...Think, Think, Think...

33 Sleeps...

Can you believe it?  Just 33 more sleeps until Christmas.

I've worked out what to buy everyone except my two best friends.  I'm struggling with one because he has everything he wants and the other because his taste is way better than mine and I don't want to get him a dud present.  I know its the thought that counts, but I want to make sure I get the right thing.

I'm feeling way more festive this year than I did last year.  I'm quite looking forward to it all this year but in honesty its mostly because I finish work on 23rd December and don't go back until 4th January.  That will be the longest break I've had all year.  

I had my first week off this year at the beginning of November and it was the first week that I did nothing for work.  All the other annual leave I have taken has involved me working in some capacity.  It's my own fault for not being able to say no.  Essentially, I've exhausted myself with all the early starts, late finishes, evenings and weekends on the laptop.  It's important to me that I do a good job but I've learned that I can't do that at the expense of my health or sanity.

The other thing I realised is that this is the first Christmas since my Grandmother passed away.  It seems odd without her.  Not that we spent Christmas together every year or anything like that, but it will be strange not to call her on Christmas Day and again on Boxing Day to wish her a happy birthday.

It feels like a lot has happened this year and I'm sad that she missed it.  My youngest cousin Danny got ridiculously good grades at his A-levels. My cousin Jay got engaged to his amazing girlfriend Charlotte and they're planning their wedding for next year.  It'll be in the same church as my grandmother's funeral because, by a lovely coincidence, it was the same church that Charlotte's grandparents were married in.  Grannie would have been so proud of them all.  While typing this post I realised that none of her grandchildren got married while she was alive.  I don't remember any family weddings, I think I was too young when they all happened, but I bet she loved them.  A nice excuse for dressing up and mingling. None of us had any children either, so she didn't get to be a great-grandmother.  She'd have been wonderful at that too.

Still, we'll all be thinking of her this Christmas.  Wherever she is, I know she'll be having a good one too.

 

P.S - To you know who, I hope this hasn't upset you but if it has I'm sorry sweetheart.  Just stuff on my mind xx

Meet Hobo...

This is Hobo:

She's our cat (obviously).  

Around this time last year, she started to sleep in our greenhouse every day. We put a makeshift bed in there for her, made from a plastic crate and an old jacket. Then we started to feed her a little bit, just some biscuits because she was obviously very hungry.

I'm not a cat person really and at the time of her arrival I was angling towards getting a dog (either a westie or a border collie) and so while she was quite cute, I wasn't that fussed on the whole business.

Gradually over the summer my Dad managed to get her to come to him so he could stroke her and before long she'd pretty much moved in.  

Poor little thing, she's clearly had a rough time as she's a bit jumpy around people, hates being picked up and has both her fangs missing on one side.

I've become a total fur-mummy.  I love her to bits, even though she doesn't really like me all that much.  She prefers my parents as they regularly feed her, whereas I don't because the smell of the food makes me heave.  

I never understood the cat people and all the fuss but now I do.  The thought of someone doing something bad to her really chokes me up and I'm really glad she found us or god knows what would have happened.  Especially during the winter when we had the snow, I'm sure she wouldn't have made it through that.

So...thats Hobo (and now you understand the name).  To follow are assorted pictures of my furbaby.  Normal, scathing, cynical blogging will resume shortly.

 

This is the back of the car. The first time we took her to the vets, we didn't have a carrier for her and put her into a big cardboard box.  She escaped in seconds and spent the whole journey climbing over the back seat.

 

  This was last summer, chillin' in the garden.  This is pretty much all she did.

 Gratuitous Hobo close up.  She's a pretty girl.

 This one was last night.  She had realised that my parents were away and this face is saying "You?  You are not my preferred human.  I demand the return of the others, that they may provide me with crunchies"  Ironically they're back today and she's giving them the silent treatment for leaving her.

Last one.  This afternoon, asleep on the bed.  She is so spoiled that we put a cover over it so that fur doesn't end up everywhere and she can still sleep on the bed.  She sheds like crazy as you can probably see. 

