Hello darkness, my old friend...

Several people have asked me how I’m doing, following yesterday’s post. I found myself in tears again this evening, once I was alone and the kids were in bed. I caught my inner dialogue saying “you’ve had your **** together today, but it’s okay to not have it together now”. I found myself thinking that this weather perfectly mimics how I’m doing.

I’m like the river not too far from my house. The worst of the storm has passed, but the river is riding high - the water is just below the bridge level. It won’t take much to make the water rise up over the bridge, and wash it away. I can’t concentrate on anything remotely requiring a thoughtful, considered decision or response. I tried to prep my sourdough starter to bake some bread, thinking that the physicality of kneading bread would help - instead, I ended up killing my starter. I baked it accidentally. (After feeding it, because the house was so cold, I thought I’d put it in the warming drawer cos that’s a nice warm spot, right?) Why? Because I can’t think straight about anything that requires a thoughtful or considered decision. I went shopping, to just get “a few things” - I even had a list! - and ended up spending far more than was necessary, because I couldn’t make appropriate choices. Actually, I’m surprised I didn’t spend more on comfort items and food. People have been messaging me all day, and all I can respond with is “thanks”, because I don’t have the energy to think of anything more appropriate to say. I misread an email about my son’s aftercare, so left him stranded at school (and got yelled at by the principal for doing so). I forgot my daughter’s orthodontist appoinment yesterday, and then nearly forgot her rescheduled one today (fortunately for me, they had a staff member who tested positive, so called me to cancel the appt an hour beforehand - saved by the bell, what?) I could go. There’s a long list of decisions not made, or bad decisions made, or just the general inability to think straight about anything for the past 2 days.

And then it hit me - I’m grieving. These emotions are not just guilt about moving my mother into an institution. This is full blown grief: grief for the woman who birthed me and raised me, and now is no longer herself; grief for the broken promises; grief for the lost relationship; grief for the fact that, because of level 3 lockdown, I can’t even go to visit and give her a hug; grief for the fear and anxiety she is feeling in her new environment, that she can’t adequately express because she no longer has that capacity; grief for the role reversal and having to be the adult who carries the can...

Having lost my daughter 13 years ago, grief is a familiar companion, an odd sort of friend. I would love there to be a quick fix, a quick way to lower the level of the water flowing under the bridge, an outlet for my grief that would allow this pain to dissipate quickly. Experience tells me that time won’t heal this wound, but it will make it easier to live with. There are now 2 gaping holes in the floor of my internal living room - one I’m very used to walking around rather than falling into. In time I’ll learn to walk around this new one too. And, again, as I’ve learnt, I will have good days where I won’t fall in at all, and other days where I will fall in a lot. Such is the nature of grief. 

And I recall that I don’t need to have the energy to see people or talk to them. I don’t need to have the words to say. I don’t need to be able to make decisions. I don’t need to get my **** together. It’s okay to not be okay. This too shall pass.

Lord alone knows what I’m going to teach my matrics tomorrow - because I haven’t prepped a lesson for them, because I don’t have the energy to do that.. Thank God for years of experience - I know that I’ve got this. I am good at flying by the seat of my pants, and so I’m not worried about tomorrow’s lesson. I’m more worried about the hours I’m not teaching, but have to be at school. Being alone in my office is not going to be good for me, but neither is being with others that I really have no energy for. Maybe I’ll give myself permission to read at work, to take a book and escape into that for a few hours. (Maybe I’’ll even try prepping a proper lesson!)

Is there someone more adultier than me in the room?

I am ready to run away, to hide from the world, for as long as it takes for a more adultier adult to show up. Today, I moved my mother, who has Alzheimer’s, into care. 

When I was a young adult, she and I moved my gran from PE to CPT. My gran had Alzheimer’s and by the time we realized what was going on, she had deteriorated significantly. Moving her to CPT was by far one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do. My mom took a week to pack up my gran’s house, and then I went up to help drive her back. My gran was so aggressive and point blank refused to move. The only way we could move her out was to sedate her, and then get the fire department to help us hoist her into the back of a bakkie. It was traumatic and horrible, and the months that followed, while she lived with us, were incredibly difficult.

