jmgoyder

wings and things

Spring has sprung

It’s the first day of Spring over here and I want my heart to gallop with excitement but it won’t cooperate. Yesterday afternoon Ming and I had one of our serious talks. These always resemble the kind of discussion a grandfather might have with a small child (Ming = the grandfather; Julie = the small child).

Now it’s not particularly pleasant to be scolded by your teenage son but after much to-ing and fro-ing of our discussion, Ming finally summarized things by saying, “Mum, I just want you back the way you were. I want us to have fun again, I want you to be happy again.” (This was after he told me my office was an appalling mess).

“Is it Dad or me who is stopping you?” Ming asked.

“It’s Anthony, Ming. I just can’t seem to adjust. Come on, give me a break – he’s only been in the nursing lodge for six months. Give me a chance to breathe my grief!”

“You’ve been doing that for too long already, Mum. Please stop. We have to get this place in order – you have to help me!”

“Oh you’re not going to say that dreadful word again are you?”

“Yes, Mum. Teamwork, teamwork, teamwork!”

“Poo, poo, poo!” I retaliated (Ming loathes that word).

Anyway that was yesterday and now it is today. I just saw a blue wren and I am going to vacuum the inside veranda and it’s raining but sunny and later on I will go see Anthony and I will not cry when I get home again because if I do I will have to suffer another Ming discussion.

It’s the first day of Spring here and my heart has begun to walk again. I hope Ming doesn’t get too much of a shock!

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Anchorage

Husband and I have been married nearly 20 years – our 19th anniversary is coming up soon but we both always forget about it and my mum inevitably reminds us with a phonecall! Anyway, for most of those years of marriage, he has been an anchor for my flightiness, so I find it a little strange now to be his anchor, when I don’t feel anchored myself.

He is home now. It was supposed to be for one night but yesterday afternoon, despite my intentions to keep this ‘visit’ upbeat, he and I both became emotional and I rang the nursing lodge to say he would be staying home an extra night. His sigh of relief made the difficulty of this extra night worth it, but, because, like the first night, it was a difficult night of getting up and down, we have both realized that the nursing lodge was a good decision.

As usual, we were very honest with each other and Son’s occasional interjections were bitingly honest: “Dad, Mum and I can’t look after you as well as they do in the nursing lodge – can’t you see that?” He added a few adolescent expletives to emphasize his opinion which we forgave him because, after all, he is still trapped in his back splint and can’t help me tend to Husband.

The guilt associated with having to ‘place’ the love of your life into care, despite that person’s agreement to do so, is something difficult to describe. So many friends have expressed to me how terrible this felt for them in terms of their parents, and their empathy and commiserations are much appreciated. However, what many people forget is that Husband is not my parent – he is my husband. It even took awhile for the nursing staff at the lodge to realize this because he is 23 years older than I am, so it was assumed that I was his doting daughter! This kind of mistaken identity thing has happened many times over the years and is a source of much hilarity – well, it used to be!

Five weeks ago, while Son was in intensive care, I took this photo from my hotel balcony in Perth. I was actually trying to get a picture of the elusive swans!

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