: I only had five pages to write the script of your life and death, our love story, and to convey what dementia is like.

Anthony: Let me guess. Am I your dementia figurine?

Me: Stop it! This is important. If I am successful I’ll get to work with professional scriptwriters and get flown to Sydney. It could be such a great opportunity to get my message out there.

Anthony: Your message?

Me: About how dementia doesn’t have to be this terrifying, tragic thing – that it is possible to have fun with dementia. Oh, I don’t know, Ants – I’m still figuring it out.

Anthony: Are you going to admit that you lied to me about me having it – dementia?

Me: I did NOT lie to you, Ants – I just didn’t tell you.

Anthony: Well I think that’s pertinent.

Me: Oh, okay, thanks!

Anthony [talking to someone else]: Yes, she gets like this sometimes.

Me: I heard that!

Anthony: Sorry, Jules, just having a chat with Saint Somebody about your script. She thinks it’s a very good start.

Me: You do realise that if I write a movie about you, I will actually be the main star as the patient, long-suffering, dedicated wife?

Anthony: As you wish.

Me: What? Don’t you mind not being the main star?

Anthony: Marion said he’d play my part.

Me: Marion? Who’s Marion?

Anthony: John Wayne. We’ve become friends. His mother wanted a girl; it’s complicated.

Me: And I thought it was me going crazy – it’s you!

Anthony: Jules?

Me: Ants?

Anthony: Write the script – write the movie. You are on the right track.

 

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Imagined conversation 31

Me: I haven’t wanted to talk to you lately.

Anthony: I noticed.

Me: Ever since talking to the headstone people I just kind of wanted to run away from the situation.

Anthony: What situation?

Me: Your death.

Anthony: Oh, that – yes.

Me: I’ve gone past the nursing home a few times now, on my motorbike lessons, and it always gives me a bit of a jolt. I saw a photo of you and C. at the nursing home and it shocked me to know that was only months before you died. I keep wanting to see you; it’s horrible, like a yawn of yearning. I’m not trying to be poetic either – it feels like the middle of me is doing this yawwwwwwn thing all the time.

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Anthony: Am I boring you?

Me: Very funny, not. Not that kind of yawn – the kind where you need more oxygen. Isn’t that what a yawn is?

Anthony: [Silence]

Me: And then a gaspy thing happens and I can breathe again and then, finally, I can cry.

Anthony: Why do you want to cry?

Me: I don’t want to cry really but sometimes when I nearly cry and the tears don’t come I feel like forcing it.

Anthony: I’m listening.

Me: Other times one of your favourite songs comes on the car radio and crying just happens. It happened earlier today.

Anthony: I’m sorry I left you in the lurch, Jules.

Me: Sometimes I wish I hadn’t loved you so much. I let you mean too much, Ants – you had become my whole world. Maybe that wasn’t healthy, maybe that’s why I feel so lost now without you.

Anthony: Jules, do you realise what rubbish you are talking? Look at all of the things you are accomplishing now – the motorbike licence, the kayak lessons, the film script idea, helping Ming with his psychology diploma, the volunteering. You are not lost without me.

Me: I feel physically sick, like I am going to vomit, a lot of the time.

Anthony: But you’re free now, Jules. You should make the most of it.

Me: How? Anyway, I never wanted to be free of you!

Anthony: Never?

Me: Not once and I’m pretty sure I’m being honest here.

Anthony: I ended up needing you too much didn’t I.

Me: Sort of. Yeah, okay, I didn’t like that feeling of being so needed I guess.

Anthony: You just need to get your strength back, Jules. Do some aerobic exercise. It does wonders for the body and soul.

Me: WHAAT?

Anthony: Swimming, cycling – keep it up, Jules. Don’t give up – oh and the meditation is also useful.

Me: [Silence]

Anthony: I’ve shocked you, haven’t I.

Me: Yes! Are you being tongue-in-cheek or genuine? Meditation? I can’t believe that word actually came out of your cynical mouth.

Anthony: OM

Me: OM?

Anthony: Feeling better yet?

Me: Actually, yes.

Anthony: All right, so, whenever you don’t feel like talking to me, just OM me and I’ll OM you back.

Me: OM?

