Sophie Alex Sophie Alex etc

Alex's personal demo of a tape loop in memoriam was pretty funny ("We Remember Gerald / crying noises / We Remember Gerald / crying noises / We Remember Gerald" etc ad infinitum).

Both my tough though undoubtedly soft and hurt children do some excellent mocking.

Alex has had some good additions to his "Christmas fund" aka saving for Uni aka petrol money the last few days.
No job has yet appeared, but Michael Barker contributed to both the coffers and the lawn-mowing capabilities, whilst Stu Houghton did same re carpet cleaning and other jobs. My Christmas present is looking secure, for which I am grateful.

Sophie is still at school for this week and next.
And, as a friendless reject (if I were to take fairly recent accounts seriously, never believing you again, Soph :-)) she has somehow fooled some of the people some of the time and managed to be awarded a Parents and Friends prize which is voted for by peers within the school.

Also she has won the Writing prize for her year, resulting in a fun chore of going shopping for a book which she will be presented with at Prizegiving, along with the other prize.
She, like me, has no recognisable academic results this year - having missed all the exams, which took place during Funeral Week.

Alex meanwhile probably tries to forget he has to wait till January for his Cambridge iGCSE results, sat before, during, and after Gerald's death. He was the only one of us who didn't miss any exams, which I hope gives him a huge feeling of achievement in itself.

Less typing, more sleep would be good. Only yesterday (or was that today? depends if 1:45 am is still the evening before or an early start to the next day) I went to the Davis (Law Library) and got out books for 3 of my courses, and am a little over-excited about them (well, that's this night's excuse for not being asleep, creative, don't you think?).

At any rate my children indulged me in a show and tell about the 3 books I limited myself to per subject. I'm sure they only pretended to be less than entirely excited. Tomorrow I loan books for 3 more subjects, it just gets better ... even I can hear that this seems over-the-top, though a reasonable response from possibly the most grateful law student of all time.

And more progress today and tomorrow on my woman-cave (as a friend has dubbed my "new" revitalised bedroom / office, set up to exacting requirements (go on, Andrew, you can laugh now) and hopefully soon to reap good results as a positive environment for both kinds of activities (thinking sleep and study, take it easy :-)).
Looking forward ...

Somebody turn off the brain, please, I'll do the lights myself.
Goodnight.

L

Excuses no more

I'm not doing it for Gerald any more.
He was lovely, and he has gone.

Whichever "it" that may be.

So there's no excuse. No "because I was trying to
fit in with what Gerald wanted
do what Gerald wanted
be what Gerald wanted
find what Gerald wanted
love the things Gerald loved
keep Gerald from being afraid
avoid all sorts of things for all sorts of reasons"
for Gerald's sake.

It was never a real excuse, I suspect, though it was often an excellent reason.

L

More than good stuff

"It doesn't seem possible that someone like Dad could have died."
Indeed. Actually, I think he just needed some time out. There he is - a little shame-faced, but expecting to be forgiven, as always. An inappropriate joke comes out, we all feel a bit uncomfortable, then fall about laughing as the follow-up is something truly hilarious.

Or not.

Yesterday I
- handed in my last piece of work for the academic year. It was fine (though boring, and I never got really comfortable with it). It was squeezed out by utter necessity, rather than bubbling to the top of a set of thoughts and meanderings and connections and soundbytes, as the best pieces do.
- was enrolled by the Student Dean at the law school in a full course load (up to the max 80 points per semester allowed by uni rules) for both semesters next year
- was persuaded that Summer School would be a bad idea; better to recover physically and emotionally and be flexible for the summer, do some pre-work, and run into Semester 1 with strength and power.

Which means I am almost certain to be granted some kind of pass in 3 of the 4 basic Law II papers I started with this year, leaving just one (that I had deleted from my record earlier when I thought I might possibly die from overload quicker than Gerald) to repeat next year
And the papers include ones I truly wanted to do, including Intellectual Property Law, and especially, Public International Law and International Human Rights. !!!

I think that is called a "result", which is odd, as abject and complete failure is equally a result.
At any rate, none of the transitionary trials have gotten easier BUT I now know what I will be doing next year, and am more than happy with what that is.

So, who's fault is all this good stuff?
No-one's really, as always: it is a gift - call it good luck (the Bible does), serendipity, karma, answer to prayer, the tide coming in ...

But many people have influenced this result:
- Alex and Sophie, patient with my being away working, walking, thinking, at the library, distracted ... and almost never complaining about that (probably relieved to have my attention diverted :-))
- Gerald. Thankyou. Are you pleased? Do you think I'll end up involved in nation-state conflict resolution? You would say yes, I know - and be scared that I'd be away from home too much.
- Andrew, Michael, Jenny, and Gerald's whole home group for not only ongoing support, rostered caring shifts, help with meals but the wonderful spearheading of the funeral organisation by Michael
- St Cuthberts Parents and Friends: for meals and baking for what probably ended up at least 10 weeks, I lost count to avoid feeling further embarrassed, and learnt to accept yet another "present" that tipped the balance in favour of coping.
- Mum. She knows.
- heck, can I continue this list another time?

