Posts (page 2)

6 am

In the stillness of the predawn morning, the air is chilled with ghostly memories.

I took a break from blogging for a little while. It was needed...too much emotion, too much...venting and ranting and whining.

They churn inside my mind, gnawing away fervently.

Life has this odd way of testing you. Just when you think you have reached the point where you can't take anymore, something else is thrust your way and somehow you manage to stagger a few more steps forward.

Looming large, or scattered wisps, they bring with them an overwhelming sense: regret, pain, sorrow, guilt, fear, joy, love.

You may trip and stumble, and even crawl forward on your hands and knees when you can no longer stand. You might give in, give up for a little while; surrender and succumb to old habits, unhealthy ways. You may even try new unhealthy ways in an effort to keep going. To just... keep going.

Omnipresent, they will remain. Trembling whispers echoed soundlessly.    

010

Tired, tested, triumphant. The group experience went well ( I will tell you about an interesting aspect, but not tonight...tonight the letter t is kicking my butt). I then spent 7 hours outside gardening and landscaping...taking advantage of the last warm weather to make a bit of putting away money. The plan was then to come home and work like the crazy people we are on Logan's place to cart belongings up to my house, sort, pack, continue. Instead I ran the hottest bath imaginable to ward off the chill I'd gotten in the garden, and then promptly fell asleep in the warmth of the tub. I woke an hour later in lukewarm water with a crick in my neck like you wouldn't believe. So I figured a little break was needed (if that isn' a sign from your body that you need to sleep, I don't know what is). Re-ran the bath, had a good soak, and spent the rest of the night vegging in a semi-conscious state. And hopefully tonight will be brought to you by the letter S. Sleep, sleep and....sleep.  

I`m sorry for yesterday`s rant. It would seem I am doing a lot of that lately...pouring emotion onto a page in whatever form it should happen to take...writing, poetry, artwork. Things are really stressful right now. At their threshold, approaching breaking point.

I am thankful for the kind and supporting words of people I have never met (Lauri...thank you). Sometimes, when you are feeling as though you are struggling and plowing through something alone, it is good to be reminded that you are in fact, not.

I wanted to give you a recap of whats going on. Firstly, there was no lump found in my breast (very very good news). Secondly, my mother was in hospital for over a month during which time, they had her on severe doses of diuretics to drain the fluid from her body. In two days, she lost a combined total of 18 pounds...of fluid. She reacted to medication, her blood pressure dipped dangerously low to the point she couldn`t hold her head up, and they had to perform an emergency procedure where they anaesthetized her, and used a defribulator to restart a normal heart rhythm, before rousing her. Meanwhile Logan and I waited on tenterhooks as we waited to hear from her that she wanted us home, while at the same time consoling family members, and doing everything possible from 5000 km away. Shortly after the defrib incident, Logan and I decided that one of us needed to go back (against my moms wishes) and help her with her daily living requirements, and also to help her get things in order...and to do some fun things with her...take her to the waterfalls, the beach...fun, happy memories to make the last days pass. Since I have the two dogs and finances are impossible, whereas Logan has been unemployed for nearly 4 months and has barely scraped by to pay the rent, we ultimately decided that he would be the one to go. I do not know if this is the right decision...somehow, I feel that it isn`t...it`s just our only opion.

He leaves on the 11th. We have spent the last week madly sorting through his hordes of belongings, bringing some sense of organization to the place. Sorting and packing clothing. Very special momentos that he cannot bear to part with. I suspect that we will re-sort and downsize these piles several times over before the actual move takes place. We have yet to tackle the cleaning.

There are mini-projects within mini projects...the digital picture frame I am putting together that was meant to be her birthday present. Sitting down with Logan and the dogs so that he can sketch them and develop the characters for that childrens book I mentioned earlier, and which my mother is adamant she needs to read before she dies. Figuring out just how I am going to cram all of the rest of Logans stuff into my tiny bachelor apartment until I can send it to him. The list goes on and on and is seemingly endless. I am grateful for that. I will have plenty of time to fall apart after Logan leaves.

Tomorrow, I attend an orientation session at a mental health place called USTAT. The group I am going to be attending eventually (provided that the orientation goes well) is called Emotional Regulation. Couldn`t have come at a better time, eh? I am working with my team to stay as healthy as I can. Somedays are easier than others when it comes to functioning like a normal human being. And I still make those grill cheese sandwiches on Mondays and Wednesdays, which has become part of my routine now. And even on days like today where one of the doctors conveniently whisked me away to talk and somehow roped me into talking with the roving psychiatrist because she thought it was a good idea, and because the clinic manager thought it was a good idea (and these people, they are AMAZING, and I truly do care and appreciate their concern....but I mean COME ON PEOPLE, I already see enough mental health professionals, I do not want to see more) and then there was the talking, and the bringing up of all the things I did not want to talk about just then (I JUST wanted to make grilled cheeses and talk to the kids, thats ALL), and ultimately ending in a lecure on trust and working honestly with my treatment team. Yes, even then, that place is still worth it.

