Iran
India
Thailand (Bangkok)
Wednesday, 14 July 2010
Homecoming
I was looking forward to coming home to my Grandmother's house. I've lived here before. With the family home long gone and every Christmas I can remember spent here, this place feels more like home than anywhere else, and living with Helen again was lined up as a nice way to come back to the country. I was going to cook for her and look after her, play games of scrabble, watch her favourite programmes with her.
And now I'm back here, rudely early, feeding her yoghurts and fluids, emptying her commode, watching her begin to fade away. The six hour kink on my body clock and lack of sleep is making this seem more like a bad dream than it otherwise might, but I'm not sure it needs any help.
You have all the time in the world. You have plans that don't need scheduling in; you can do them in the Autumn, or at Xmas, or next year, or whenever the fancy takes you. And then everything shrinks down to one room and maybe two months if you're lucky, and a reduced capacity to do anything, and suddenly all these places you were going to swim to recede as you fight just to tread water. Fight to keep a smile because how the hell are you going to persuade her not to be depressed if you are yourself?
I keep thinking, if they hadn't got the initial diagnosis wrong, I could have spent some real time here with her in her full pomp, before she started to get ill, before she slept so much and started to get so confused. And of course there are all those thoughts about times I could have been here and wasn't over the last few years, but there would be some of those, whatever.
There's nothing for it but the stiff upper lip. Make her comfortable. Make her smile. Try and enjoy the time there is as much as possible. There's nothing else to be done. I know this, but it doesn't make it much easier.
I feel selfish thinking about how I'm feeling... how she's feeling is surely the issue. But I feel adrift. I have no work, and now the travels are on hiatus. I'm back here trying to connect with her and finding it hard, and finding that my Brother and Dad have most of the actual care covered. And I feel robbed. There was so much time, so many things to look forward to with her. Me living here again for a few months was going to mean a lot to her.
It means a lot to her, though, having me, and Dad and my Brother and Sister, back here now. So we do and be what we can, I guess.
I can't think of a way to end this, or anything else to say.
And now I'm back here, rudely early, feeding her yoghurts and fluids, emptying her commode, watching her begin to fade away. The six hour kink on my body clock and lack of sleep is making this seem more like a bad dream than it otherwise might, but I'm not sure it needs any help.
You have all the time in the world. You have plans that don't need scheduling in; you can do them in the Autumn, or at Xmas, or next year, or whenever the fancy takes you. And then everything shrinks down to one room and maybe two months if you're lucky, and a reduced capacity to do anything, and suddenly all these places you were going to swim to recede as you fight just to tread water. Fight to keep a smile because how the hell are you going to persuade her not to be depressed if you are yourself?
I keep thinking, if they hadn't got the initial diagnosis wrong, I could have spent some real time here with her in her full pomp, before she started to get ill, before she slept so much and started to get so confused. And of course there are all those thoughts about times I could have been here and wasn't over the last few years, but there would be some of those, whatever.
There's nothing for it but the stiff upper lip. Make her comfortable. Make her smile. Try and enjoy the time there is as much as possible. There's nothing else to be done. I know this, but it doesn't make it much easier.
I feel selfish thinking about how I'm feeling... how she's feeling is surely the issue. But I feel adrift. I have no work, and now the travels are on hiatus. I'm back here trying to connect with her and finding it hard, and finding that my Brother and Dad have most of the actual care covered. And I feel robbed. There was so much time, so many things to look forward to with her. Me living here again for a few months was going to mean a lot to her.
It means a lot to her, though, having me, and Dad and my Brother and Sister, back here now. So we do and be what we can, I guess.
I can't think of a way to end this, or anything else to say.
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