A shaft of light, torch-like, lights the room this room, off a corridor, in the huge building. Alone, save the silent nurse who sleeps, I long to be home, to be kissed, to take in the scent of Dad’s neck as he carries me.
My body does not respond no matter my effort lifeless as a flower cut with petals dropping, my limbs inert, akinetic, mute my voice, this done to me without my knowing, and yet I sense each touch every invasive thing. I am destroyed, a mind encased inside a tomb that is my flesh, bone and blood.
My thoughts drift back to familiar worlds of being chosen, the boy sweet on me, golden hair they shaved away, the branch in that tree smoothed by our jeans, I could not know it would be you that died in my arms, and my Dad would die there too.
Receiving my copiesof One Hundred Memories yesterday was a completion of a long process, and I have come to know and love the editor very much. Her services to poetry are tremendous and I admire her greatly.
I read my poem a tear came to me. For no longer being a child, for all those things Dad did for us that I took for granted. For losing my Dad twice, once to Alzheimer’s and then to death. Although the Alzheimer’s helped me rediscover my Dad, as he forgot the chains my mother had wrapped around him over many years.
I am so grateful that my Dad died in my arms. My friends have found this hard. To me it was the most natural thing in the world. I cannot tell you how much I loved my Dad. He was always there for me, always calm. While my mother got hysterical and self centred, my Dad remained peaceful and strong. When my head had two openings, he never flinched, though he teared up. And while I was recovering, with akinetic mutism, he carried me.
Now that my sister has also died, it is likely that I will die alone. I do not have a partner, I have not wanted one for fifteen years when a long term relationship failed. I remember saying to someone last year that I don’t want involvement with a man, and then one crashed into my bedroom.
In all truth, it is better to be alone than to be in a relationship in which you have to pretend, lie, or not be your truly authentic self.
Never make do. I say this to all young people. Don’t settle for hamburger, when you can have steak.
Make sure you are on the same page about almost everything.
Today, a fellow blogger said I had given them inspiration. That’s humbling and reason for much gratitude. I feel such joy that they are inspiring others. That is why I stated this blog.
I am still feeling a bit lethargic, which isn’t surprising. I went to bed at 8pm last night as I was fighting off sleep. I woke at 5.30ish and then slept again for a couple of hours. I am feeling the heaviness in my chest now. To think I should have done something on Saturday is a learning curve. There is no use in crying over spilt milk. (I would never say that to someone else, it is too blunt, I would say it more gently.)
I am supposed to go to a poetry reading tonight. I will have to see how I feel. I hope I will go, as I love to go out in the evening.
I just got an email to say that my poem Who I Am will be published by Hedgehog Press next year along with nine others. This is really thrilling. I am always thrilled to appear in anthologies, but one with only ten poems is really special. It has really cheered me up while I am feeling unwell.
I have to go to a medical tomorrow. A friend was going to take me, but has let me down, another friend is unavailable, so I will have to take a bus. I have angst over this, like I used to get angst when in an airport. I always had a dread that I would miss my plane.
Today I got a wonderful email saying that my poem in One Hundred Memories will be illustrated. The original illustration will be mailed to me after the book launch.
This morning I was expecting the gardener to whom I gave my piano, to come and make some changes to my garden. I want some some of my gravelled area returned to flower bed so that I have less pots. While I was waiting, I started plant some bulbs and somehow lost my balance as I was peering into the far corner of a raised bed I made earlier this year, when I felt myself toppling over. I landed on my knee and my trousers were filthy so I went and had a shower. Simon and Stuart turned up some time later, and started weeding as I described where I wanted a triangle of flowerbed. Simon moved the cement mixing tray that I grow succulents on, and a toad was revealed. I was thrilled.
I went in to do work and terrible pain started in my left hand. I thought it was the cold at first, and then my left arm started to be painful. I excersised it but nothing changed, so eventually I took painkillers. I can still feel it, so will monitor it. I’m aware that I could hear the windchimes for the whole time I was outside, which causes me pain.
So now my path is clear of weeds, which I allow to grow to provide habitat for insects. They will soon grow back.
My damson tree and a climbing rose were planted.
I had another phone call for Quay Living. I asked who had given them my number. They would not give a name but provided enough information to tell me who it was. The police have been informed.
I’m no longer looking for places to move into. The apartment with the roof terrace has gone so nowhere else interests me and I love my home.
I have to say that since I was told an attempt will be made to get my neighbours to take down the wind chimes, I have found that they cause me to be more on edge and more pain. I don’t know when it will happen, I will only be told afterwards.
I know this could be psychosomatic, but also the effects of the windchimes have been cumulative. I have managed so sow some seeds, and dead head some flowers. I cry out in pain, but the pleasure of my garden is a pull, even in this very cold weather. Tomorrow the gardener to whom I gave my piano is coming to put back some flower bed near the house. I won’t have so far to carry my watering can, but drought tolerant plants will be planted anyway.
I’m looking forward to this. I love designing flowerbeds, I like swathes of colour. I have mislaid my spring bulbs but hope to find them tomorrow. I have a lot of plants in bloom out of season, but although scary due to climate change, I’m enjoying them.
In twelve days One Hundred Memories, an anthology for the Alzheimer’s Society is launching. I am a contributor. It will be great to have a copy. I’ve been in several anthologies, but this will only be the third one of which I will own a copy.
Today was my daughter’s 21st birthday. I gave her some very simple silver jewelry, a collar made in one piece of silver which comes to a point about 3.5inches below her neck, and a matching cuff bracelet that can be gently squeezed to fit her slender wrist.
We are going for a meal somewhere tomorrow.
On Saturday I received notification that one of my poems has been accepted by the Alzheimer’s Society for their anthology Memories. I am thrilled about this as this awful disease has touched my life. My Dad had it and I used to care for him.
This is a message from an editing suite that I use, and I’m always pleased that I employ more unique words than 97% of other users.
AUGUST 05 – AUGUST 11 Your Weekly Writing Update You chose such great words last week that you set new personal records in both vocabulary and productivity! Way to boost your skills! Keep up the great work.
My daughter, with one of her close friends who she met at dance class when she was seven.
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