It’s my turn

Tony and I moved in with Mum in 1998 when she got very sick. We were live-in carers for 14 years, until she moved to the rest home 6 months before she died. It was incredibly hard work some of the time, but a huge privilege few daughters get these days.

During that time I also personal care PoA for my aunt, who had dementia and needed a rest home apartment then secure unit, and finally hospital level care. Again, a lot of work. But Aunt J and I were close, and I was glad to look after her.

Within a year of Mum dying Tony had to retire due to ill health. By the time he retired he’d already had two or three surgeries. For the last year or two he’s been less and less able; the last 6 or 8 months have been pretty awful.

I’ve worked through all those years, and done my art. But suddenly I have, maybe not more time, but different time. My days are structured differently because I’m not juggling work, art and caregiving. Now it’s work, art and visiting Tony. By 7.30 at the latest I’ve seen Tony, had dinner, and the evening is mine.

At the moment I’m going to bed early quite often. It’s cold, but I’m also resting and recuperating – my own emergency surgery is less than 3 months ago.

I’ve spent most of the last 23 years listening for movement in the night, ready to get up and help Mum, then Tony. Since late last year I’ve been used to sleeping in 2 or 3 hour stretches, often only 6 hours a night. I’m learning to sleep through the night, although at the moment I’m often awake at 5 because I’m not used to so much uninterrupted sleep.

My work and art are important to me, but they’re not ME. It’s time for me to concentrate a bit more on me – on looking after myself, and on figuring out what the coming years look like. I didn’t expect to be living alone at 56, with a husband in the rest home, but it is what it is. I’m determined to make the most of it, whatever that light look like. T

he photos below are all of me, but none of them are me … that’s still a work I’m progress…

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Shared memories #BlogJune 23

I don’t have a great memory and freely admit it. I sometimes worry that my memories of Mum and Dad are sketchy – especially of Dad, who died 30 years ago. Some memories are mine alone, some are shared with other people. Tony and I have a lot of shared memories of Mum because we lived with her as caregivers for 14 years. Other memories are ones I share with my sister Ailsa, or my best friend Sandra (of both sets of parents).

I’ve just come back from 10 days in Hokitika with my friend Alan. His Dad and mine were good mates so I spent a lot of time on their farm as a child then teen. When we were teens they spent a lot of time at our Waverley Beach bach. We have a lot of shared memories and many of those memories involve Dad.

It got me thinking about why I love this photo so much. The most obvious reason is it’s my beloved Dad. Summer was always a happy time in my life; Mum and I stayed at the beach – Dad came down every night after work and we went swimming together. Dad was teaching me to ride his motorbike, which I loved, even after I had a wee accident on it! Dad’s in his shorts and a hat, so the weather is good and he’s relaxed. Oh, and I loved that red blouse & my jeans so much!

One photo, but so many clues and memories. No wonder I treasure my photo albums and scrapbooks ❤

Stress hands! #BlogJune 4

When Tony and I were Mum’s carers she was in and out of hospital a lot. Nurses would greet me by name in the supermarket. It could be stressful juggling Mum, work, newspaper, art and daily life.

For some reason I find polishing my nails soothing. I don’t generally do them because paint sticks to the polish; my hands are artist’s tools so the nails get a hard time.

This week has been difficult. (edit – this is yesterday’s post which I didn’t get a chance to post) For the first time in a very long time – possibly years – I’ve polished my nails. And, yes, the blue polish already has tiny flecks of orange on it.

As 2019 ends…

The end of another year, and the end of a decade. This year I’ve worked hard, actively relaxed, spent quality time with Tony, contributed to the wider profession, had an art exhibition with Dimmie at Lysaght Watt, visited Penny and Alan on the West Coast a couple of times, been to Punakaiki to the pancake rocks, gained a nephew-in-law and a great-nephew, kept my weight steady-but-slightly-heavier-than-I-want and increased my daily steps to 6,000. Not a bad year’s work all up…

And the decade? Hmm. Stepped up to my current role, gained a great-nephew in Australia, sat with Mum as she passed, had weight loss surgery, renewed old friendships, had a car accident, enjoyed endless hours of art & craft, and celebrated our silver wedding anniversary.

Looking back at my blog from December 2009 the following stood out:

Having passed my chest infection on to my husband (remember marriage vows – for better or worse – this is worse) and my mother (blast! at 85, it’s not a good thing) – I’m feeling a bit better. Although the house still sounds a bit like a TB ward really. Now that I have my coughing under control, and a wee bit of energy back, I need to get creating. I’m still the same – creating is my relaxation and my saviour.

This year I have some personal goals, which I am not sharing, but am internally visualizing instead. My word this year is intended solely for my art, although as I live with and use the word I have no doubt I will start to find it fits with the whole of life. Why? Because my art and the whole of my life are inseparable. So, what is the word? MAP. It’s amazing to think I have been doing #OneLittleWord for over a decade now.

And Faith wrote: Grandma has a chest infection, but the staff kept asking about the big bruise on her arm – and Grandma couldn’t remember how it happened. When we got home Mum and Grandma were laughing, saying that at this rate the Police will be round any day to accuse Mum of beating up Grandma. I remember this so well – I was really concerned they were going to report me for abuse, and I still remember how she got the bruise.

As 2019 draws to a close, I am grateful for Tony, Faith & Goldie, family, friends, work and art. Here’s to a great 2020.

