Grief

Missing

by Veronica on April 11, 2010

in Cancer, Grief, Headfuck

A year ago we sat around an outdoor table, surrounded by family. Easter had coincided with Nan’s birthday and we were barbecuing and celebrating, knowing in the back of our minds that it was likely to be the last birthday and Easter Nan celebrated.

We were of course hopeful that that wouldn’t be the case, but we were wrong.

A year ago we laughed and played and Isaac napped, a small baby still, asleep in his bouncer.

Slowly everyone left and I stayed, curled up in Nan’s armchair, reading her cookbooks and discussing everything under the sun with her as we pointed out likely recipes. Amy ran around, eating chocolate, while we waited for Isaac to wake up.

Nan was in the middle of chemo and horribly sick.

It was hard to watch, knowing that we couldn’t change it, or fix it.

However, it was warm and comfortable, talking.

Of course, we discussed her cancer – we always did.

We didn’t know that almost 10 weeks later Nan would be laying dying in a hospital room while we stood in a ring around her, giving her permission to leave.

Of all the things I miss, the common sense advice, the phone calls, the visits, just because, I miss curling up in the chairs at Nans and just talking more than anything else.

I miss her.

So much.

April has always been Nan’s month, her birthday and Easter intertwined always.

Today would have been her 65th birthday.

Happy Birthday Nan.

I miss you more and more each day it seems.

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Pillows

by Veronica on March 22, 2010

in Animals, Grief, Life

You don’t know this, but I have a thing about pillows.

I like them.

A lot.

So much in fact that when we were cleaning out Nan’s house, I ended up with all of the pillows. Seems Nan liked having lots of spare pillows about too.

We used her spare pillows to pack the furniture as we moved it, shoving them into glass cabinets and between things to prevent breakages. They did their job and nothing broke.

Today, I found 4 pillows on the floor of my bedroom, all sans pillow cases – it seems Amy likes naked pillows as much as she likes her naked self. I picked them up and went hunting for pillow cases.

Thinking about it, I remembered that out in the shed, there were more pillows, packed still into the glass cabinet that’s in storage here. It’s coming up to winter now, the weather is cold and the cats have a plethora of mice that they can’t kill fast enough.

Side note: It’s probably not going to be that long until you start seeing posts like this. and this. and this and this and this.Wow, seems I wrote a lot about mice last year.

I went out into the shed and unpacked all of the pillows, not wanting the mice to start nesting in them.

One, two, three, four, five, six pillows, packed into the cabinet.

6 pillows.

I rummaged around in the shed and brought inside anything else that I thought mice might find interesting, then I came inside to put pillow covers on all of the pillows.

You know, almost 9 months on, those pillows, they still smell like my grandmother.

And that kinda sucks.

***

I have Nan’s overcoat sitting in the back of my closet. Despite hanging around with my clothes, it still smells like her perfume. Every now and again, I’ll lean in and breathe in her smell.

Then, I’ll take a deep breath and walk away; back to my daily chores, back to the blogosphere; back to life.

I’m not sure what I’ll do when it doesn’t smell like her anymore.

***

A few months ago, maybe month 6, maybe month 7, I stopped talking about Nan. It hurt too much, there were too many tears unshed and so I just stopped.

I dragged my brain away from thoughts of her and refused to think about it.

At all.

Mostly, this works for me.

I don’t have to think about her, or speak about her, or cry anymore.

But, it’s funny. Still, most days, fuck, every day – something will happen and it will run through my head like a litany.

I miss my Nan. I miss my Nan. I miss my Nan.

In time to my heartbeat; in time to my breathing.

Because I do. I miss her so badly it hurts.

I just don’t talk about it anymore.

It’s been almost nine months.

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I want…

by Veronica on January 17, 2010

in Cancer, Grief, Headfuck

I want to run myself a bath.

Slip under the water and feel it swirl around me.

I want to lay there, in the warmth and day dream, imaginary conversations between me and people I’ll never meet. I want to let my imagination run wild and emerge, warmed through and ready to write something, anything.