I cannot speak for anyone else. I know that I am a raw bundle of emotions. That I am slowly untangling each string from the other...being overwhelmed, and underwhelmed. Wracked with emotion, and emotionally numb. Making stupid and poor decisions, and rectifying the ones that I can. Picking up one foot and putting it down in front of the other, plodding on slowly, and not looking back. All I have is now. Just now. No matter how painful now might be.

These days are mostly a whirlwind, in the way they are passing me by. And mostly, this is a good thing...the less spare time I have on my hands, the less of a chance that I will stop and let the full reality and gravity of the situation sink in. Days spent coaxing and encouraging and helping my brother to sort through the material goods that make up his life. Clothes, plants, books... things. He has made a home here, a life. He has settled down and lost his nomadic ways. And because of circumstances beyond his control, he is leaving it all behind. He is sad and unsure. He is frightened to leave me here all alone, and he is frightened of leaving and being all alone without me. He tells me that he will miss me, that there is no one else in the world that he can be himself around; that he can joke with and laugh until his stomach aches and the tears roll. And I believe him, because I know it to be true. We are far too alike, he and I. Far too alike.

I worry how he will cope with the stress of looking after mom. I panic slightly, when I realize that I won't be there to act as mediator between the two of them. I imagine the frustration, and the pain, and the anger that will flare up between them, over and over again. I wrack my brains trying to think of alternative solutions that simply don't exist. And at night, when I finally sit down and stop for a moment, I think all of this, and more. I cuddle the dogs, who I know feel this welling of emotion in me, and who have not been getting nearly enough time with me these days. When I finally just stop and hope that maybe this night, I will sleep. That is when it hits me. This, all of this. And I seek a safe outlet for the intensity of the emotions that are building and building inside of me.

When my father calls and tells me of his fishing trips and his amazing success with mackeral, and his first time in a kayak, and a midnight kayak on the still water under the light of the full moon with a good friend. And I want to scream at him. Tell him to stop, that he doesn't get it. That he's more than double my age and he's never had to deal with an abusive childhood that haunts his dreams and waking moments, that he's never had to be that person that makes everything right. That he didn't have to come to terms with the fact that he hated his mother for everything, when it suddenly dawned on him, and then proceeded to forgive. That he never stood by his mothers side through chemo, helped her recover from severe stroke damage at the age of 18, or watched helplessly as her body was ravaged by one thing after another; consoled her in everyway possible, cracked jokes when really all he wanted to do was cry. That he never had to act as go between between her and practically everyone else because no one ever had enough patience to deal with her, to listen, and who always always made her feel small. And he never finally made the decision to move 5000 km away, start fresh and start living, and leave her behind, to suffer more pain and more hardship all alone.

He didn't get that his son who'd already been struggling with everything had entered a depression, was now giving up a place and a life that he, probably for the first time in his life, felt normal in. Who was returning with apprehension and anxiety to a place that holds many many memories, to a mother who is dying, to a woman he cannot effectively communicate with for any real amount of time, before blowing his top (often with good reason).

He does not get that really I am making it through each day somehow, burning on empty fuel, but making it through the days because that is what needs to be done. That the doctors are increasing my medication, adding in a sleeping pill (which I have refused to take so far). That sleep, if and when it comes is so much worse than usual. That I am a soggy, sobbing mess, who is (just barely) still managing to make it out of bed, and out of the house.

He does not know this, he does not understand this, because I do not tell him. He does not need to know. He does not need to know Logan's fear, unless Logan should choose to divulge that. He does not need to know that I am here, with a brave face during the day, (especially around Logan), but at night...at night how it all comes out. Instead I tell him what I instinctively know that he needs to hear. We are all very sad. We are all getting through the days. We are taking it in stride and getting done what needs to be done. We are okay. I am okay.