My mom’s disease has progressed to the point where there are moments each day when she no longer recognizes me. Sometimes when we give her medicine, she thinks we’re trying to poison her. Some days her conversation makes no sense at all.

When a space opened up at a local care centre, and lockdown eased enough for us to move her in, we jumped at it. Today it was my task to talk to her about moving, and then to move her in. Given my experience with my gran, I was really dreading this. However, when I arrived this morning, she was sufficiently lucid that I could talk to her without drama. In her lucid state, she agreed that moving was the right thing to do. As the day progressed though, she regressed and became confused, then scared, then angry. The drive from her home to the centre was ... heartbreaking. My mom said things that I can’t bear to repeat. I just kept telling myself that this wasn’t really her, that it was her fear speaking through the disease. But they hurt, all the same.

As wonderful as the staff are, her room isn’t as comfortable as her home. She doesn’t have all the comforts she’s used to. She doesn't have her cat, or her garden, although she has the centre cat and the beautiful garden at the centre. I feel terrible that she doesn’t have her TV, or her own bathroom. We can’t afford anything more at the moment (especially if she’s going to live for several more years).

I’m not allowed to visit her, because we’re still under level 3. That slays me! I want nothing more than to spend some time with her every day, to help her feel more settled and ease the stress of moving. But that’s not going to happen for a while. 

So as I drove away this afternoon all I wanted, after being the adult in the room all day, was to have someone more adultier than me take over. But there isn’t really anyone else who can make these decisions for me, or who can help. While others can stand with me, and support me, only I can actually walk through this. And this is hard. So hard.

Another step towards the grave

Where do I begin, to tell the story of how great a love can be...

Today I learnt that my mother has slid down another rung (or few) on the Alzheimer’s ladder.

This photo was taken of us just more than 20 years ago. This is the woman I remember. She was fiercely independent, because she had to be. She was so very competent at everything she attempted. When faced with a seemingly insurmountable obstacle, she found a way around it, or through it, or to move it. She loved her gardening, and her pets. She had her vices (wine and cigarettes), but her virtues far outshone those. She was always in my corner, but she took no prisoners when I was in the wrong. She made sacrifice after sacrifice to provide for me. 

I remember one year, when I was going on a school camp in winter, she didn’t have money to buy me a jacket or a suitable jersey, so she knitted me one, even though she HATED knitting. That jersey was one of my favorites until it was  eventually too small for me. When my parents separated, she twisted her boss’ arm to let her work from home so I never had to come home to an empty house. She made my school lunches till I matriculated, always ham sandwiches, because her love language was deeds/ actions.

My step-sister sent this photo to me this past week. She was going through an old album and saw it. I posted it on Facebook, saying that this is how I want to remember my mother, not as who she has become as a result of her disease. My step-father showed it to her over the weekend... and although she remembered that I was her daughter, but couldn’t remember my name.

My head tells me that this was just the next step in her deterioration; not to take it personally. My heart hasn’t processed this yet - that my own mother can’t remember my name. It’ll happen, in time, I know. I hate this disease, that is taking her from me, one horrible step at a time.

Sweet dream or a beautiful nightmare

I don't know about you, but when I dream, I dream in glorious technicolour and surround sound. This morning I was woken up from my dream, and the fear & anxiety I had has stayed with me all day.

In my dream I was a man (first weird thing), working in a bar/ restaurant - think: American style eatery in a small town... you know, the kind where everyone gathers to ride out a storm.

And there was a seriously big storm coming (hurricane?)- everyone from town was pouring into the restaurant - the safety of being together, plus we had a generator in case the power went out. My ex-girlfriend, who I still had feelings for, emailed me a photo to pass on to the guy she was starting to date. I was about to respond that we both missed her (meaning I missed her) when my emails appeared on the big screen in the restaurant, so everyone could see.

Then I was distracted by the in-coming storm. We were frantically trying to board up windows, settle everyone and make sure that everyone had their emergency essentials. Someone crucial (can't remember who) was missing though, so another girl and I went out into the storm to look for this person. We were suddenly standing in the middle of a vast parking lot (as you do, in dreams) (and suddenly I was a woman again (weird, I know) in the pouring rain, yelling at each other over the wind.

I just remember the dark, the rain and the howling wind. I remember my fear of the storm, of not finding this person, of dying in the storm, and my anxiety about not having told my ex that I still loved her. And then the front door of my house closed and woke me up.