Anthony: OMMMMMMMMMM

Me: [Laughing]

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Imagined conversation 30

Anthony: It’s understandable, Jules.

Me: I’ve been putting it off for two reasons: one is I didn’t want to do this last final thing because I wanted something to look forward to. I know that sounds bizarre but there is something quite lovely about picking out a headstone and figuring out the inscription. I didn’t want that to be over with.

Anthony: What’s the other reason?

Me: Just talking with the monument people via email was okay to begin with, then I started feeling a bit sick, you know, bargaining about the price.

Anthony: You’re right to bargain!

Me: Do you like the colour Ming and I chose?

Anthony: It’s quite striking – yes.

Me: Okay so ruby red granite it is. I’m going to the monument place on Monday. I’m a bit worried that I might get really emotional or else that I might just feel numb.

Anthony: You’ll take it all in your stride, Jules. Hold your head up and smile and pretend I’m with you.

Me: That’s a good idea.

Anthony: Once it’s done, you can bring the cross with my name on it home.

Me: Yeah, I thought the same. It’s still stuck in the mound on your grave. I had no idea it took so long for the dirt to settle.

Anthony: I didn’t know that either.

Me: I thought I’d be visiting your grave all the time but I haven’t. I mean I don’t get any sensation of you being there anyway – not really.

Anthony: I’m not there, Jules – it’s just my old bones now.

Me: I hate thinking about that!

Anthony: Well it’s true.

Me: I’ve had a few bad days of missing you, Ants. I wish I could have a hug.

Anthony: Maybe you could use that imagination of yours to be hugged by me whenever anyone else hugs you.

Me: Okay, I’ll try that. Ming’s a pretty good hugger.

Anthony: That’s my boy.

Me: I want part of the inscription to read “The most beautiful man in the world”. What do you think?

Anthony: I think you are prone to exaggeration.

Me: Ming loves the idea.

Anthony: Does he?

Me: He feels the same way.

Anthony: Now you’ve made my day!

Me: That settles that, then. I think I can face Monday now.

Anthony: You’ll be fine, Jules.

Me: Okay, I’ll take your word for it.IMG_4201

 

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Imagined conversation 29

Anthony: Can’t you sleep?

Me: No, it’s the third time in a week. I mean it’s still only midnight but the last couple of times, it was almost 4am before I felt tired enough to go to bed.

Anthony: That’s no good, Jules.

Me: I don’t really mind. It’s not anxiety or anything. I guess I’ll just watch Netflix.

Anthony: You like your thrillers don’t you.

Me: Yep.

Anthony: Well don’t stay up too late or you’ll look haggard when you get up.

Me: Haggard? What do you mean by haggard!

Anthony: I overheard you talking to your mother about how you were worried about looking so haggard after my demise.

Me: Yeah, but I was telling her that my phase of worrying about looking haggard was over and now that I don’t worry about it, I don’t seem to look haggard anymore – weird. See, here is me with A. today. I don’t look so bad after all. I don’t even mind the wrinkles now.

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Anthony: Well, the kid’s cute. He suits you. Maybe you should have another baby.

Me: Droll.

Anthony: Do you ever wish we’d had another one?

Me: Every now and then but Ming is enough.

Anthony: My thoughts exactly.

Me: He is pretty wonderful. The other day he said to me, “Hey, Mum, let’s have another look at you,” as I was heading out. So I turned back and he said, “You look great!”

Anthony: Sounds like the kind of thing I would say.

Me: He says that kind of thing every single day.

Anthony: Are you sure all this vanity is good for you?

Me: Well it beats the hell out of running, panic-stricken, away from the bathroom mirror.

Anthony: I notice you haven’t replace the fluorescent light in there.

Me: Mmmm.

Anthony: Don’t forget all the complimentary things I said to you, will you.

Me: Like….?

Anthony: I recall calling you a gorgeous creature more than once.

Me: Not sure about the creature bit.

Anthony: You know what I mean.

Me: I sometimes miss the way you lit up when I arrived at the nursing home.

Anthony: Now you’re really flattering yourself.

Me: But you did! Even the nurses said so.

Anthony: I put a lot of effort into that.

Me: What rot. You were overjoyed every time and you’d always think that it was magic, and that you’d somehow conjured me up.

Anthony: Poor old fool.