I hope some West Coast miner's wife has a moment of joy about her emerging new life today, amidst the disbelief and bewilderment.

L

Crap and less than good stuff

We've been having both of these.

Abject misery some days.
Just about managing others.
Really good moments also, again, the last couple of days, just when I thought good times were gone for good ...

And then the miners, and so much loss, despair, pain, levelling, anger, pressure and failed hopes.

For us, for me, it was all so almost-OK and kind-of-manageable with so much help and support despite everything for so long that, I guess, something was going to get pretty yucky sometime.

Which was great, because at the first sign of unravelling, my children pack me off out of the house.
(I wish :-)).
But I am going to Sydney for a couple of days in about 10.

Yay.
Start the destress, a few days out of each others' hair, a non-re-adjusting few days.
Re-adjustment is for the birds, overrated.

Oh - and I only have 17 more words to prune out of my essay to get down to the word limit + some citations to sort out (no hope) + printing and backing sheeting (which I usually do wrong) ... with a whole 20 hours to go.

Oh - and I had coffee with my friend Christie today. Who doesn't think she knows any better, is sure of any answers, or needs to fix all of my, her, or anyone else's varied issues.

'sgood.

L

A rose or two

A friend gave me / us a rose for a wedding present. It was ruby red and fragrant, and this year it appeared to have died. But before I threw out the roots to repurpose the pot, new growth sprung up in the weeks before Gerald left.
The new growth still looks healthy. I need to prune away some of the dead wood.

A friend gave me a rose for a bereavement present. It is deep, vibrant yellow and fragrant, and still sitting in its earth and polythene in a likely planting place behind the pool.
I nearly gave it back, because of its name.
"Serendipity" seemed either harsh or overly hopeful in the aftermath of grief and extremity.
I didn't.

I won't.
I'd like to cultivate a natural gift for making pleasant, valuable, or useful discoveries by accident.

Maybe less world-changing than Alexander Fleming's return from a vacation to find penicillin molds had killed bacteria where he had neglected to disinfect.
Lois-changing would be far-reaching and ambitious enough.

Someone who has a habit of finding things by serendipity is a serendipper, while a person who acknowledges, believes, and hopes in serendipity is a serendipitist.
It's true, I read it on the internet :-)

L the S

If you were to write a novel ...

... what would it be about?

The person who asked me this question yesterday had in mind, I think, what country, what setting, context, plot, what would happen in terms of physical sequence of events.

(Though I haven't asked him, so here I am breaking my own rule of never (rarely) assume ... :-))

My mind played about with the idea when half-awake this morning.
I'd write about learning as you go, and courage.
Courage - the power to let go of the familiar.
Courage - the willingness to take up the unfamiliar.

So - half-awake?
Yep. 2 nights sleep in a row.
Now, of course, I'm terrified.
Maybe I'll become a lethargic person who mostly can't be bothered, whose world revolves around as much time as possible in relaxing oblivion.

' suppose that's not so likely.
Scary, though - even such a little change.
I think I secretly prefer being pushed to extremes.

Not so secretly, then.

This blog program is annoying in its lack of emoticons.
I must get better at tone * 100 lines.

L

Do not stand at my grave and cry

"I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight."

The flocked birds have energy, and, it seems, decisiveness. No hesitancy.

Sleep.
The second night since who knows when, last night.
Good things coming in due season.
The scent on the wind has changed.
Yesterday. Thursday, 18th November, 2010.


L

And we have not

A whole week since the funeral.

The funeral was "good" in all its imperfect joyousness ... a fitting tribute and remembrance to a man who had already left us.

And now the letting go.
And the embracing of new things and people and configurations of life.

None of it feels quite right - why is that?

20 months centred on Gerald.
How do we re-locate a centre - as individuals, as a family?

Where is the comfort for Alex? for Sophie?
I guess we will flail about for a bit.
Are we responsible for the comforters?

Not a whole heap of good ideas; I expect they will come soon.
Do we all need space? And a very few, very forgiving, close friends?

Surely there must be creative leaps through the process?
Less forced march, and more moments where the energy of new creation (fission and fusion) overtakes the loss, are what I had in mind ...

L

Gerald has died

I'm not sure about the menagerie

I haven't tasted either of them.
No thankyou.
Is there a chicken on the table?
Which table?
The dining room table.
A live chicken or a dead chicken?
A live one.
I don't think so.
Let's see how he goes today.
Do you think he'll be OK?
Yeah.
Who is the criminal in Indonesia? You got the email, didn't you?
No, did you get it?
Yeah.
Do you remember when Alexander was born?
Do you remember when Sophie was born?
(thumbs up sign)
Why?
That's odd, for Johnny!
It was less than four hours.
What was less than four hours?
Flying to Tahiti.
Have you been to Tahiti?
Yes (oh, not true!).
That was my question.
Woops! dropped the antenna!

As often, I have managed to cause a little confusion about the confusion :-)
The joyful randomnesses (when they aren't a little frightening for Gerald) started before the increase in morphine, and aren't (just) a result of the medication.
General end-of-life confusion and sometimes agitation, as well as the uraemia accompanying kidney failure are likely causes.