All day I've felt on edge, waiting for some imminent, life-threatening danger to strike. My fuse has been exceptionally short and my anxiety levels are high - I can feel it sitting in my chest, like an asthma attack or heart arrhythmia about to happen.

I thought putting it down on paper, acknowledging these feelings out loud, would help, but it's actually just made them worse. My prayers feel like gasps, and knowing Jesus is with me isn't helping. There's no rational reason to feel this way, yet I do. If it were evening, I'd have a big glass of wine and hide away under my duvet with chocolate and Netflix, but it's still mid-afternoon. Plus, hiding never solved anything. Is this what it feels like to have a panic attack?

Friendship in modern times

I've been friends with someone for about 8 years now. Our kids went to the same nursery/ pre-primary school, which is how we met. Then she and her husband moved to the same church as us. However, when it came time for primary school, they opted to home school. As they no longer had a car, and their local primary school wasn't great, it was a decision I understood, and supported. What I didn't realise at the time was that it was also the beginning of the end of our friendship.

It's relatively common, I would have thought, that when people stop moving in the same circles their friendship drifts apart. That's what happened to us. With our kids moving in completely different social and extra-mural circles, and with them no longer having a car, we had to make more of an effort to see them - which we did, initially. They made the decision to leave our church following a series of horrible incidents (not through the church, I hasten to add, but in their home and personal lives) that resulted in my friend developing a serious anxiety disorder which left her unable to leave her house for more than a few minutes at a time.

I know I wasn't the greatest of friends to her at the time - I really didn't know how to respond to her, because initially every attempt I made was rebuffed. It was only later that she explained to me that she'd developed anxiety and how it affected her, but by that time I'd interpreted the situation to be that she no longer wanted to be friends. I also know that while her life slowed down, mine became busier as my kids extra-murals, work and church life became busier. I made a real effort to take her out for coffee - just the two of us, to try to reconnect. I apologised for not being there when she needed me. But I think it was all too little, too late.

As I said, it's not uncommon for friends to drift apart, but does that mean the friendship is over? I'm not sure. I have colleagues I've worked with who became good friends, but with whom I have limited contact now. Yet, when we do reconnect, there's no doubt that we still love and care for each other, and are still friends. My friends back in the UK are people I rarely see other than on Facebook now, yet I have no doubt that were they to come here, or were I to visit there, our friendship would continue. We don't stop being friends just because we no longer chat or see each other. Right?

I've made peace with the fact that, as a teacher, the rhythms of my life revolve around term time. Unless I see my friends when we're both attending a kids' event - sport or birthday parties, or school plays, or whatever - or at church, during term time I barely see them. There's very little time left between my kids, home, family (both G and I have large families), work and church. Because most of my friends have kids of school-going age, they get it. There's no animosity about it, or feeling abandoned - we just accept that that's how it is, and we plan to see each other during holidays when we have more time.

Yesterday, after 8 years, this friend phoned me to to let me know she no longer wants to be friends, and to ask me to please stop contacting her and her family. It was the most surreal conversation I've ever had.

We are very different individuals, which is what I really loved about our friendship. She helped me to see things in a completely different light. And maybe that's the problem. Maybe what I valued most about her friendship was what she brought into my life, rather than valuing her. I didn't always agree with her decisions, or her theology, but I didn't judge her for them - I hadn't lived through the trials she had. And maybe I wasn't open enough with her about that, and she interpreted my silence as judgement, and maybe she felt she needed to live up to some standard she thought I was holding her to.

Still, I was perplexed that she felt she needed to cut all ties with me. Her comment was that when we met up or chatted, she felt she was being fake with me, and she didn't want to do that anymore. She said she'd been having nightmares about it. I'll be honest - that hurt. It hurt because we had promised each other, back when I went to apologise and make amends, that we would be honest with each other about where we were at and what we each needed. It means that she either lied to me then, or had been lying to me since then.

I know our friendship has drifted. That's life; sad, but true. I know we are very different individuals and that what she needed in a friend I wasn't able to provide. But was it necessary to be as explicit as calling an end to the friendship and asking to cut all ties? That seems really dramatic to me.

