Sleepless Nights

Blog

  • There are words

    There are words, screaming in my head, wanting to get out.

    I sit down to type them out and find that I’ve lost them. They used to fall from my brain to my fingertips effortlessly. I think they’re getting lost in there somewhere now. Maybe I’m crying them out? Maybe there is a backlog in around my heart somewhere and one day the dam will break and you’ll find yourself reading five posts in a day.

    Who knows.

    I know that I used to use my blog as a dumping ground, write it out and move on.

    I want to write about how heavy my heart feels when I help Mum clean Nan’s house. How possessions of hers weigh heavily on my chest. I wish she’d been able to give more things away herself like she wanted to, rather than the sorting process we’ve got going on.

    There are words in my head screaming to get out.

    ***

    A few days after Nan died, I had a dream. We were sitting at Mum’s talking, as we used to do often.

    Nan said ‘You need to come down and help me get things organised.’

    ‘Okay.’

    ‘The cupboards need sorting. You’ve got to be careful of all the lids though.’

    Nan had a cupboard filled with all her plastic containers. Ever single bit of plastic she owned went in that cupboard. When I woke from the dream, I assumed that Nan saying ‘be careful of all the lids’ meant ‘for the love of god don’t lose my lids!’.

    I was wrong.

    When Mum and I sorted that cupboard? We found lids. And more lids. And then some more lids. Most of them without the accompaning containers.

    I should have known. It wasn’t ‘be careful of all the lids so none get lost‘ it was actually ‘be careful you don’t drown in lids while you’re sitting on the floor sorting things.’

    Thanks for the warning Nan.

  • Early Mornings.

    ‘Mummy! I am AWAKE!’

    ‘Mmmmphghs. fuck.’

    Stumble stumble stumble. I glance at my watch. Ugh.

    ‘Amy. It’s still dark. Do you want to go back to sleep for me please?’

    ‘No. Amy is awake. We go in the loungeroom and watch TV!’

    ‘Ugh. Move over. Mum will cuddle you. Brrrr, it’s cold. Here, snuggle down and close your eyes.’

    I climb into bed with Amy and close my eyes.

    ‘Amy does not want to close her eyes. Amy is awake. Hi MUMMY!’

    ‘Hi Amy. Here, come and have a cuddle.’

    ‘Okay. Incy wincy spider…. You sing it Mum.’

    ‘Mummy doesn’t want to sing. Mummy wants to go back to sleep.’

    Amy walks her fingers up my head.

    ‘MUM! MUM! There is a spider on your head. See?’

    Her fingers walk back down my face.

    ‘Amy, it’s not time to get up yet. Snuggle down and go back to sleep.’

    ‘But Amy is not tired.’

    ‘Mummy is tired.’

    ‘Are you tired Mum? Are you tired? Mum, mummummumumummm, are you tired?’

    ‘Yes Amy, I am tired.’

    ‘You going back to sweep Mum?’

    ‘MMmmrpgh.’

    ‘MUM! Are you sweeping?’

    ‘Mmmmmm.’

    ‘Is okay Mummy, Amy will sing. Incy Wincy Spider climbed up a… Mummy, is your turn now.’

    ‘Amy?’

    ‘Yes? Oh NO. MUMMY LOOK! There is a cat on Amy’s drawers. Don worry Mum, Amy fix it.’

    ‘Amy, get back here, what are you – DON’T put the cat in the drawer!’

    ‘Is okay Mummy, Amy come snuggle now. Cat is fixed.’

    ‘Go and get the cat back out of the drawer. It’s very naughty to put the cat in the drawers!’

    ‘Amy not get the cat out. The cat is sweeping.’ [makes snoring noises]

    ‘The cat is not sleeping, go and get it out.’

    ‘Amy not want to. Cat is sweeping. Amy is sweeping.’ [Makes more fake snoring noises.]

    ‘BING! Amy is AWAKE! C’mon Mummy, les get UP!’

    Oh my god.

    ‘Come on then. Let’s get up.’

    ‘YAY! YAY! YAY! Is Isaac awake?’

    ‘No, Isaac is sleeping.’

    ‘Don worry Mummy, Amy will wake Isaac up.’

    ‘No! Leave Isaac alone!’

    ‘Isaac! Is time to wake up!’

    Isaac cries, Nathan mumbles and I am UP! and AWAKE! with the kids at a godawful time. Is it too late to start today again?

