Autumn breezes whip around the property in fat gusts and rustle the gum trees making them sound like falling rain. My little kitten is curled up beside me -- I can't believe how fond of him I have become -- a hot coffee and gorgeous soft sunshine filtering into my room.
I re read the vitriolic confusion of the past few days and wonder why it is I allow it to get to such a stage of helplessness, part of me is unable to tolerate any longer the massive deceit that surrounds my life, and there is not one wit I can do about it.
As a point of interest, true to form, she has been sobbing and crying to CG, asking if she has done anything to upset me? I have seen this game too many times to take it seriously and I'm afraid, neither does CG. The whole game, the facade, has come to an end.
I don't want the Herpes, or the headaches or the intestinal problems or the unhappiness that comes from living with distrust. She's on her own.
That's pretty much what it boils down to. And she is totally aware, just between me and her, what this has been all about. Manipulation. The last act of the play has come to an end and she will be left with the results of her actions, I graciously withdraw, and I doubt that any of this will touch her heart, nothing does, it's just all play acting, maneuvers and strategies to get her agenda met.
I have been played like a fool. Charging down here with the best of intent, really believing she was over all her antics, that in her old age she would have softened somehow in there. I was very wrong, and have taxed both CG and myself so unnecessarily, for a creature who just needed something to control -- after all Papa was no longer here, and she needed an audience for her antics. Sorry.
Sunday, April 27, 2008
Saturday, April 26, 2008
Facts
I see just how futile it is to even entertain this rubbish. I'm only giving it fuel.
I'm depressed by it all, the struggle with my health, CG's health (triple by pass a year ago ), and the great distance we must travel to see Specialists, Papa, who is essentially my father dying in hospice and at the mercy of a wife who is exacting retribution, the grandmother's intense neediness and trouble/ drama making, step children who don't speak to their father because he married me, my sons and I hardly making contact because of their confusion about why we have actually put ourselves through this, my mother resenting me for 'leaving' her and coming here to 'look after the woman who destroyed her marriage to my father', and being tricked to come here in the first place and this woman is never 'going into care to be with her husband'.
Because of the move here, from the tip of Australia, and what with the market doing what it is doing, the fact that this place doesn't exactly have jobs available -- one supermarket in the entire place -- we are strapped for cash to move and get to hell out of here. We are ,for the moment, stuck. Financially, physically, and spiritually.
I'm depressed by it all, the struggle with my health, CG's health (triple by pass a year ago ), and the great distance we must travel to see Specialists, Papa, who is essentially my father dying in hospice and at the mercy of a wife who is exacting retribution, the grandmother's intense neediness and trouble/ drama making, step children who don't speak to their father because he married me, my sons and I hardly making contact because of their confusion about why we have actually put ourselves through this, my mother resenting me for 'leaving' her and coming here to 'look after the woman who destroyed her marriage to my father', and being tricked to come here in the first place and this woman is never 'going into care to be with her husband'.
Because of the move here, from the tip of Australia, and what with the market doing what it is doing, the fact that this place doesn't exactly have jobs available -- one supermarket in the entire place -- we are strapped for cash to move and get to hell out of here. We are ,for the moment, stuck. Financially, physically, and spiritually.
Recharge.
I quietly sit and my hands shake. Nothing obvious, but a gentle tremor through my entire body. I feel like I'm coming down from some heavy duty drug and stay in bed, out of view and out of reach.
I have not spoken with her since early yesterday. I need time away from her completely, to recharge and not chance me saying something I'll be sorry for. It's an exercise in restraint.
She goes outside to CG in the garden where he is planting herbs and tries to make conversation. CG is polite in the extreme, but simply carries on with what he is doing. We both are disgusted with her.