And yet, if that's what she needs, or wants, then I'm not going to refuse her. Why would I want to cause her more pain than I already have? Maybe being explicit, while painful now, is the best solution in the long term. Maybe firmly closing this chapter is the right thing to do. I guess I'll only know the answer to that in time.

On the flip side, lockdown has brought me new friends. Just this morning we and our neighbours spent two hours on our driveways, having morning tea together and chatting about life, the universe, and everything. It was amazing! Lockdown has given us the opportunity to get to know the people living right on our doorstep. We had started to build friendships with those on our doorstep a while back, but lockdown has given us the opportunity to really build on that foundation, and speed up the development of our friendship. We've had meals together on our driveway, watched movies together (separately... pushed play at the same time on Netflix or DSTV, and then chatted on whatsapp while the movie played), played online games together, chatted over the fence between our gardens. It's been a very special time. Maybe these friendships, forged in hardship, will still be strong and vibrant when life goes back to normal. Maybe, when real life pressures intrude once again, they'll fade too. But for now, I treasure this time we have together, and I'm grateful for the amazing friends living right on our doorstep.

Lockdown day #... I’m not sure.

This Easter was one of the strangest I have ever experienced - no Good Friday reflections at church; no Easter Sunday celebrations at church, no family lunches, no chocolate egg-giving to friends. Yet, our online service on Sunday morning was memorable for the worship.

This lockdown weekend has been difficult in other ways though. While we’re in a sort of school routine, the days are manageable. Having a routine helps. But the 4-day Easter weekend was madness. It was slothful, and miserable, and the kids annoyed each other (and us) interminably. The worst part was being unable to send them down the road to play with friends, or out to cycle on their bikes. I realized afresh there’s nowhere to go for a bit of silence.

So I was really looking forward to today - back to school, back to a semblance of routine, back to a measure of normality without the annoyance of being in each other’s space all the time.

Because I’d set my students tests, I knew I didn’t have to be online this morning, so I got a few chores done (laundry, cleaning bathrooms, vacuuming... the usual). I also started painting the gate that I’ve been meaning to paint for months.

And then everything went to hell in a hand basket. I don’t really want to talk about it right now - still too fresh, too painful - suffice to say that no-one’s died or had to go to hospital. Things would have been much better if I wasn’t in lockdown, and I’d been in a position to get in my car to go and visit. Lockdown is saving lives, but today I really didn’t care about that. I really didn’t give a toss - I could only see how it made a difficult situation horrendous.

My eyes are swollen and sore from crying. My heart is broken and grieving. My only prayer today has been “Abba! Daddy!” I couldn’t even pray for myself, or the situation. I feel utterly useless and powerless. I just want this day to be over, and for tomorrow to be a new day, with fresh possibilities and fresh hope. Even reading the Word brought me no comfort today. The comfort I’ve received today has been from my wonderful husband, from a few friends, from other Christians who have (once again) held me up in prayer when I am unable to pray for myself, who have listened as I’ve cried, who have spoken truth and hope into my bleak reality. This is what community looks like, and true community is able to transcend lockdown.

So if you’re in a dark space, a dry space, a painful space, I want you to know that you’re not alone. Today, I’ve been there. But more than that, I want you to know that if you reach out, you will find community. You can have real connections with others, even in times like these. And if you feel like there’s no-one you can call, no-one who would be willing to listen, no-one who could understand, then I want you to know that’s not true, because if you have no-one else then I will be that person for you. 

We all have dark days, hard days, difficult days. But we don’t ever have to walk through them alone. “Even though I walk through the dark valley of death, because you are with me, I fear no harm.” Ps 23 vs 4. Though Easter was a few days ago, its message resonates every day. Though it may feel like it’s Friday, Sunday’s acoming! 

Listen to the rhythm of the falling rain...

I’m sitting on my stoep (porch) listening to the rain falling through the sail cloth onto our outdoor table. In the distance I can hear car tyres whoosing on the main road that runs past our house. Ignoring the “why are there are cars moving out there?”, it’s a lovely sound. I love hearing the different sounds of water. I have my glass of sherry-replacement, and my novel, and I’ve just had a skype call with my step-dad. I can smell the smokey braai, as the left-over ashes are dampened - reminds me of camping and good times with friends gathered around a fire. All is right with the world.

