Mortality, healing and the difficulties for RA survivors to find a good shrink.
Saw my grandad twice over the long weekend. He said something about someone called Alan and 'I couldnae stand up to them'. I couldnae help wondering if related to the sense I've started having about going on trips with my Grandad when I was very little, 2ish say, a good bit before we moved to Glen. There was arguments about it. Incest glimpses, my legs are bended up towards my face, he is on top. My dad was an obvious bastard but Grandad not so. I have the usual sense of disbelief when the images and feelings are not ones I have already become accustomed to.
My cousin's funeral on Monday. The doctors have been saying my grandad doesn't have long for years. I never believed it before but today I lent over his devastatingly frail and angular frame and tried to lift him up against his pillows I knew something big had changed. Thankfully a nurse saw this and they sorted him out. Outside in the corner a woman kept crying and arguing with the nurses because they didn't want her to go back to bed. My gran was heartbroken, of course but she was distracted by lusting over the cake that the staff were eating as they walked past the side room door. There was bunting and a table all set out all bonnie in the day room for the jubilee, I could hear the singing from a telly. God Save The Queen sung with gusto by thousands in the background as my gran talked in support of voluntary euthanasia; They wouldn't let a dog lie like this'. His eye opened briefly in a smile and he turned his head when my wee man announced his arrival. I gave my gran a hug when we dropped her of home, she looked glad I was around.
Back from the beach and the chipper I felt lost, like crying but without any tears, sobbing or noise. Thankfully though, wee man's digestive system made the decision to stop playing the computer after days of too much crisps and ice cream was made for him as was my ambivalence I had about showering him. Moisturiser, hair brushed, two stories, 12 kisses and 12 hugs. He was asleep by half past six. Under the duvet, with his head on a pillow, at the right end of the bed. I'm beginning get comfortable with loving him. The other day he made me smile in a way that made me feel like I was using a cheek muscle that had not be used in a long time. I'm getting more comfortable with lots of things.
Shame about the shrink though. We agreed I needed something more regular. We can't get into relaxation or regression every now and again. I need something every week, something during school hours. When we shook hands goodbye I squeezed his hand. He refused to take all the money and gave me a tenner back, told me to go buy some summer reading. On the way out I told him he worked too much, he agreed. Before the second hand bookshop I had a pint in the chairs and table outside the nearby Irish themed bar on a busy street. Smiling for a while, lapping up big city people watching with the Guinness. I knew by the time I'd gotten off the bus that this was going to be the last time I did this and relished every second of it all. Books bought I headed down the road to the old 'ood. Wandering into all the posh food shops that I usually felt too inferior to even glance into when I lived there. I was looking for a panini.
Eventually I got a tuna and salad roll from a wee ice cream place that had pictures of bikers and motorbikes lining the street outside an the wall. It was fresh, overfilled and pretty fine once I picked out most of the white onion. Washing it down with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon that cost the same as what I usually spent on a bottle. It was sunny. I raised my face to the sun, drank more wine, chatted; familiar Lis Mor crowd of cool adults and male letches than often owned or had owed something nearby. I read some Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency. Had a Morgans and Lemonade, much cheaper. The was shining still all the bus ride home through tree lined roads and bunting strewn Dunfermline. By the time I got back to my mum and sister's with chips and barbecue sauce the kids where all sleeping and the wine was open.
It takes a lot from all that family stuff but at least now it gives something worthwhile back. It is worth it, surviving. Espically when you grow your own.
My cousin's funeral on Monday. The doctors have been saying my grandad doesn't have long for years. I never believed it before but today I lent over his devastatingly frail and angular frame and tried to lift him up against his pillows I knew something big had changed. Thankfully a nurse saw this and they sorted him out. Outside in the corner a woman kept crying and arguing with the nurses because they didn't want her to go back to bed. My gran was heartbroken, of course but she was distracted by lusting over the cake that the staff were eating as they walked past the side room door. There was bunting and a table all set out all bonnie in the day room for the jubilee, I could hear the singing from a telly. God Save The Queen sung with gusto by thousands in the background as my gran talked in support of voluntary euthanasia; They wouldn't let a dog lie like this'. His eye opened briefly in a smile and he turned his head when my wee man announced his arrival. I gave my gran a hug when we dropped her of home, she looked glad I was around.
Back from the beach and the chipper I felt lost, like crying but without any tears, sobbing or noise. Thankfully though, wee man's digestive system made the decision to stop playing the computer after days of too much crisps and ice cream was made for him as was my ambivalence I had about showering him. Moisturiser, hair brushed, two stories, 12 kisses and 12 hugs. He was asleep by half past six. Under the duvet, with his head on a pillow, at the right end of the bed. I'm beginning get comfortable with loving him. The other day he made me smile in a way that made me feel like I was using a cheek muscle that had not be used in a long time. I'm getting more comfortable with lots of things.
Shame about the shrink though. We agreed I needed something more regular. We can't get into relaxation or regression every now and again. I need something every week, something during school hours. When we shook hands goodbye I squeezed his hand. He refused to take all the money and gave me a tenner back, told me to go buy some summer reading. On the way out I told him he worked too much, he agreed. Before the second hand bookshop I had a pint in the chairs and table outside the nearby Irish themed bar on a busy street. Smiling for a while, lapping up big city people watching with the Guinness. I knew by the time I'd gotten off the bus that this was going to be the last time I did this and relished every second of it all. Books bought I headed down the road to the old 'ood. Wandering into all the posh food shops that I usually felt too inferior to even glance into when I lived there. I was looking for a panini.
Eventually I got a tuna and salad roll from a wee ice cream place that had pictures of bikers and motorbikes lining the street outside an the wall. It was fresh, overfilled and pretty fine once I picked out most of the white onion. Washing it down with a glass of Cabernet Sauvignon that cost the same as what I usually spent on a bottle. It was sunny. I raised my face to the sun, drank more wine, chatted; familiar Lis Mor crowd of cool adults and male letches than often owned or had owed something nearby. I read some Number 1 Ladies Detective Agency. Had a Morgans and Lemonade, much cheaper. The was shining still all the bus ride home through tree lined roads and bunting strewn Dunfermline. By the time I got back to my mum and sister's with chips and barbecue sauce the kids where all sleeping and the wine was open.
It takes a lot from all that family stuff but at least now it gives something worthwhile back. It is worth it, surviving. Espically when you grow your own.