I make a point of keeping quiet, and not mentioning any of what's going on here to others in the family. They are all scattered over Australia and the last thing they need is to feel another dam crisis, procured by her constant needs of attention. In fact as I write this, it occurs to me that this is what it's all about. She has also taken to not eating unless a meal is put in front of her, and has been losing weight consistently. The refrigerator is full to overflowing with gorgeous things to eat, and come to think of it, she has refused to even make herself a cup of tea and a sandwich since I arrived here almost a year ago.
By the time I have 'catered' to her, and her never ending needs for attention, done the things that need doing, squeeze in some time with CG, think a few thoughts of my own, I am exhausted and have not the energy to be up and happy for Papa at the hospice.
All that's happening is me burning out resentfully.
I will self medicate and sleep. Anything, not to see her face, to hear her voice today.
This is not going to go away in any great hurry. And I need to make some plans.
I have not spoken with her since early yesterday. I need time away from her completely, to recharge and not chance me saying something I'll be sorry for. It's an exercise in restraint.
She goes outside to CG in the garden where he is planting herbs and tries to make conversation. CG is polite in the extreme, but simply carries on with what he is doing. We both are disgusted with her.
I make a point of keeping quiet, and not mentioning any of what's going on here to others in the family. They are all scattered over Australia and the last thing they need is to feel another dam crisis, procured by her constant needs of attention. In fact as I write this, it occurs to me that this is what it's all about. She has also taken to not eating unless a meal is put in front of her, and has been losing weight consistently. The refrigerator is full to overflowing with gorgeous things to eat, and come to think of it, she has refused to even make herself a cup of tea and a sandwich since I arrived here almost a year ago.
By the time I have 'catered' to her, and her never ending needs for attention, done the things that need doing, squeeze in some time with CG, think a few thoughts of my own, I am exhausted and have not the energy to be up and happy for Papa at the hospice.
All that's happening is me burning out resentfully.
I will self medicate and sleep. Anything, not to see her face, to hear her voice today.
This is not going to go away in any great hurry. And I need to make some plans.
Friday, April 25, 2008
Breathe
This is hard work. This trying not to fall apart is really hard work. I try to side step the feelings, the feelings of intense resentment turned into rage, into something a little more sane.
I've gathered about me a few books I know have 'medicine' in them, A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle, Choosing Happiness - Life and Soul Essentials by New Zealand Writer Stephanie Dowrick and a few other basics, favourites really, such as the The Holy Bible and Tao Te Ching.
Just having my books beside me on the bed remind me that all this is not my life. This is the reality of another and has absolutely nothing to do with me. Both my grandparents have a story together that has been in existence long before I was even thought of and without any interference from any of us, it has to play itself out. And each of them, maybe, I don't know -- be accountable or at least responsible for their actions -- But there is a part of me that says that's bullshit. Papa is in no condition to participate equally in these attacks from her, defenceless in his own dying and completely helpless.
She sits alone and 'sharking' at the kitchen table and neither CG nor me can speak to her, let alone look her in the face, to do so would be to engage her. The fucking silence is deafening. 'The heavy influx of pain and negative emotions'--
O.K. -- I now stop, and remember I have a choice in how I feel, who and what I give my attention to, and I remember my self talk. Breathe Sass, breathe in and out.
I've gathered about me a few books I know have 'medicine' in them, A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle, Choosing Happiness - Life and Soul Essentials by New Zealand Writer Stephanie Dowrick and a few other basics, favourites really, such as the The Holy Bible and Tao Te Ching.
Just having my books beside me on the bed remind me that all this is not my life. This is the reality of another and has absolutely nothing to do with me. Both my grandparents have a story together that has been in existence long before I was even thought of and without any interference from any of us, it has to play itself out. And each of them, maybe, I don't know -- be accountable or at least responsible for their actions -- But there is a part of me that says that's bullshit. Papa is in no condition to participate equally in these attacks from her, defenceless in his own dying and completely helpless.
She sits alone and 'sharking' at the kitchen table and neither CG nor me can speak to her, let alone look her in the face, to do so would be to engage her. The fucking silence is deafening. 'The heavy influx of pain and negative emotions'--
O.K. -- I now stop, and remember I have a choice in how I feel, who and what I give my attention to, and I remember my self talk. Breathe Sass, breathe in and out.