  • Fatty Lumps and Dirt

    So firstly, the lump in my breast? It’s just a fatty lump. Nothing to worry about.

    Thank GOD. I was really really stressed this morning prior to the ultrasound. [So was Mum. So stressed in fact that she came to the appointment with me and played with Amy in the waiting room] The lump may or may not grow, I’ve just got to keep an eye on it and if it gets bigger, possibly think about removal.

    So there. It’s always good to be told that you don’t have breast cancer.

    ***

    I’ve been digging a garden. Sure it’s nearly killed me and somehow I’ve got a bruise that runs from the heel of my hand all the way to my elbow, but it feels good to look outside and see pretty dirt, just waiting for me to plant vegies in it.

    So far, I’ve got peas, spinach, parsley, mint, kale and silverbeet planted. Also some mignonette lettuce and broad beans.

    It looks good. Fresh. New.

    Exactly what I need.

    Dirt to centre myself and to cry into if need be.

  • Tired and Sad

    Today was the first day since Nan died when we were back to a normal routine. Nathan got up at god-awful o’clock and left for TAFE (welding course) and I was left at home with the two children, one of whom is still sick and completely unable to be separated from me. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love snuggling with Isaac, but when it’s the 5th consecutive hour that you’re doing it and you’ve only had a few (non-consecutive) hours sleep, then it starts to get a little old.

    My shoulder and lower back are complaining rather a lot at the extra 7kgs of badly distributed weight. Sigh. I feel old today.

    Old and sad.

    Sad and tired.

    Nan was a huge part of my life. I catch myself thinking I’ll just ring Nan… and then, fuck. And then I cry.

    ***

    When I rang Nathan that Wednesday morning to take me into the hospital, I stopped breathing properly. It was almost like hyperventilating, only not. I flew through a shower and getting the kids ready. Nathan walked in the door and we walked out of it 30 seconds later.

    I didn’t breathe again until I hit that hospital room and Nan was still breathing. She looked awful, but that is part and parcel of cancer and steroids. She got quite distressed until David and I had hugged her. Apparently she’d spoken to Mum prior to her downhill slide and said that she needed to let Davey and I know that she knew we were there. She definitely managed that. I hugged her, laid my cheek against hers and told her I loved her.

    We settled in to wait.

    The waiting was the hardest part.

    We took turns holding Nan’s hand and she had enough energy to occasionally give us a squeeze. Visitors came and went and still we sat. Talking, laughing, reminiscing, waiting.

    Eventually Nan’s breathing got worse. She pulled her oxygen mask off and rolled onto her side. She opened her eyes and looked straight at her mother (Kath*) before closing her eyes again. Kath held one of Nan’s hands and I held Kath’s other hand and her shoulder. She gripped me like a drowning woman as her daughter started to slip away.

    Mum said ‘You can go now Mum. You don’t have to stay here for us. We love you.’

    I echoed ‘Yes. We love you Nan.’

    Her breathing slowed and then stopped completely.

    It was peaceful. She was done fighting.

    At 2.10pm on the 24th of June ’09, my grandmother died, surrounded by family.

    *I’m calling her Kath for this blog post to prevent confusion. In real life, she is just Nan.

    ***

    I can remember everything about that afternoon, even down to how the room smelled and how it felt to clean the room afterwards. We organised clothes and flowers, books and magazines and then we left the room and Nan behind.

    ***

    I think those first few days were easier to deal with.

    After the funeral, the hustle and bustle died down and the reality of Nan’s death set in. I can’t ring her. I can’t visit. I can’t do any of the things I used to do on a daily basis. Nan was such a part of my life; to have her gone leaves me with a gaping hole and a pervading sense of sad.

    I can still smell her perfume on the clothing she gave me before she died. I wander around the house and suddenly, I can smell her.

    And it hurts because it’s not her and eventually, the smell will fade no matter how I try and preserve it.

    ***

    I threw the last of the flowers out yesterday. The lilies that had been in her room withered and died. An empty coffee jar sits on my counter with no flowers left to fill it.

    ***

    It’s the middle of winter. It’s cold and icy and horrible outside. I yearn for warm days and blooming flowers and sunshine that warms my soul as well as my body. I know that spring will come in it’s own time. I know that eventually the keen knife edge of hurt will fade. I know this.