It's not that I am angry with him...I'm not. I am so glad to hear that he is making friends, settling into the farm, experiencing new things, really really enjoying himself. He definitely deserves it. It's not even that I'm angry with the situation (though I do wish I could change it). It is just one of those strong emotions that comes rushing to the surface. I have always stuffed anger, as deeply as I can. I hate it. The way it makes me feel, the thoughts it makes me think, I hate it if it irrationally strays to other people, when in essence I am angry about a situation, or something that I have done. I hate it if it is directed at anyone other than me. I hate it. But tonight, tonight I am angry, and I am so desperately sad, that here on these pages I will spew words of anger and frustration and pain, and here in this room, I will let the tears stream down my face. I will not try to stop it, I will just let it come, until I am exhausted in body and mind, so that when I curl up in this lonely bed, in this lonely room and hope for sleep, just maybe I will be enveloped by a darkness so profound it leaves me dreamless and emotionless for just a little while.

So I did it. I went officially crazy(er)...I signed up for...NaNoWriMo. The concept is mind boggling. Starting 12:00am November 1st and ending 11:59 pm November 30th, it is a challenge to all writers, would-be writers, and dreamers to create a novel with a minumum of 50,000 words (or approximatey 175 pages). The reward is simple, knowing that you have created a manuscript...a piece of you; that you have challenged yourself and succeeded, or failing that, that you took up the challenge in the first place.

There are a lot of aspects about it that intrigue me. I have always loved words; how they can ebb and flow, creating an image so vivid it is like you are standing there in it. But, because I am forever searching for that one word that fits, I often put constraints on myself. Editing, removing, replacing. The object of NaNoWriMo is to tap into that creativity and leave behind the constraints. After all, you only have 30 days to create 175 pages, so you need to continually be churning out words. It's about quanity, not quality. Secondly, how often do we sit down and say, well, I'll do that Someday....I'll go back and visit,learn that instrument, take that class, take that picture, travel...write a novel? It's about time I start making those somedays into todays. I am both excited and terrified of the entire idea.

At the moment, I have a few ideas mulling around in my head. Characters beginning to form, settings unfolding. Already it is taking on a mind of it's own. Already it is stepping forward from that ghostly fog.

There was always something ghostly about those summer days. The stillness in the dark before the suns rays would filter through the treetops, glinting off the webs that always magically seemed to grow overnight, strung throughout the trees. How I could instinctively navigate in that darkness; over roots meant to trip, branches to ensnare, hidden rocks and bumps, and unseen dangers.

Sometimes, the fog would settle in the space between. Swirling mist particles that clung with dampness, and hung heavily in the air. In the heat of that darkness, long before the sun would rise, the trees echoed a warning, somehow mournful.

Today is October 1st. A few years ago, I decided to try NaBloPoMo. Back then it was only one month a year. Every October, it was a challenge to all bloggers to blog daily. For two years, I attempted, but couldn't seem to do it. Since then, it has evolved to include every month, with a helpful suggestion of a theme for the month, in the event that you experience writers block. This months theme happens to be "haunted". It is a fitting theme, for both the month, and my life experiences, right now. And, while I realize that there is a very large chance that I might not be able to accomplish it this year, again, as a result of those experiences, I want to try. Writing soothes my soul. It helps me heal, to let the words seep onto a page. And sometimes, in times of stress, it even lets me forget for a little while the real world.

Camping

I would like to tell you, that for the last week, I had an amazing time. I would love to share with you the memories I made. How a very good friend and I sat down and talked for hours about anything and everything. About how we packed up the dogs, and our camping gear, and headed up-Island for a couple of days. How we hiked beautiful trails, and discovered breath taking beaches. How we gazed at the brilliancy of the stars in an extremely secluded area, and marvelled over the milky way. How we (though mostly he, in an amazing display of fire building) built a raging campfire that kept us warm long into the night as we talked and talked in the darkness. How good it was to physically sit there, in the soft glow, in the warmth of the fire, and the presence of one another as we spoke of life. And then, when we returned, how he scaled crabapple trees, as I stood at the bottom catching them while he threw them down to me. And how we watched them simmer and began the process of making apple jelly, before I had to take him back to the ferry and send him home. And how I learned so much in 6 short days. And how the whole experience could not have come at a better time. How it healed my soul, just that much, and how the places we went, and the beauty of nature restored slightly the bit of me that has felt broken lately. And how, as I waved goodbye to the boat as it made its way out of the harbour, a few tears escaped my eyes, as I realized I was very sad to see him go.  

I would like to tell you all of this. And I would like to remember all of this, in the time to come.