Pure wickedness
O.K., it's here. The 'wanting to cry all the time' is here. And I don't cry, I get withdrawn and angry. And angry and angry.
Papa has been in hospice for almost three years and he suffers from Vascular Dementia. He also has TIA, which are little strokes, often. This means that at age 92, he cannot speak, is unable to do anything for himself, wears a nappy and depends on the staff at Hospice for absolutely everything.
Yesterday, I bumped into one of the Carers who spends a lot of time with Papa each day. Marco is also Croatian, and able to speak to Papa in his natural tongue. During the course of our conversation, I mentioned to him that Mama came home from the hospice all excited with the news that she signed special papers which would allow Papa's Dr's to start 'treatment' which would enable Papa to speak again. I was dubious but hoped all the same.
Needless to say, in true Croatian manner and in no uncertain terms he told me Mama is really messed up. Marco also mentioned that something should be done about the distress Mama causes Pa each time she visits. She has no idea that Marco understands every word, the nagging and name calling that she spews at Papa each time she visits, accusing Pa of having his last 'affair' at age 89, and Pa has to confess to her before he dies to relieve himself of the burden of guilt, and she also 'knows' he can speak and gives him hell for his silence and keeping the truth from her. Over and over she's at him. And the really scary thing is , it's all done with a smile on her face apparently, and the Ossie staff have no idea what she is saying. --
Dear God --
Papa has been in hospice for almost three years and he suffers from Vascular Dementia. He also has TIA, which are little strokes, often. This means that at age 92, he cannot speak, is unable to do anything for himself, wears a nappy and depends on the staff at Hospice for absolutely everything.
Yesterday, I bumped into one of the Carers who spends a lot of time with Papa each day. Marco is also Croatian, and able to speak to Papa in his natural tongue. During the course of our conversation, I mentioned to him that Mama came home from the hospice all excited with the news that she signed special papers which would allow Papa's Dr's to start 'treatment' which would enable Papa to speak again. I was dubious but hoped all the same.
Needless to say, in true Croatian manner and in no uncertain terms he told me Mama is really messed up. Marco also mentioned that something should be done about the distress Mama causes Pa each time she visits. She has no idea that Marco understands every word, the nagging and name calling that she spews at Papa each time she visits, accusing Pa of having his last 'affair' at age 89, and Pa has to confess to her before he dies to relieve himself of the burden of guilt, and she also 'knows' he can speak and gives him hell for his silence and keeping the truth from her. Over and over she's at him. And the really scary thing is , it's all done with a smile on her face apparently, and the Ossie staff have no idea what she is saying. --
Dear God --
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Time waster
It certainly changes daily, this irritation thing I have. I have often wondered if having the lads so early, 19 and then another little boy 10 1/2 months later has anything to do with the importance I put on quiet uninterrupted time. That is not entirely accurate, I have not been interrupted at all, I have just spent two hours in silence 'hearing' her intense "I'm not getting what I want when I want it' vibe.
The Home Care have a 10am appointment to pick her up every Tuesday and Thursday morning and take her to the Hospice to be with Papa, or to Bingo, or wherever else she might like to go. And each week she sits at the kitchen table, done up to the nines at 8am, waiting for them to arrive. For the entire two hours she sits there cussing under her breath because they are 'late', and hinting for either CG or me to give her a ride.
Truth is the Hospice does not want her there before 1oam in the middle of the morning rush, getting in there way and demanding that Papa be 'looked after ' first only makes for uncomfortable for everyone. Her demanding only serves to make her even more unpopular and she does not quite get that no one any where tolerates this behaviour.
Bathing of patients and giving out medicines, helping them all with there breakfasts, the last thing the staff need is an tyrant telling them what and how they should be doing there job. Fuck, she is just unbelievable. I've had a phone call from the Sister in charge who has said Nona's histrionics will not be tolerated. How do I tell Nona she is a pain in everyone's arse?