August 2019

Hiding the flaws

 

 

Lovely news, thanks Mum

I am delighted that my niece Rosie and her husband Jason are the very proud parents of Harry James, born early yesterday morning 21 December 2019 by emergency C; weight 5lb and totally perfect. Rosie is fine too; thank goodness for good medical care which, in this case, was literally life-saving. I’ve talked about it before so won’t go into it again – but if you would like to support them on their difficult journey, being walked in love, you can donate here.

I have done a page in my Dylusions journal about it because art helps me work through the feelings. Yesterday I cried. Tears of gratitude that Rosie survived a high-risk pregnancy. Tears of love for a baby who was at considerable risk. Tears of admiration for Jason, learning to be a Dad even as he learns to walk again following an accident that could have killed him. Tears of sadness for all the babies who couldn’t stay with me. Maybe even a few tears of jealousy at Rosie becoming a Mum when I never managed a live baby. (it’s ok Rosie – it’s me learning to feel, not eat as self-soothing)

7 years: a second ago, & forever

It’s 7 years today since Mum died. She was very ready to die and we knew that. Ailsa and some of her family were here, by coincidence, and we spent the last 36 hours by her bedside at the home.

Released with love? Yes. Grateful she could finally let go? Yes. But…

Tony and I were Mum’s caregivers for 14 years, so Mum was a big part of my adult life. I miss her company. I miss telling her random stuff about my day. I miss reading to her from A A Milne, or new picture books that I think would make her laugh. She loved the ‘Walter the farting dog’ series.

We bought her a hospital bed and it had a wonderful memory foam mattress – I used to nap on it in the sun on a Sunday afternoon while she snoozed in her lazyboy chair. Mum sometimes said, as I held her hand to cross the road, that we’d swapped roles from when I was a toddler, and that was true. But as she watched over me while I napped, she was the caregiver again.

My brain is always restless for a couple of weeks prior to today’s anniversary. It’s not as awful as it was the first few years, when I had disturbing dreams. Once today is over, I come right.

Someone asked me, kindly, last night if there was some guilt I need to let go of? Maybe – Mum had wanted to die at home, but spent 6 months in the rest home (of her own choosing). Or perhaps it’s just that today marks a massive change in my life and the restlessness is my way of acknowledging that.

Either way, I miss you Mum. I’m pleased we had those 14 years together. It was hard work, but I got time with you most daughters don’t get, and that’s a privilege in today’s busy world. I’d do it again in a heartbeat.

 

Mum’s birthday

Mum was born on 30 June 1924 at Bethany Home in Auckland, and stayed with her mother till she has a toddler. We don’t know why her mother, Angela, eventually had to give her up. I wish we had met her, she sounds such a character. We are fortunate to know Angela through her son John (Mum’s half-brother) and his family.

Mum would have been 94 today, not an age she had any great desire to get to. Mum didn’t romanticize old age; she talked about it being hard work and used to say that Dad, who died suddenly at 65 while out fishing, “got it exactly right, but a decade too soon”.  When Mum died in 2012 she was ready to leave this earth, and we let her go with love.

Mum shared her birth date with John’s ex-wife Liz – birthday twins, as I called them. So happy birthday Liz. I’m sure Mum is watching over us all.

Happy birthday Mum – you are loved and missed, but released with love too.

 

 

 

Art heals – thinking about Mum

Every year, as Mum’s birthday on June 30 approaches, I sleep badly and have vivid dreams. Mum died in 2012; we let her go with love in our hearts, knowing she was very ready to die. Yet my brain persists in this hyper-awareness every year. As in previous years, working in my art journal helps. Art really does have the power to heal people.

This photo was taken in 2011, her last Christmas, with her grandson Rowan. I have no idea now what they were talking about, but I can remember it being quite animated! I have put a heart over her face because sometimes I can’t bring her face to my mind, which is such a scary feeling. Mum may be gone, but love remains. The good memories are wrapped firmly round me heart.

My angel babies and Mum

Many people know that in my 20s I lost a lot of babies to miscarriage. Because of the medical issues it’s hard to know exactly, but likely more than 12 angel babies came our way. A conversation with Sandra, my best friend of 45 or so years, last night reminded me of them. Not in a sad way, more a sense of heightened awareness.

When all that was happening I was living in Auckland and Wellington. I’d ring Mum often to tell her what was happening — Mum the nurse thinks I’m pregnant. Mum the baby has gone. Mum the pregnancy test was neutral, so they think I might be pregnant. Mum the baby is gone. Mum the Dr is suggesting we try this…

Mum listened patiently, without offering too much sympathy as she knew I had to hold myself together. She and Dad only had my sister Ailsa and I, and there’s more than a decade between us. I know she wanted more children but it never happened, and Dad loved all kids. I wonder how hard it was for them listening to me?

It always looked to me like Mum was a great Grandma to Ailsa’s children. They were lucky to have Mum in their lives and she loved them. There’s an ending to this that I am not going to write because it involves someone else’s child, and I have cried a little for my babies this morning but know, as always, that love remains.

Woke up feeling weepy, but art heals

I woke up feeling weepy and worried this morning, which is unusual for me. All I could tell Tony is when things are tough, and they are at the moment, I miss having Mum to chat to. In those last couple of years she may not have followed everything I said, and forgot most of it anyway, but it was a way for me to download. It’s just over a year since Mum died and most of the time it’s okay.

I think what has upset me is it turns out Tony has been a lot sicker than we realised. Long story, and involves a medical stuff-up re some blood tests, but it’s made me anxious about the upcoming surgery.

So, had a quick weep, scared the dog my grabbing a tissue so she thought I was going to wipe her eyes, and decided the day needed to be an art one because art heals.