    This hurt is a wound that will eventually heal, leaving me with just a scar and memories. Knowing that this will happen doesn’t make the days in the interim easier though.

    ***

    I’m a writer and I won’t appologise for ripping open my soul and leaving it here on my blog for you to read, even though I feel like I should be appologising for my lack of humour.

    I hope that you can hold my hand and walk through this with me as I process it. That said, if you find it hard to comment, or can’t make the words come out right, don’t feel you have to comment profoundly. Simply knowing you’re reading still is enough.

  • Don’t piss the universe off

    The morning of Nan’s funeral dawned grey and bitter. Awoken by Isaac looking at me and smiling, I was hoping like hell I could feed him and go back to sleep. Unfortunately, Amy woke up part way through the feed, so I was listening to her yelling ‘Mummy! I AM awake NOW!’ while Isaac kept breaking off to smile. I dragged myself out of bed and looked at my outfit hanging on the door ready to be put on. It wasn’t going to be a good day.

    Mum forwarded a copy of the Eulogy to me. It was a first draft put together by my uncle. It was good, but it needed editing and polishing. So, I rang Mum, we talked and then I rewrote parts of the Eulogy and tied it all together into a cohesive speech before sending it back to Mum.

    Just a heads up for anyone else who may or may not be involved in organising a funeral. Rewriting a eulogy on the morning of the funeral? Yeah, I don’t recommend it.

    I was so stressed that my uncle would be upset with me for rewriting parts of it, but I pulled myself up, tucked myself in and figured that of course he wouldn’t be annoyed, it was only a first draft after all and it was too long and missing chunks and it was better now.

    Right?

    Eventually we were all ready and packed into the car.

    Turn the key. Click click click goes the car.

    Nothing.

    Again, turn the key. Click click ffffft.

    Nothing.

    Fucking fuck of a fucking car. Fuck.

    Dressed to the nines, we were standing in our very soggy front yard with a dead battery. FINE. We’ll just change the battery from the other car. Nathan jumped into the other car and checked to see if that one would start. Click click whirrrrr fffft.

    Two cars. Two dead batteries. What are the odds? Dear universe. I know that you can fuck things up if you choose to, but really, don’t we have enough going on? FortheloveofGOD.

    A phone call later, Mum and Dad were on the way to help get our stupid fuck of a fucking car started.

    I have never been so stressed in my life. We quickly rearranged Amy’s care arrangements, knowing that no way in hell we had enough time to get her out to his parents AND back to the funeral.

    Mum arrived and after enough swear words to make a sailor blush, our car was started and running.

    I had the shakes, I felt nauseous and I was more than ready to be done with this day.

    We got to the funeral uneventfully. Just as the car died. In the car park.

    Oh my fucking god.

    But we’d made it and everything could be sorted later. My stress levels were through the roof (have I mentioned I was a little stressed?) as I got Isaac out of the car and into his pram to walk in.

    I flicked my head back, drew in a deep breathe and walked through the glass doors. My uncle saw me, looked at me and then immediately looked away. I didn’t notice really, I was too busy looking for Mum. I was about to fall apart.

    I found Mum and started swearing about the car. Nothing better than a minor emergency to take your mind off the big things.

    I was keeping my shit together fine, until I saw two of my parent’s friends walk through the front doors. Two men, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Two men, who weren’t there for any other reason than to say goodbye to Nan and provide support for US.

    I burst into tears I was that pleased to see them.

    The service was lovely and I cried the entire way through it. All the work put in and it pulled together perfectly. I made it there on time and Isaac was good throughout. You can’t ask for anything more, can you.

    And if a certain family member of mine refused to acknowledge my presence there, merely exchanging polite words when I initiated conversation, well then. That’s not my issue. That’s his.

    ****

    In other things:

    I asked and I received. I had my big girl panties all ready, but it turns out I didn’t need them. Not really.

    Go on, go and read it.

    And… I had my breast checked by a GP today. Definitely a lump there and it feels mobile so that is a good thing. In most cases, mobile lumps are benign cysts. I’m not terribly positive that it does move though and I’m the one feeling it at every available opportunity. HOWEVER. We’ll just not think of that. I am off for an ultrasound of it (‘it’ sounds weird. I almost feel I should name it) next Thursday. I’m much less worried now that I’ve seen the doctor and we’ve got things in motion for checks and stuff.

    Right.