wings and things

When every day becomes yesterday

When Anthony was home yesterday he kept talking to the television. I would come in and out of the kitchen where he was sitting (his favourite spot) and enter an already-there conversation. I was busy with washing and other chores (something I continue to do even if Ants is home, just to keep things normal-ish), but every time I came back into the kitchen he would be talking to one of his deceased brothers, or to the now-dead stove, or to the dogs on the table (hallucinations).

Ming cannot stand it – he just can’t. He says, “Mum, I love Dad but I just can’t tolerate him!” I understand his point of view; after all, he is only 19 and his dad is nearly 78. On the shy side of 50, I am in the middle of this all the time so, when Ants comes home – and I do this as much as possible – I leave Ming with him while I go to the toilet to cry. No, not self-pity – just so hard to remember how good it once was and how bad it is now.

I miss all of our wonderful yesterdays just as much as Anthony does. But Ming doesn’t remember and he has no recollection of Anthony ever being well. Every day, lately, he has asked me for a hug and every day I have given him a hug, even after our ferocious arguments, about the car accident, about many things….

Sometimes it is hard to be positive but I have enormous faith in both Ants and Ming and I think that is reciprocated to me. I hope so.