In a few days my first niece, Ashtyn, will be wedded to a Scottish man, Gordon, in a castle in Scotland. My mother arrived there safely and she and Ash have now had two days together. I am so jealous but am comforted by the fact that the newlyweds will be moving back here to Western Australia in December – yeeha!
They are both extremely photogenic.
Today I am taking my mother up to the airport to fly to Scotland. My beautiful niece is getting married there. Some of you may recall that, having just recovered from a fractured hip, my mother fell off her bicycle and broke her pelvis in two places and her wrist in three. We thought she wouldn’t be able to go to the wedding but she is now almost fully recovered. Bravo, Mother!
Tiny moccasins for my soon-to-be-born niece
Anthony kissing my hand today as if I were royalty
The new kitchen sink plug that makes it possible to wash the dishes in less of a rush
My new red boots
Getting the stupid lawn mower fixed finally
Choosing Lino and blinds for Ming’s shed
Watching Judge Judy with Ants (he loves her!)
The baby kookaburra I saw yesterday
Accepting what is
It’s all very odd to me, and possibly illusory, but for the last few days our visits to Anthony, little drives here and there and, today, Ming’s famous NOSEY with Anthony, have reproduced a longlost joy.
Sorry – that sentence was far too long. Oh, and what is a NOSEY? It’s when you ‘kiss’ someone with your nose. We three have now been doing this for nearly 20 years. It’s quite pleasant.
Anthony and I exchange I love you as if we are some sort of romantically tragic play that never reaches its denoument.
But the other night on the phone the script shifted, rustling the worn paragraphs of our repetitive goodnight conversation.
Me: I love you.
Anthony: You’re the only one left.
That shocked me a bit, but he didn’t say it self-pityingly at all; he said it with certainty, like a simple fact.
Anthony’s recent shift from despondency to humour has been gradual, subtle, under-stated, whereas my inexplicable shift from sad to happy has been sudden and boisterous.
I know that part of these shifts are to do with our mutual acceptance of the reality of our situation but, if so, why didn’t we accept this months ago?
Oh who cares why – we are happy again!
Anthony has always been really good at encapsulating what would take me paragraphs to describe. And, in between the worsening mumblingishness of his speech, he comes out with extraordinary witticisms.
This afternoon, for instance, we were drinking red wine and watching an appallingly good soap opera on TV when the guy in the next room (I’ll call him John for anonymity) accidentally walked in.
I see Anthony’s eyes, usually expressionless, harden. So I get up and gently steer John back into the hallway where a nurse takes his arm and tells him she has made a cup of tea. He looks back at me and says, Tomorrow we gistust this potatoes worry, okay?
Leaping back into Anthony’s room (before he drinks my wine!) I ask him about John.
What do you do when he comes into your room and disturbs you? I ask.
He looks at me really seriously and quietly says, PANIC!
I laugh so loud that a nurse comes in, worried that I am upset about the John incident. I tell her what Ants said and she guffaws too.
As I am leaving, I hug my husband and he whispers in my ear, I am making people laugh again, Jules!
So you’ve stopped the grumpy thing? I ask, hopefully (knowing that my gentle man has become uncharacteristically cantankerous lately).
But in just these few minutes of saying goodbye, he has gone somewhere and there is no point trying to follow him.
So I go to where my sobs won’t be heard – the disabled toilet near the exit from the nursing lodge – then I wash my face, put my lipstick back on, and go back to say seeya to Ants.
Panic.
I don’t think ‘style’ is quite the right word but it will do.
There are all sorts of styles….
– of breathing
– of living
– of dying
– of grieving
– of laughing
– of hoping
– of loving
Etcetera.
And each person’s style is unique, sometimes chosen, sometimes accidental, but always, always, very personal.
Let’s take grief, for example. My own for Anthony’s slow decline into the fog of Parkinson’s disease/Parkinsonism and dementia has taken a few U-turns. No, no – that’s not right – it is I who took the U-turns.
I know this is going to sound terrible, but I have gone through phases of not wanting to see him; getting him home only to find it impossible to lift him, and becoming angry; wanting the wheelchair taxi to come early. Can you imagine the guilt?
But of course these emotional transitions are not just mine; they are his too. In the 18 months since he entered the nursing lodge, Anthony has had to get used to hands other than mine undressing and showering him, meals that I didn’t cook, unfamiliar blankets, surroundings, people….
Etcetera.
This is my grief, my guilt, my love, my style, my Anthony, and, despite the private/public paradox of my blog, it has never been a cry for help.
My style:
– Do not try to rescue me
– Do not worry about me
– Do not try to get me out-and-about
– Respect my privacy.
I love Ants in a past/present way, that beautiful figure of male virility, running through the paddocks to get the cows in and yelling, ‘Jules, RUN!’
We were friends for years before our relationship became serious … and now we are friends in that original, platonic way (despite his occasional innuendos).
And I seem to have fallen in love all over again which is quite weird until I realize that Anthony is the only man I have ever loved in that falling-in-love way. It is the same for him.
This afternoon, Ants and I sat out in the sun, on the beach side of the nursing lodge, then went for a short walk up the rather steep driveway so we could catch a glimpse of the ocean.
To give you an idea of how exhausting this was for Ants, the distance up to the crest is about 15 – 20 ordinary strides. Anthony uses a walker of course, but can barely lift his feet so, for him, the distance to the crest was well over 100 shuffled steps, then back down again. Once inside, I could barely get him back to the armchair in his room and thought I’d have to get the wheelchair, but we made it.
Getting him to turn around, let go of the walker and sit in the chair took ages, and I finally used all my strength to sort of hoist him around and plonk him down. This left us both gasping and I got the giggles.
– I bet the nurses are much gentler with you, I said.
– But with you, there are sexual overtones, he said with a hint of a smile.
– For God’s sake, Ants, are you crazy? I yelped.
– Then why are you blushing?
I can assure you, I was not blushing!
jmgoyder 