I could not begin to tell what things I have been thinking this past little while. And I know that each and every time she 'plays up' like this, I get hooked. My tolerance for her diminishes more with each passing day, and I also know objectively I sound like the granddaughter from hell, truth is I know she is old, and I know she frightened, but she does not grasp that the universe does not revolve around her, making a sad and emotional time for every one even more so. She said to me yesterday 'it looks like Papa will go soon and she has to get ready for her collapse'.....WHAT?
Heaven help us all when she turns it on, all I can hope is I have enough Valium left to sedate her for a week or so and let us get on with the arrangements for Papa's burial. I will not ever forgive her for all this crap she has put all of us through, I actually have no idea how. In the back of my throat I feel the sobs only seconds away, always.
I remind myself to breathe, at this very moment, just breathe. I was told the other day that sometimes we have to give up even the good we want to do, life will do life irrespective of what we consider right and good. And in times wisdom we can relax and know we will be doing our part beautifully. The girlfriend who told me this has no idea how comforting it was to hear, and I will tell her the next time I see her with a long hug I remembered her words this morning as I watched myself spin out out. Thanks LK.
Still breathing.
The Home Care have a 10am appointment to pick her up every Tuesday and Thursday morning and take her to the Hospice to be with Papa, or to Bingo, or wherever else she might like to go. And each week she sits at the kitchen table, done up to the nines at 8am, waiting for them to arrive. For the entire two hours she sits there cussing under her breath because they are 'late', and hinting for either CG or me to give her a ride.
Truth is the Hospice does not want her there before 1oam in the middle of the morning rush, getting in there way and demanding that Papa be 'looked after ' first only makes for uncomfortable for everyone. Her demanding only serves to make her even more unpopular and she does not quite get that no one any where tolerates this behaviour.
Bathing of patients and giving out medicines, helping them all with there breakfasts, the last thing the staff need is an tyrant telling them what and how they should be doing there job. Fuck, she is just unbelievable. I've had a phone call from the Sister in charge who has said Nona's histrionics will not be tolerated. How do I tell Nona she is a pain in everyone's arse?
I could not begin to tell what things I have been thinking this past little while. And I know that each and every time she 'plays up' like this, I get hooked. My tolerance for her diminishes more with each passing day, and I also know objectively I sound like the granddaughter from hell, truth is I know she is old, and I know she frightened, but she does not grasp that the universe does not revolve around her, making a sad and emotional time for every one even more so. She said to me yesterday 'it looks like Papa will go soon and she has to get ready for her collapse'.....WHAT?
Heaven help us all when she turns it on, all I can hope is I have enough Valium left to sedate her for a week or so and let us get on with the arrangements for Papa's burial. I will not ever forgive her for all this crap she has put all of us through, I actually have no idea how. In the back of my throat I feel the sobs only seconds away, always.
I remind myself to breathe, at this very moment, just breathe. I was told the other day that sometimes we have to give up even the good we want to do, life will do life irrespective of what we consider right and good. And in times wisdom we can relax and know we will be doing our part beautifully. The girlfriend who told me this has no idea how comforting it was to hear, and I will tell her the next time I see her with a long hug I remembered her words this morning as I watched myself spin out out. Thanks LK.
Still breathing.
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
Watershed
This morning as I sit warm and safe in my bed, my laptop balanced on my knees, a cup of hot coffee beside me, and my cat Gatto, stretching in the sunshine on the corner of the bed, I think how fortunate I am at this moment.
I'm not elderly and frail, I am not in the confusion of youth, but I am a little more settled and objective than in my thirties. My third marriage has been, without a doubt, the most exhausting and rewarding relationship I have yet experienced, my adult children come a close second. I may not know exactly what I absolutely love to have around me, but I certainly know what I dislike, and don't try to pretend otherwise.
