Categories: uncategorized
Date: 02 September 2005 20:42:19
Well, it was a lovely afternoon out.
It's been a gradual descent this week after the delights of our trip to Scotland. We've met the MacMillan nurse (who is absolutely lovely and will be coming again this week to see me on my own), we've taked Dad for his day out at the hospice, we've seen the Encology specialist and got more information about the treatment which lies ahead, and we've taken Dad for more blood tests. I've organised loads of things regarding his tablets and his treatment etc. He's in denial - not about the cancer, but about whether it bothers him or not. Fine, if it helps him to cope, but difficult to listen to him telling people that he knows he's dying and it's fine by him when I know it's a lie. He's doing so well, though, and fighting the depression which is hovering just round the corner. He informed the macmillan nurse he doesn't expect to be around by Christmas, but I was relieved to hear the response that he shouldn't pack his bags just yet as the angels haven't finished getting his room ready in Heaven - he's not expected yet!!! Still, though, there's the dilemma between wanting him around for ever and knowing that's impossible; not wanting to lose him while he still has quality of life yet not wanting to see that quality of life slowly (or quickly) ebbing away. AAAAAAAGGGGGGGGH!
Today was mostly lovely during the afternoon. We took Dad and his friend to the botanic gardens and let them have tea and cakes together while we went to the playpark. Lovely... apart from Dad giving a completely uncalled-for tongue-lashing to poor Tiddles. That happens occasionally, and it seems there's no way of dealing with it other than teaching Tiddles to turn the other cheek... asking more maturity of him than of Dad! He does well, though. He is beginning to understand that, just as he fetches Dad's walking stick to help combat the pain in his hip, so ignoring Dad's outbursts is a way of helping deal with the imbalance in Dad's brain which makes him lash out in anger at whoever is nearest.
He has his own problems at the moment, poor lad. He's struggling with the thought of Grandad getting older and it's making him feel very insecure. He's struggling with his own "getting older" and frightened of the challenges that puberty may bring (grandad's chief objection to him is that he is talking and behaving like a teenager.. I try to point out that this may be because he is a teenager in a month's time). And he's struggling with a desire to suppress the memory that he's adopted for a while when he keeps having the fact thrust in his face.
Tonight he broke down and shared it all with me and we had some valuable snuggle time.
Then blow me if, as he went off to bed, my little one didn't come with his own insecurities and sorrows at missing his sister. "What if I never see her again, mummy? What are the chances?" What could I say? What comfort could I give, but to hold him tight and let him cry? "It get's in the way of everything, mummy. I start to enjoy myself but then it comes rushing out to make me sad again. Like today in the playpark, I made friends with some children and wondered why I bothered when I was only going to have to say goodbye and never see them again." We wept together about loss and goodbyes.. and then shared a giggle at the thought that if you kept all the friends you made, your Christmas card writing would take from January to December and cost a fortune!
Tonight it's me that's sort of overwhelmed. Not with depression, at least I don't think it is, but with a strange sort of feeling. Is it that I feel pulled in too many directions? Partly, but not entirely. Is it that I feel helpless to help my menfolk, other than to hold them tight? Partly, but not entirely. Is it that I want to have a moment without needing to support anyone but me? Partly, but not entirely. I feel as though I carry a lot of sorrow on my shoulders. Thank goodness Jesus is there to hold me tight.