 

Ornithological Skincare Advice

Me:  I don't know what it is lately, I'm just really unhappy with  my skin.  It doesn't look as good as it used to. It doesn't glow anymore, it just looks blah.

My Cousin's GF:  You know what you need?

Me:  What?

My Cousin's GF:  You need a good shag.

My Cousin:  Or a cormorant.

A Final Farewell

The funeral went well.  

I woke up on the day in an unusually good mood, the first time I'd felt a bit brighter since my Gran passed away.  I couldn't explain why, I just felt better.  Maybe it was a sense of closure.  

We arrived at the church early and I immediately gravitated towards my cousin and his girlfriend as they're the ones I'm closest to.  There were a lot of people there, most of them I hadn't seen for years.  My dad's best friend and his wife, my uncle's norwegian mother in law (who was super nice and knew all the words to the hyms in english, which was impressive as I didn't and its my first language), lots of people from the painting club of which that my gran was a member.

The Vicar said he did a rough count and there were about 60 people in the church, which I think was pretty good.  

The church bit itself was slightly weird for me as from where I was sat I couldn't really see the Vicar - just the giant eagle shaped lectern.  Either way, the Vicar/eagle gave a lovely service.

We got through the wake without any arguments and we actually had quite a good giggle, which she'd have liked.  

the next day was the grim part.  We went to her flat and were sorting through her things.  My dad and the brother who is co-executor were making decisions on what was happening with things.  My mum sorted out the kitchen and another uncle and I sort of stood about (I made tea, which was hardly helpful, but at least it was something).  He cracked a few jokes (as he always does) and then said "I'm only laughing because it's so horrible."  He was actually the first one of the brothers to show and sort of emotion towards it all.  My dad has had too much on his mind and the other uncle present at the time just seemed more concerned with getting a good price for the house. He was right though, it was horrible.  There we were, looking through all her stuff an judging whether we thought it was valuable.  I mean who are we to do that?  Its her whole life, all her possessions there and we're going "bin it, charity shop it, so and so wants that". 

Its difficult when someone says "You can have whatever you want" and gestures around the room.  I didn't really want any material things, its not exactly a fair trade.  I ended up picking out a couple of bits of jewellery and a mirror to go on the wall.  They'll remind me of her, especially the mirror which will be on display all the time.

So thats it...all over and done with now.  I'm glad.  She's at peace and we've all said goodbye and I feel like I can get back to normal.  I won't forget her, but she's not looking down angry with me for spending all my time miserable, she'll be pleased I'll be getting on with life.

The first step in getting on with life was inspired by sorting through her things.  I really do have a lot of shit in the house - most of which sits in drawers never touched or looked at - and so I'm going to have a major, MAJOR clear out.  It'll make the place tidier and I'll feel de-cluttered.  

I probably sound like a crazy person, but I actually feel more positive about everything now than I did before we were told she only had a few days left.  Maybe sometimes funny things make you realise how lucky you are to have what you've got.

The Life That I have

The funeral is on Thursday.  

I can't wait.  Its a funny thing to say, I know.  Its not that I'm excited, I just want it to be over with, not to be rid of her but to be allowed to move on and have some closure.  I have been a nightmare for my friends this past week.  The ones I've told anyway.  I'm up and down like a whores drawers.  

This week has been the hardest of my life.  Stuck in limbo.  Waiting for the really bad day.  The day she died was bad, but it was what needed to happen to release her from the pain and I felt some sense of relief for her.  The funeral is another story altogether.  Its more for us than for her.  I'm stressing out about what to wear.  I don't want to be scruffy at the funeral.  

Problem is I always feel scruffy.  

I went out to try and get new shoes and a new bag today.  I couldn't find anything that felt right.  So I'll be making do with something I've got already.  How awful.  Wearing a "make do" outfit to a funeral.

I'm going to read a poem.  I asked my dad if anyone else was going to say anything and he said he was leaving it all to the vicar.  Somehow that didn't seem right.  Someone from the family should speak and so I volunteered.  I'm not afraid of speaking in public.  I've done small amounts of theatre and my attitude to it is "Well, if I'm shit, they'll boo me off.  I don't have to do it again."