I have been a cancer patient for 27 years, and even though it certainly feels like an entire lifetime, there are moments I still find it difficult to comprehend the Dr's. are talking about me.
I'll inevitably talk about all that as time goes on, it would be difficult to carry on about myself without including the intrigue and drama of vulvar and anal cancer.
For the moment though, I live in my Grandparents home with my Husband, CG, and my Baltic grandmother. My grandfather has been in hospice for almost three years and CG and me moved here to be close to both of them, and to take over the care of the family home. Grandmother was to go into care to be with Papa when we arrived, safe in the knowledge the home and all 'the memories' would be looked after well and she and Papa could be together in the new Aged Care facility. That was what she wanted and talked about for two years.
It was bullshit.
Twelve months later she is still here, still lying and still a narcissist. She has faked two heart attacks for the attention and been flown dramatically by air ambulance to Sydney twice, only for the Drs to find there is nothing wrong with her other than a personality disorder, which needs no attention. Test after test found nothing and the fact is, she is as strong as an ox, always was.
It seems CG and me were the last to discover just how manipulative she actually is. I mean she is my Nona, but wow, has she turned mean. But as i look back with open eyes I see, as I had been told my other family members, she has always been this way. The thing that gets me is we would never have contemplated for a moment living under the same roof with her, especially as only six weeks prior to our move here CG had a triple by pass, and her histrionics were the last thing he needed.
What was ever between her and me is almost eroded away to nothing. Suffice to say, sadly, one day she really will need medical help and what then?
We are still here because of Papa, visiting him often and actually we both love the Australian Outback. There is something surreal about this magnificent desert landscape and a strength that cannot help but infuse one with resilience and hope.
Nona plays a very minor part in the play and though she is not very happy about it, there is not much she can do as her games over the years have become glaringly obvious to all concerned, which has humiliated her tremendously.
So, bravely, she has had to learn to function without an audience and as much as she dislikes it she may learn to enjoy her own company. She is actually out of options. It gives me such a kick to see her laugh genuinely and tell her truth firmly but gently. Sadly, this does not happen often, but when it does I almost feel to tell her 'Good girl'! I suppose at 84 she is allowed to get away with a few things, and yes, there are things in her past she would prefer to remember in her own particular peculiar way, but all the same, out right manipulation and her 'magical misery tour', which is all aboard every morning at 8.30am, is not entertained by me or by CG. I'll leave all that to the Home care girls and the neighbours who know her and love her anyway. As one of them told me, 'we do a dance around each other and it keeps us both happy, but I don't have to live with her'.
In amongst this intensity that hangs in the air there is constant awareness that any moment I can spiral down into a depression that is bottomless. It feels as though this switch is a hair triggered mechanism threatening to send me 'away' from me again. None of this is obviously good for anyone, and realistically I can rationalize this perfectly, yet the sadness and pointlessness at times bears down with such force I wonder how long can anything survive in this state.
It has been a matter of vigilance in picking up the right tools at the right time, and this includes all kinds of things such as fabulous books which I can open at any page and feel the edge taken off, or simply stopping and becoming mindful of my breathing. Probably mindfulness has been the most helpful as I can count on it anywhere and remember I don't have to be so reactive to stuff which I have no real control over, and that's pretty much everything outside myself. Remembering this has been the most awkward for me because I naturally jump in there and turn into Miss Fix-it. I tend to stand back a little more these days and let life do what life will do without too much interference from me. So simple in theory!
These pages I write will be an exercise in which some of the workings of my inner world may become a little clearer and provide me with a deeper understanding about the woman I have become. The unique result of the myriad of life experiences that have come my way. Self centred to say the least, adventurous at best, but no matter how it seems, it will be honest work and the safe place I can come and just be, no questions.