Because, when I returned to the real world, here was the shared birthday of my (now) 8 year old step-brother who is no longer my step-brother, and my (now) 6 year old step-son, who is no longer my step-son...and who truth be told, never was more than a dream of longing in my mind. I hadn't expected it to hurt, quite so much. Nor did I expect to hear the news that they had to use a defibrillator on my mom, in an emergency manoeuvre to reset her heart rhythm. Or to have to calm down a hysterical grandmother, just hours after my return. I didn't expect to have to sit down with my brother and convince him that the best option, right now, is for him to fly there, and be with her. To leave his apartment behind (since he has been struggling to pay the rent the last few months, and has no job here to tie him down) and stay with family for awhile; to help him make the decision he has been putting off, by verbalizing it. I do not want to feel helpless in the fact that being there myself is not possible right now. I did not want to choose. I do not want to choose. I do not want to be the tie that binds, the mediator, the healer; though I want to be there, and I want to help, and I want to heal. I do not want to be me. Because that is who I am, that healer, and that is who I will always be. But I can't heal this, and I can't fix this. And that goes against every single fibre of my being.
 
I want to disappear into that great expanse of wilderness, and get lost once again under that clear night sky. 

Today was your birthday. Eight years old. This year, much like last, was a year of turmoil for you. You grew, and you thrived in school. Your stutter all but resolved itself. Suddenly language wasn't quite so difficult; you could recognize the letters of the alphabet by sight. You began to put them together. You learned to read...not just use that amazing memory to recite what you had heard. You typed out small words to me on the computer, along with the silly faces you would make on the webcam when we talked. You made friends at school and in the neighbourhood. You suddenly showed an interest in video games, sports and loved being around all of those other kids. Your social skills improved to the point that you were no longer that shy scared little boy, and if anyone asked, they would never have believed you ever had been.

Forest Stairs

You said goodbye to your mom, and fell further in love with my dad. Inseparable, the pair of you bonded like father and son, and best friends. And your beautiful amazing heart shone through in the love that you showed him, and everyone else around you.

When I moved away, we talked, and we talked, and emotions ran righ. You were terribly angry, and desperately sad. You couldn't understand how someone you loved, someone that loved you so much, could possibly say goodbye and leave you. And just how exactly do you explain to an almost seven year old that sometimes, even when you love someone more than they can possibly imagine, you have to say goodbye, but that it isn't a forever goodbye? Through tears you asked me "Does this mean you aren't coming back, and I'll never see you again?" And I reassured you that I would be back to visit. That we would talk on the phone, you could call me anytime you liked, and we could see each other on the computer.
 

How could I have known then, that the words I spoke were lies?

We had the occasional goofy session on the computer, where you proudly displayed your newly acquired language skills, we made silly faces at one another, and my father told me of your exploits. But I never came back to visit. I never came back to play, to listen to you read. I never came back to see all of the magnificent wonder that you wanted to show me. I took for granted that you would always be there.

He is 8

And now, at 8, as you've had to say yet another terrible goodbye, I wonder whether it is any easier. I wonder if you feel them anymore. I wonder, just how many it will take to crush the magic in your heart. You are wise, my little man that is no longer mine. Pain and sadness have made you wise. Yet in that, there is compassion, joy and empathy, but above all else, there is a resounding sense of love. I hope you never lose that sense of wonder. I hope there never comes a time when that delicate balance in your heart is broken beyond repair. You have a beautiful soul little brother. Happy Birthday Declan. I will always love you, no matter where you are.

Dear Family,

Have to tell you how weird it is to receive condolences BEFORE the person you love and care about has died, and is in fact still alive. I also do not need to be told by all of you (eight, count 'em, eight today alone) that you hope I make it to Owen Sound before it is too late, and then you all ask, "What am I going to do?" The answer is, I DON'T KNOW. Which is what I told you. All eight of you today (and however many of you I talk to tomorrow, of which I'm sure there will be many) I heard the timeline yesterday just like all of you did, and so it will take me a bit of time to figure out what to do, and just how to do it. Also, since I am in constant contact with her, I do not need to hear from each of you what you have discussed with her. I actually DO talk to my mother, oddly enough.  And also, I'm not sure how it is that all of a sudden, after 6 years, you have put together the fact that she is dying. Yes, she is. She has been, despite your many comments of how well she looks, and that she is exagerating, or faking how sick she actually feels (for the last SIX years), and your overall denial about the entire situation. She is dying. It is what it is. And I will do what I can, and I will figure it out, but back off and let me accomplish that.

Blah. And now that I have crazy ranted like the crazy person I actually am, here is the non-judgemental (or at least less judgemental) version.

Dear family,

I am sorry that the timeline caught you by surprise. I appreciate your thoughts, and condolences, and yes, I am working on trying to figure out just how, and when I will be able to get back there; hopefully sooner rather than later. I realize that grief has its many stages and I hope that you are all okay. I will keep you posted on what my plans are to make it easier for you, and I talk to mom often, so she is keeping me posted as well. We will all get through this, and I hope, in all of this that you are taking good care of yourselves.