Me: No, you were a beautiful old fool.

Anthony: Thanks.

Me: You know what I mean.

Anthony: One thing though….

Me: Yes?

Anthony: You do need lipstick.

Me: OMG, the feminists will be onto you.

Anthony: But it’s true.

Me: I’ll have to ponder that.

Anthony: Do that. Pondering is something I’ve become quite good at and I think you’d like it.

Me: That’s quite profound actually, Ants.

Anthony: I ponder to please.

Me: (Smiling)

 

 

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Imagined conversation 28

Me: You know that guy I was telling you about – the one in the nursing home who reminds me of you?

Anthony: You mean my nursing home?

Me: No, I can’t bring myself to go back there – yet. I’m talking about the nursing home where I volunteer.

Anthony: So who’s the guy?

Me: His name is K. and I thought he was around your age but one of the nurses told me he was 97!

Anthony: And he reminds you of me?

Me: Yes. It’s uncanny!

Anthony: Thanks a lot. Such a wonderful compliment – not.

Me: Well he doesn’t look a day over 81, Ants. Sorry. He’s got the same starey eyes and the same slow smile; he even seems to have a wittiness like yours. When I asked him how he was the other day, he said he was 150 years old. It was just like the kind of thing you used to say – so funny.

Anthony: Is he sexy like me?

Me: No, for God’s sake, Anthony. Don’t be so ridiculous!

Anthony: Well, I was just wondering.

Me: He’s crazy about Pip.

Anthony: That’s all right – as long as he isn’t crazy about you.

Me: I told him about you dying and he said his wife had died too and we had a bit of a sad moment.

Anthony: You do realise that I’m not 81 anymore, don’t you.

Me: How does that work?

Anthony: Not sure but I feel extraordinary well.

Me: That makes my heart get all warm and toasty. Remember how you used to say that?

Anthony: Plagiarism!

Me: The other day, P. said I should find another beau.

Anthony: What?

Me: Don’t worry, I told him that I’d had the best and there was no topping that.

Anthony: You can tell P. from me to bugger off.

Me: I’ll be more polite.

Anthony: You can quote me on that, Jules, with my blessing.

Me: Oh, so I say, “By the way, P., Anthony told me to tell you to bugger off with his blessing.”

Anthony: That sounds about right.

Me: He won’t believe that I was talking with you.

Anthony: That’s his problem. Anyway back to the old chap, K., if he’s 97 he must be pretty close to the end.

Me: Yeah, he doesn’t look so wonderful.

Anthony: Shake his hand for me.

Me: Why?

Anthony: It seems like a reasonable thing to do.

Me: Okay, I’ll do that. I think he’ll understand.

Anthony: He will. Tell him I’ll keep an eye out for him when the time comes.

Me: Wow, that’s nice of you.

Anthony: You seem to have forgotten what a splendidly marvellous person I am.

Me: I haven’t forgotten.

Anthony: That’s good then.

Me: G’night, Ants.

Anthony: G’night, Jules.

Me: I adore you.

Anthony: Perfectly understandable.

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Imagined conversation 27

Me: You know these conversations that we’re having?

Anthony: Yes, I do.

Me: They’re rather wonderful aren’t they.

Anthony: They certainly help to pass the time of day.

Me: Master of the understatement aren’t you.

Anthony: I try.

Me: What I like best is that you don’t have dementia anymore.

Anthony: What are you talking about? I never had dementia.

Me: Well, okay, you must have forgotten.

Anthony: You talk a lot of rubbish sometimes.

Me: That’s what I used to say to you – kindly.

Anthony: What’s your point?

Me: It almost feels like we are time travelling backwards and a bit forwards but mostly backwards. In a good way. I’m remembering all sorts of things – conversations and your wit.

Anthony: I like to have my wits turned on.

Me: You never really lost that did you.

Anthony: I never really lost anything actually.

Me: Sometimes, when you said really crazy things, I used to think maybe you were pulling my leg.

Anthony: I was.

Me: No you weren’t.

Anthony: Have it your way.

Me: No need to get huffy.

Anthony: I’m not but I don’t like you saying I had dementia. Horrible word.

Me: But you did have it. I just never told you.

Anthony: Well maybe a little bit.

Me: No, a lot.

Anthony: Bull.