Whatever ... decreasing lucidity has been noticeable in stages since Thursday morning (it's Saturday morning now, for those in upside-down parts of the planet).
Confusion is less interspersed with awareness now.
Situation is: distinct change during the night (just 1 vomiting session) and increasing change this morning.
I sometimes need to explain which is the glass of water and which is the tub for spitting into once the mouth is refreshed.

I never planned these last times. Too much of a remove from the driving, striving life.
And they are fun.
And very intimate.
Gerald and I are laughing together a lot - the eyebrows are the most expressive facial feature by far.
I just said to him, who would have thought you would be so much fun.
He pointed to himself (me, I would).
More laughing. Well, Gerald can't do the laughing, but can still smile sometimes, and there's the eyebrow thing.

What a difference a day makes ... that might just have been the first line of the very first post written when I set this blog up for Gerald, bullied into it by the ever-agressive Marc Fountain.
:-D

L

What is this?

Another day passed.

Tripled morphine in pump, to help with overall comfort and ease agitation.

Bright-eyed this afternoon, reading a magazine (stunning) - is this the fabled last burst of energy?
I think maybe the second to last.

He asked me to stay with him when I settled him for the night last night (it's 1:30 am or so now). So I have.
In Annelies' old chair, done proud, fairly dead but having a great and worthy last innings.

Randomnesses started in earnest this morning (we've had them before, but less consistently).

"It was Right Said Fred."
"I think I got confused."
"Black Box, Mike and Jenny" (this one turned out sensible - Mike and Jenny have our set of Black Books. Do you? It's a worry :-)).
"Do I need help to get up?"
"Barry's just leaving."
"Are they?"
"You said, the bad ones have come out bad?"
"Pointing (at nothing): "Arrows".
"Welcome. You are welcome."
"I left my book somewhere. The extra book."

and, best of all -
"Why did I have to put on a skirt?"

As I said to Richard by email (from memory), it's all so like the kind of wordplay we indulge in anyway - left fielders with hidden connections - that there is nothing frightening or even unfamiliar about it.

Along the same lines as Alex's comment this evening to my musing on how much Sophie did or didn't want me to go shopping with her for Sarah's present (would require a Gerald-sitter for an hour or so): whether she minded one way or the other.
Alex said, "Cloudy".

Get it, then (neither did I, at first)?
With a chance of a martini. Meatballs over-rated.

And another Read-ism (only he can attest that this is not a non-sequitur): Gerald is From a Planet.
At 24 we understood that pseudo-normals such as ourselves were from earth; but Gerald was different - he was From a Planet. Untethered.
Now at 48 this seems a little too prescient.

But that, of course, is the 20-20 of hindsight, always able to see hidden not-really meanings.

One of the middle of (this) night's murmurings to finish us for now:

"7 + 7 + 8 8."
I thought this was a randomness, too - till 20 minutes later it was followed by
"Short rhythm pattern."

It takes putting the two together, and once I had, I checked it out with Gerald -
"Did you mean 7+7+8/8 was the short rhythm pattiern?"
"Yes".

So, in Rob-Boasman-speak (as endorsed by Wikipedia, look it up), this would be
Gi-na-Lo-lo-brig-i-da
Gi-na-Lo-lo-brig-i-da
Gi-na-Lo-lo-brig-i-da's-cool

No real sleep for either of us yet.
What is this?

L

Tireless

The man is tireless.

Only a little news.
Not a good night.
Niggles, wakefulness, dis-ease, tense belly, just usual stuff but more of it again.
And that's just me ...
No, kidding, kind of.

Extra morphine injection today to excellent effect.
More of these as required from now.
We are still on a very low daily dose through the syringe driver.

The troops keep marching.

Need a low key evening, not too sick, no other people, just us 4, plenty of back medecine, a comfort puddle to wallow in for a moment.

Temporary metamorphosis (hippo), then.
Zippo.

I'm getting a funny mixture of jolts of encouragement, way off the board wrong assumptions, and laughs with old friends.

Sounds about right, then.

What's with the thens, then?

L

Sung hero

My mother seems made for times like this.

My mum and I don’t get on. Not really.
I am a puzzle, an enigma, or perhaps plain old confusing
(and not just to my Mum, neither :-)).

[offstage feedback from My Mum:
... this is horrifying, mortifying, awful, and could not be true.

And from me:
... not all will find it so, and this particular truth is important and half won't do.
Relationship perfection is not required for wonder and magic to happen for me because of you.

Now back with the programme ...]

But at the core, I would aspire to the qualities she exhibits during these days.
Unsparing of herself, serious but with lightness, non-intrusive, freely serving with joy.
A little worried, perhaps, but mostly at ease in a role of making the pathway simpler and clearer for others.

Her own (currently in remission) leukemia and the physical limitations of being 71 remain relevant but impose little on her purpose.
Her own widowhood drives her caring to a level beyond.

black / white
weaknesses / strengths
yin / yang
limitations / creative boundaries
fears / catalysts for change
fallow times / invisible and deepest changes

L