But, it’s the middle of the day and Isaac has just woken from a nap. Amy is asking for food and Isaac is laughing at me.

There is no peace, not for baths. Not for daydreaming or imaginary conversations.

***

Everyone is talking about Haiti.

And I want to ignore it.

Because after getting emotionally involved with Black Saturday, with Hurricane Katrina, with the Tsunamis, with everything, I just can’t.

It comes on the news and I purposely zone out.

I can’t think about it, I just can’t.

I need to protect my emotional integrity, in order to have enough for myself.

I can’t take on board the suffering of hundreds of thousands of strangers.

Not this time.

***

It’s been almost 7 months since Nan died and I miss her more every day.

But it’s been 7 months and it’s harder to say that I miss her when I’m having a bad day.

It’s not an excuse.

It just is.

It’s also the reason I can’t look too hard at the eyes of the Haiti victims.

Because I need my emotions for myself.

And I’m sorry.

***

I thought I was over the bitterness that trying and failing to conceive brought out in me.

I thought I had lanced that wound with the successful birth of a healthy baby boy, who seems to have made it unscathed to his first birthday (more on that tomorrow).

I’m not though.

The announcement of a pregnancy this last week, from a girl who I will say should not be pregnant again, has me bitter all over again.

That poor child.

The mother, and the baby to be.

She sounds pleased about it.

I can think of people who would better deserve a child.

And I’m a bitch to think that, I know.

Who am I to say that she shouldn’t have a baby? Who I am to judge?

I’m no one.

I don’t get a say.

But I still think it.

And I discovered, from this, that having trouble conceiving a baby leaves wounds.

It leaves wounds, that while they might disappear under the surface, they never really heal.

So I can safely say, that while I am happy now, I can still be bitter.

I want to not be bitter.

I want to read her pregnancy announcement and be simply happy for her and not terrified about what it means for everyone else. About what it means for a system already clogged with women like her, babies like hers.

It’s a horrible thing to admit.

***

I want to curl into a ball, and hibernate for a while. I want time to be sad, to be bitter, to ignore the world for a while.

There is no time, not for me.

Eventually.

Maybe.

I’ll be less busy.

I’ll have more time.

***

There will be a doctors appointment soon, where I discuss my panic attacks and hopefully, get something done about them.

Because they’re crippling.

And horrible.

But I have a tendency to be matter of fact about things.

And doctors don’t take matter of fact seriously.

‘Oh that? I just dislocated my shoulder. I’ll be okay.’

‘It’s just my knee. Hang on, I’ll put it right.’

‘Meh, it will be okay.’

I want to say –

I hurt and

I keep panicking

and I’m not sure it’s normal to wake up at 3am and not be able to breathe because you have something sitting on your chest.

But meh.

I’ll be okay.

I just won’t look the Haiti victims in the eyes.

At least,

not until I’ve got my head back together.

***

Isaac turns ONE tomorrow and I will certainly have a post celebrating that. We had a good day today, with my parents coming over to visit and gift him with a wooden train. It was a good afternoon. I’m just a little flat this evening.

If you want to donate to Haiti you can click here to donate through the Red Cross. Just because I can’t watch them, doesn’t mean they don’t need helping.

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On words, or the lack thereof

by Veronica on November 9, 2009

in Cancer, Grief

I can’t talk about it anymore. The grief, it is crushing and although I laugh and smile, I can’t breathe. Often, I have to remind myself to keep breathing, to keep moving, otherwise I’d be found, struck dumb with tears streaming down my face. Unmoving and uncaring.

I cope  by moving through my moments without thinking about it. If I consciously don’t think about her, then I can move through my day without hurting.

Then

something will happen.

And the enormity of what we’ve lost hits me like a truck with no brakes.

Loss is forever and I think that is the hardest part. That this is forever. There are no undos, no fixing this. I can’t make this better because I can’t bring her back.