Me: I thought heavenly creatures like you basked in the truth.

Anthony: I’d rather do a dare.

Me: Okay, I dare you to acknowledge that you had dementia.

Anthony: Entrapped. Okay, okay, you got me.

Me: I thought it was fantastic that you didn’t know.

Anthony: A blessing in disguise?

Me: Exactly.

Anthony: It must have been hard on you.

Me: I guess so, to begin with, but I got used to it. I got used to you with dementia. It didn’t scare me at all but it probably would have scared you if you knew.

Anthony: It was bloody beautiful of you not to tell me.

Me: Remember how you would get confused and I would reassure you that it was just the Parkinson’s disease?

Anthony: Yes.

Me: Well that was instead of telling you it was dementia.

Anthony: I heard you tell someone the other day that we made friends with dementia. Clever.

Me: That’s what it felt like. It was sort of whimsical and we even had fun with it.

Anthony: With what?

Me: With the dementia. In retrospect.

Anthony: If you say so.

Me: Come on. Admit it.

Anthony: Okay. Yes, you’re right. I’m so sorry, Jules. It must have been ghastly.

Me: No, it wasn’t. It was still you.

Anthony: It’s good what we have isn’t it.

Me: It’s the best thing on earth.

Anthony: And in heaven.

Me: Bloody hell! Okay, Amen.

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Anthony: Amen.

 

 

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Imagined conversation 26

Anthony: What’s with all the new clothes?

Me: Retail therapy.

Anthony: What’s that supposed to be?

Me: Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.

Anthony: I like it. You’re looking particularly well groomed these days.

Me: Why thank you, kind sir.

Anthony: Stylish even. You’d be a knockout if you wore higher heels.

Me: Oh for God’s sake, you can forget that.

Anthony: The red boots are, well, they’re very red aren’t they.

Me: So? I bought them before you died but I never got to show you so every time I wear them I feel a bit of a pang of disappointment.

Anthony: They look good, Jules, I’m only teasing.

Me: I kind of bought them for you actually, indirectly.

Anthony: A likely story.

Me: No, really. I used to like the way you liked the way I love my boots.

Anthony: You definitely have a fetish for them.

Me: Not so much now.

Anthony: Isn’t it about time you bought some new ones?

Me: What? I can’t believe you’re encouraging me to spend money.

Anthony: You can use my money. I don’t need it any more.

Me: Wow, you’ve changed. What happened to the tightwad I married?

Anthony: He turned into a butterfly.

Me (laughing): You crack me up, Ants. Okay, well I don’t need much encouragement so what colour do you suggest?

Anthony: Purple and white polka-dots?

Me: You are insane!

Anthony: Why not?

Me: I’ll google it. Ah here we go. What do you think?

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Anthony: Not bad. What do they cost?

Me: Let me see … $5,200.

Anthony: [Pause]

Me: Are you there?

Anthony: I’m in shock.

Me: Yes, so am I so don’t panic. I’m not that self-indulgent and I can’t imagine who is. Okay, how about these?

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Anthony: How much?

Me: Around $40. But they’re gumboots.

Anthony: They really are ‘you’ though, aren’t they.

Me: You think?

Anthony: Different.

Me: Are you sure?

Anthony: Why not?

Me: Thanks but I’m really very tempted by the first pair – the more I look at them….

Anthony: Jules, come on.

Me: You are so gullible.

Anthony: I’ve broken into a sweat.

Me: I bet!  I wish I could buy you something – anything, even a slice of black forest cake or a dozen oysters.

Anthony: Plenty of that here.

Me: Really? Oh, of course. I know, but I used to love buying you presents and treats and stuff.

Anthony: You’re too generous.

Me: It was fun.

Anthony: Tell you what, buy the gumboots for me. Indirectly.

Me: Sold!

Anthony: You’re a burster, Jules.

Me: I can’t believe purple and white polka-dot boots even exist. How could you have possibly known?

Anthony: I’ve become a fan of google too.

Me: Now I really am shocked! But you don’t even know how to turn a computer on.

Anthony: I do now. I’m one step ahead of you. Now buy the boots. Right now.

Me: Your wish is my command. Thanks, Ants – this is so enjoyable!

Anthony: It is, isn’t it.

 

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