(Oh dear - my peace has just been disturbed by the neighbour choosing to watch vlogs with their window open.... )

Ok, so time for confessions.

All is not right with the world, which is why I am out here and not inside where it’s cozy. I think we have definitely all been in each other’s space long enough now. I resorted to taking the dogs out onto the field next door to us, via our back gate (which opens directly onto the field) and standing in the shelter of the wall - just to breathe some non-house air. The dogs were initially pleased, but as soon as they realized it was ... well, it wasn’t raining exactly... more like a heavy mist about 4m above the ground, falling gently down onto us... anyway! As soon as they realized it was wet, they lost their enthusiasm and wanted to come back in.

So now I’m out here, with doors and windows closed so I can’t hear what’s going on inside - at least, until they start killing each other. That I’m sure I’ll be able to hear. Glass isn’t that thick, after all.

What is is about the people we love, that they can drive us completely and utterly insane?

We had such a lovely anniversary day yesterday, bar one very unpleasant situation where several things came to a head all at the same time and ... I can’t even talk about it. I can’t handle my kids being hurt. “Sticks and stones” is the biggest lie. Words hurt the deepest, because they can’t be unsaid. Any one of the issues on their own would have been ok, but thrown them all into the mix at the same time, and it felt like an emotional nuclear bomb had gone off.

We fixed things, somewhat. A bit of emotional duct (gaffer) tape, and A bit of prayer, and we managed to At least mitigate the fall out. The rest of the day was fabulous though. It’s been a no-pressure weekend for me - one in which I refused to put any expectations on myself of what I should, or ought, or must do. The kids and I had a very silly water fight, which was just incredible (albeit cold!) I wish I could let myself relax and be silly more. I wish I could have more of those moments with my kids, laugh at myself a bit more. I know how much it means to them when I do.

(I must confess I watch some of the silly videos that people I know have created, and I just die for them. There’s silly, and then there’s just totally embarrassing.)

We also had the most wonderful anniversary dinner at ‘Homemade Sibling Fancy Restaurant’. The chefs and wait staff were just lovely, and G and I chatted about the various meals and events that have stuck in our memory over the past 22 years. What a trip down memory lane that was!

Today has been even better - I haven’t even gotten dressed today! I can’t remember the last time I did that, apart from being sick and so having to stay home in bed. We went to church (virtually, of course), chatted with the Clan (my husband doesn’t just have a family... he has a Clan), watched movies, I crocheted, we went on a virtual game drive to &Beyond Ngala (a private game reserve on the western boundary with Kruger) where we got to see lions RIGHT NEXT to the Landrover (I confess I was expecting one to stand up and klap the ranger one shot! Even he admitted afterwards he had been scared. Another ranger told me previously though that they are unlikely to do that as they see you as part of the vehicle - provided you don’t give them a reason to think different, they will leave you alone if you’re in the vehicle. I wasn’t sure I wanted to test that theory though.) and they also took us to some 8 day old hyaena cubs. These game rangers are incredibly knowledgeable, I must say, and showed us lots of smaller game, birds and insects we would NEVER have found on our own. Plus, the kids get to email them questions which they answer live. It’s FANTASTIC. You should join us tomorrow. They have drives at 5.30am and 3.30pm every day, and each drive is about 3hrs long. Find them at WildEarth on YouTube.

Now I get to sit out here and listen to the sounds of a wet world, while sipping on my (4th?) glass of some fortified wine or other. (And the noisy neighbour has gone to bed...) The crickets and frogs are out. The air is fresh. The post-rain dripping from the leaves is truly the most peaceful music. I think I may sleep out here tonight....I’ll just have to see what the mozzarellas situation it like in a bit.

And it occurs to me that the most important person in my life is someone I haven’t spoken to in a while. That in the midst of my selfish schloff weekend, I have made no time to talk to the one who made it all, the one who sustains it all, the one who gave it all, the one who left it all - for me. As peaceful as it is out here, this peace is transitory. As wonderful as it is out here, this is transitory. As soon as I open the door again, everything I’m running from will come flooding back - the frustration, the anger, the upset. There is only one in whom lasting peace can be found; there is only one in whom true wonder is found. And I’ve pretty much ignored him all weekend.

Time to fix things, I think.