I'm not elderly and frail, I am not in the confusion of youth, but I am a little more settled and objective than in my thirties. My third marriage has been, without a doubt, the most exhausting and rewarding relationship I have yet experienced, my adult children come a close second. I may not know exactly what I absolutely love to have around me, but I certainly know what I dislike, and don't try to pretend otherwise.
I have been a cancer patient for 27 years, and even though it certainly feels like an entire lifetime, there are moments I still find it difficult to comprehend the Dr's. are talking about me.
I'll inevitably talk about all that as time goes on, it would be difficult to carry on about myself without including the intrigue and drama of vulvar and anal cancer.
For the moment though, I live in my Grandparents home with my Husband, CG, and my Baltic grandmother. My grandfather has been in hospice for almost three years and CG and me moved here to be close to both of them, and to take over the care of the family home. Grandmother was to go into care to be with Papa when we arrived, safe in the knowledge the home and all 'the memories' would be looked after well and she and Papa could be together in the new Aged Care facility. That was what she wanted and talked about for two years.
It was bullshit.
Twelve months later she is still here, still lying and still a narcissist. She has faked two heart attacks for the attention and been flown dramatically by air ambulance to Sydney twice, only for the Drs to find there is nothing wrong with her other than a personality disorder, which needs no attention. Test after test found nothing and the fact is, she is as strong as an ox, always was.
It seems CG and me were the last to discover just how manipulative she actually is. I mean she is my Nona, but wow, has she turned mean. But as i look back with open eyes I see, as I had been told my other family members, she has always been this way. The thing that gets me is we would never have contemplated for a moment living under the same roof with her, especially as only six weeks prior to our move here CG had a triple by pass, and her histrionics were the last thing he needed.
What was ever between her and me is almost eroded away to nothing. Suffice to say, sadly, one day she really will need medical help and what then?
We are still here because of Papa, visiting him often and actually we both love the Australian Outback. There is something surreal about this magnificent desert landscape and a strength that cannot help but infuse one with resilience and hope.
Nona plays a very minor part in the play and though she is not very happy about it, there is not much she can do as her games over the years have become glaringly obvious to all concerned, which has humiliated her tremendously.
So, bravely, she has had to learn to function without an audience and as much as she dislikes it she may learn to enjoy her own company. She is actually out of options. It gives me such a kick to see her laugh genuinely and tell her truth firmly but gently. Sadly, this does not happen often, but when it does I almost feel to tell her 'Good girl'! I suppose at 84 she is allowed to get away with a few things, and yes, there are things in her past she would prefer to remember in her own particular peculiar way, but all the same, out right manipulation and her 'magical misery tour', which is all aboard every morning at 8.30am, is not entertained by me or by CG. I'll leave all that to the Home care girls and the neighbours who know her and love her anyway. As one of them told me, 'we do a dance around each other and it keeps us both happy, but I don't have to live with her'.
In amongst this intensity that hangs in the air there is constant awareness that any moment I can spiral down into a depression that is bottomless. It feels as though this switch is a hair triggered mechanism threatening to send me 'away' from me again. None of this is obviously good for anyone, and realistically I can rationalize this perfectly, yet the sadness and pointlessness at times bears down with such force I wonder how long can anything survive in this state.
It has been a matter of vigilance in picking up the right tools at the right time, and this includes all kinds of things such as fabulous books which I can open at any page and feel the edge taken off, or simply stopping and becoming mindful of my breathing. Probably mindfulness has been the most helpful as I can count on it anywhere and remember I don't have to be so reactive to stuff which I have no real control over, and that's pretty much everything outside myself. Remembering this has been the most awkward for me because I naturally jump in there and turn into Miss Fix-it. I tend to stand back a little more these days and let life do what life will do without too much interference from me. So simple in theory!
These pages I write will be an exercise in which some of the workings of my inner world may become a little clearer and provide me with a deeper understanding about the woman I have become. The unique result of the myriad of life experiences that have come my way. Self centred to say the least, adventurous at best, but no matter how it seems, it will be honest work and the safe place I can come and just be, no questions.
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