Frankly, it's all a bit too much for me

I have a generous, funny and loving Father, but I find it very distressing to visit him at his home. Not only is it full of memories of Mom, it is also full of stuff. Stuff overflows the kitchen cupboards, stuff is piled on the desk, stuff keeps the car out of the garage. This stuff keeps Dad trapped in a loop of always being too busy. Too busy to have a walk, too busy to relax, too busy to do important things. And yet he does nothing, but moan. He moans about everything. His garden is a profusion of colour from bedding plants. But if you plant so many plants, they will need dead-heading and watering. You know this, and you make time for this, otherwise, don't plant so many plants.

Yes, I'm grumpy. Yes, I'm intolerant. No, there isn't anything I can do to change this. I have to sit back and wait for the catastrophe. The forgetful accident, the con man, the trip or fall, which could take away his independence.

There is something else bothering me about Dad's house. The view in my rear view mirror as I drove away last night, of Dad and a woman who is not my Mother, standing hand in hand at the door, waving us good-bye. The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, sits uneasy this morning, as I try to get my thoughts under control.

It is almost three years since my Mother died, cruelly robbed of her well deserved retirement, by a cancer caused by a social scourge, a smoking addiction started more than 50 years ago. Three years, during which not a day goes by without thinking of her, and wishing she was still here.

So, forgive me, Father, that I cannot embrace your lifestyle at this time, but know that I love you and will be there for you, when you need me.

Mid summer madness

The mad dog woman is taking a few days off. To recover from the mayhem and madness. To be nice to Mr B, and to bond with BriniZozi, and not be Mrs Shouty-Mummy. I'm leaving the chaos behind. The man pulling the kitchen apart, the other man slopping the concrete everywhere, the crazy mole-man, and the annoying pump man who never does what he's supposed to do. 

All these men, who are supposed to be improving the quality of my life but have actually made the last week almost unbearable. On top of which, Dad has been ill and his washing machine broke down. Now, Dad hasn't bought a new appliance in over 30 years, so we had to get the repair man in. That didn't work, so ended up having to buy a new washing machine - on top of the unsuccessful repair bill. It's not worth thinking about, when you're dealing with old Dad's logic.

Anyway, I let them all get on with it yesterday, and I disappeared to the Shackleford fete. I was photographer and dogsbody. It was a busy but fun day. I bumped into Dawn from Me, Myself and I, Himself and Badger Boo. Badger Boo should have won his group in the dog show - shame on you Judge! I wasn't wearing my welly boots, but if I had been, they would have been adorned with the gorgeous purple welly toppers (left) made by the multi-talented Dawn aka Stone Pit Crafts. Get yours here.

Zozi came second in her group, handled in the ring by Mr B, much to my amusement. They both seemed to enjoy it. All the fun of the fete photos are in the Shackleford village photo gallery.

Today is the Woking Cats Protection fundraising event, supported by Jill at Christmas Pie Crafts, who does a wonderful job fostering kittens. Local people, please pop along and give generously, or even adopt a kitten.

Too tired to cook last night, we celebrated our 21st wedding anniversary a few days early with a meal at our favourite little pub, The Donkey in Elstead. It was delicious, as usual. Thank you ♥

'See you' next week with 'Tails from the Forest' ☀ but in the meantime, why not read my new post 'Wild West Surrey' at Surrey Life magazine.

PS. On the Boxer heart health story, I have had several responses and lots of new information. I will be compiling this and reporting back next week.

A more caring me?

Something good has come out of Mom's illness. I have more patience, I appreciate my happiness and I have taken stock of my own health and well-being. I do feel that I am more caring towards others, but I am also more aware of my own sharp emotions. I feel more deeply. Which probably accounts for the still raw response at Christmas over family pressures.

And this week, I have been tested again. Someone I dislike has been diagnosed with myeloma. It is a cancer of the bone marrow. Given the person's age in his eighties, the treatment offered will be palliative, but he should enjoy a good quality of life for a few years yet. What has been interesting is the family's response to the diagnosis. Much wailing and gnashing of teeth and beating of chests in self-reflection. I don't know why. I'm pretty sure that it's nothing they've done to cause this. But cancer has this effect on families. In Mom's case, however, we knew that her lung cancer was caused by her smoking habit, and that her disease process would be swift, even with palliative treatment. No time for navel-gazing, we had to get on with the life Mom had left.

So my dilemma is this. Do I care? I should do. I should care for the family who are devastated and confused and anxious. I should care because I understand how bewildering it can be, faced with the diagnosis, the options, the tests. But I just can't bring myself to reach out to them. They hurt me many years ago, and they weren't kind to Mom. They were uncaring towards us when we were coping with cancer. 

So I turn instead to helping strangers, strangers who reach out to me for support, and I wish him well.

Family

This post is part 1 of the February Photo Collage Festival. #fpcf13

I wouldn't say that there is anything unusual about our family. My parents worked hard, my brother and I did well at school, and I went on the obtain a PhD in cardiovascular genetics. My childhood was filled with family get-togethers, blue skies in South Africa and animals.

PhD graduation, with Mom at the beach, Dad and Brin,
our little family, Mom in her favourite hat, Granny, Alex meets the cows

Photography by Lesley Beeton.

Our family Christmas and a Happy New Year

After all the tears and guilt, we spent Christmas Day in our own way, quietly, soberly, thoughtfully. Just as we wanted to. We celebrated the day, the special time together, the memories, our passion for each other. We didn't miss being with a lot of people, trying to outdo each other with food, drink and gifts. 

And we had time to listen to each other, walk, laugh, cry. It was beautiful. We both felt refreshed, and excited about the New Year. We made plans, for work, for holidays, for house renovations. Mom's diagnosis two years ago at Christmas, her short, savage illness, and our grief had really taken it out of us. 