I said after she died that I didn’t regret anything I had done or not done. That I was at peace with her passing. I told her I loved her lots on that last day.

I think I lied.

Because

I regret that she died at all. That we didn’t have longer. That she was in pain.

In the future, we will have a cure for cancer. It might not be for a hundred years, but in the future there will be a cure. Future generations will look back and wonder how we managed to lose so many people to cancer. They will wonder how we didn’t crack the code sooner, in order to save more lives.

But it will be like us, looking back on the invention of antibiotics. We know that we’re lucky, but we don’t realise how lucky we are. We’re not likely to die from a simple cut anymore. A puncture wound is not going to be our death.

In the future, Cancer will be like that.

I hope it is sooner than we believe.

But until then, we will support the research. We will donate money and time and good humour. We will do what needs doing, even if that means we hold the hand of a loved one while they’re dying.

We do this, hoping that in the future, our children’s children won’t have to go through it.

Because god knows, I wouldn’t wish cancer on anyone.

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Anxious

by Veronica on September 26, 2009

in Cancer, Grief, Headfuck

My breath catches in my throat and I’m breathing consciously to get through the moment. My heart races and the familiar feeling of anxiety settles deep into my chest. The world around me fades slightly as I focus inwards, on my own internal struggle to get this under control.

My focus shatters as Amy steps on Isaac and tips forwards onto her hands and knees crying, while he screams his displeasure at being trodden on. The dog bites the cat, who runs away knocking dishes off the sink.

Everything lands in a big heap at my feet and I’m left with scattered plates, screaming children and no sense of peace. The world continues on completely oblivious to me.

I pick up my children, comfort them, make Amy say sorry. I stand and swearing, I clean up the plates, dust off my coping strategies and just move forwards.

One step at a time.

***

I’m stressed is what I’m saying.

Quite a little bit.

The anxiety attacks are back with a vengeance, coupled with a complete inability to actually cope with anything.

I’m spending a lot of time swearing under my breath and stomping around the house.

***

I turn the music up loud to drown out the whining and scrub at the bench. If I can just get this clean then everything else will look better and ohmyfuckingGOD.The mess just keeps coming and coming and I’m not sure I could walk through the lounge room without breaking an ankle.

***

Just stop whining. Please, just stop.

You’re tired? Here, curl up on the couch with a blanket.

No, you can’t watch a DVD, you broke the DVD player.

You want a bottle? But you’re a big girl.

I know Isaac has a bottle, but he’s a baby.

Oh. You’re a baby now too.

That would explain the whining.

Can you stop sitting on me?

Please?

Amy, get off me. You’re hurting me.

OY! Don’t pinch me! What a naughty thing to do. Time out! NOW.

You’re sorry? I don’t care. We don’t pinch. Time out.

Now.

Time out.

Walk.

Now.

Don’t go boneless, I’ll just pick you up.

There. Sit there. 3 minutes. We do not pinch. At all ever.

Isaac! I know I’m ignoring you, that’s no reason to squeal.

You’re tired too? Well here, nap time.

Boobs.

You don’t want boobs? You want to look at your sister in time out?

Isaac, fortheloveofgod just feed already.

ARGH! No biting! You’re not hungry.

Bedtime.

You. Back in time out. I didn’t say you could move.

No whining. Stop it.

Sit.

Sleep.

Shutup.

Please.

***

I love my children dearly, but they’re very needy at the moment.

Like –

really needy.

And I’m not sure I can breathe, underneath this mountain of need they have.

***

I knew this would happen. The crash.

Nan died three months ago and for that three months I’ve been caught up in merely moving from one moment to another without thinking about myself. Just getting things done for this family of mine.

Caught up in the coping.

And apparently, the grief has caught up with me.

I miss her so fucking much.

So fucking much.

***

There is stress on top of stress down here and there are only so many balls I can juggle before things start to fall on my head.

***

So I’m turning up the music.

I’m putting one foot in front of the other.

I’m hugging my children.

And I’m letting myself grieve.

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