I hope that in years to come these memories will fade, to be replaced by happier times at Christmas once again.

Photography by Lesley Beeton.

Am I being selfish?

There is some rather unpleasant history between Mr B's family and I. It goes back 21 years and I will always feel rather sad and disappointed at the way they reacted to our relationship.  I do make an effort to be civil to them, but that is as far as it goes. 

This year, for the first time in 17 years, his parents are spending Christmas in the UK with Mr B's sister in Croydon. This presents a very real dilemma for me. I don't want to spend Christmas Day with them. I also know that Mr B has not had Christmas with his family in 17 years. Still, this year I win. And Mr B agrees (he's a darling man).

Two Christmasses ago, my parents set off on their Christmas Hols (much like Dad is doing next week), to spend Christmas in Australia with my brother and his family. Mr B and I were delighted for them, and looking forward to spending time on our own over Christmas.

Sadly, Mom fell ill and was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer in Australia, and returned to the UK to start palliative chemotherapy on Christmas Eve. It was a Christmas tinged with sadness, although Mom was very brave and we had a beautiful day together. A cherished time. Last year, we invited Dad to stay with us over the Christmas period. It was a poignant time, our first Christmas without Mom. How things had changed.

So, when Dad announced he was going to Australia for Christmas this year, we couldn't have been happier for him, and us. His grandchildren in Australia are adorable, and although we Skype often, they can't wait to have Grand Dad with them for Christmas. They have been so grown-up too, in understanding where Granny has gone. It will be lovely for them. We feel relieved, the pressure is off us. We can have a couple of lazy days, enjoying the time of year and each other, preparing for the New Year.

Except for the in-laws. They are being very demanding about our presence on Christmas Day. I feel sick when I think about it. There is no way that they will be able to fill the gap left by my mother. And after much haranguing by Mr B's sister, I cried. I'm embarrassed, but at least they know how I feel. Hopefully, that will be the end of the matter.

Selfish? Maybe. But when you grieve, you must do it your way. Don't be swayed by what others think is best for you. And this Christmas, it's all about healing us.

Monday mood board #3

Today's mood board is all about hanging in there. I suppose there are times when we all feel a bit like 'just hang in there', everything will be OK. This isn't about me, though. This is about someone else, someone close to me, who is just about hanging in there.

Over the last few weeks, he has been reaching out to me for support. Most likely because he's not been too well, and we are very close. I am happy to talk to him about his loss, but it seems to me that I'm not doing too well with that. The confessions of grief and sadness are becoming serious, considered and are delivered in a matter-of-fact way which cannot be ignored. He is adamant that he won't speak to anyone else. This concerns me, because I am afraid that he will completely withdraw from his friends and other family, although he denies this will happen.

Hanging in there, a photo-collage of hanging items in my home and garden, Lesley Beeton

The GP told me five months ago that he was reluctant to take any action so soon after a significant bereavement. I accepted this at the time, and agreed to 'wait and see'. We had an argument in early January, about his reliance on his GP for objective emotional and clinical care. Past history suggests that this is not the case, and this does rather complicate things. The thing is, that he has suffered from depression for some time, years in fact. He refuses to take medication for depression, but will also not speak to anyone about it, although he did have a course of hypnotherapy. Grief on top of depression is not a good place to be. The two struggle against one another, the grief trying to find the light in each day; the depression blacking it out before the day has even begun. It's a painful spiral to watch; poor sleep, depression, sadness.

And last week, he was clearly distressed at not being able to remember some personal information. It's probably nothing, but it has put me in a difficult position. Knowing that he doesn't want me to interfere with his medical care, but having a duty of care to ensure that he is safe, well and not vulnerable. They don't tell you this when your Mum dies. They don't tell you what to do about Dad.

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Do you remember when?

Life was so simple then. Decisions were made for you. Mom and Dad were around for cuddles. When did I grow up and become the responsible adult of the family? It must have been sometime between Christmas Eve and the August Bank Holiday weekend. Sometime between Mom's first chemo and the day she died, I took over, stood up strong and grew up.

I think it was painful, but as with all pain, the body has an amazing way of blanking it out. It's all part of the coping strategy, thank goodness. And boy, did I need to cope. So much to do. Mom's things to sort out and take to the charity shops, her Estate to deal with. Comforting Dad, thanking Mom's friends and carers. Explaining to my brother how Mom had died and what happens next.

A special friend showed me this website which has five important lessons for looking forwards.

I wish I didn’t work so hard

I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings

I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends 

I wish that I had let myself be happier

I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me

We often say, life was better then. I don't think that's true. Life was different then. And life is good now. We need to grow up and focus on the important things in life. Remember to say 'I love you'. Be tolerant of each other, especially at Christmas when families are together, because life is fragile and precious. So instead of saying 'Do you remember when?' why not say 'Tomorrow will be a great day'. 

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MOM'S GARDEN

One of Mom's very good friends reminded me this week of Mom's love for gardening. She loved flowers and she was as colourful as her garden. But Mom was also a gardener of people. She gathered her friends around her and helped them bloom. She cared deeply for them and nurtured the relationships, keeping in touch, remembering birthdays and important family events. In fact, Dad and I are struggling to keep this up with the apparent ease that Mom did. She had an incredible memory for names, dates and places.

And in the garden, Mom was no different. She had wonderful ways with plants and colours, and had two huge volumes of plant information. She was always on hand to pass on gardening advice to us and never minded getting her hands dirty. 

I have been a late starter with gardening, but I'm getting there and have learnt a lot in the last year. I have also learnt that special friendships, nurtured and cherished, will last a lifetime, but Mom already knew that.

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