I'm not even scared of crying in front of them all, in fact its the opposite.  What if I don't cry?  I feel as though everyone is going to look at me and think "Some granddaughter she is, not even shedding a tear.  What a bitch."  

At the moment, I'm pretty much calm about it all until I speak to one of my friends in particular.  I don't know what it is about him, but he's being so nice that I always end up in tears.  I suppose its like someone asking you if you're okay when you aren't.  There are only some people you can tell the truth to.  

The poem I'm going to read is one that my Grannie had torn out of the newspaper.  Dad found it when he went to her flat.  It was written in WW2 by Leo Marks.  He wrote it for his girlfriend who had just been killed in a plane crash in Canada and then later used it as code for agents working in espionage behind enemy lines. He tended to use original poems rather than well known ones as code, that way if they were intercepted the enemy had a much harder time deciphering it.

I'm not sure why she'd kept it.  It must have been something she'd liked and perhaps it reminded her of my grandfather, who was in the military police during the war.  He died of cancer almost 22 years ago and perhaps, in her harder times lately she was missing him.  That was what Dad said she'd be thinking while she was sleeping in the hospital; "I'll be with George soon".  In all honesty I've never really bought into the heaven and hell angle of life after death, reincarnation makes more sense to me. But now though, I hope that they are reunited after all this time.  Wherever that may be.

The Life That I Have

The life that I have

Is all that I have

And the life that I have

Is yours

The love that I have

Of the life that I have

Is yours

And yours

And yours

A sleep I shall have

A rest I shall have

Yet death will be but a pause

For the peace of my years

In the long green grass

Will be yours

And yours

And yours

A Good Innings

My Grannie died last night.  Well, this morning really.

She's been unwell for a long time.  About 9 months ago she started having problems eating, saying she felt sick all the time.  They did all the tests, there was nothing medically wrong.  The more she didn't eat, the worse she got, the worse she felt.  You couldn't tell her that by not eating she was making herself worse.  She didn't seem to listen, but now I realise that it was her body that was putting the stops on it, not her mind.

November/December last year she was doing okay, still not eating but in and out of a couple of different care homes.  All the family scratched their heads and wondered what more we could do to try and help.  We tried everything to no avail.

A few days before christmas she was taken into hospital and never came out.  They were going to re-do all of the tests, then she got some kind of nasty flu virus that was going around the hospital and had the whole place pretty much locked down.

Two weeks ago, the consultant told one of my uncles that "he thought" she'd had a stroke.  7 years of medical school and apparently matey boy couldn't be sure.

On wednesday of this week, I was out of the office all day and my dad called me literally as I was walking into a meeting at 10am.  "John has spoken to the consultant this morning.  He says she's got 2 or 3 days left at best." 

Somehow, I held it together through my 10am meeting.  I don't suppose I said much (I was only observing really anyway) but I didn't cry.  When I got into the car with my boss to go to the next meeting, I broke down a bit.  I've just cleaned out my handbag and realised that I've still got his hankie covered in smudged mascara.  I managed to play a useful part in my 2pm meeting too, I don't think they had any idea what was going through my head.

The drive back home was hard.  My boss tried to keep my mind off it or when my mind was on it to say the right thing.  He was good about it all.  Told me just to do what I needed to do.  Family is the most important thing.

The next day my dad and I drove up to Chester.  I didn't really know if I wanted to go, to lose the memory of the woman I had always known.  But then I realised, if I didn't go, she'd know.  I didn't want her to think I didn't care.

We went straight to the hospital and she was asleep.  Morphined up to the hilt to keep her comfortable.  She looked so tiny and frail, nothing like my grannie.  Someone else, with similar hair.  She was swollen and puffy from something or other.  The nurse, who was called Blessed, explained to us what was going on.  All the drugs she was being given.  Morphine for the pain, something-zine for nausea, an-azepam to relax her.  I don't suppose I'll ever forget that nurses name as long as I live.

I asked my dad how he was so calm about it all, he just said; "When you get to my age, you start to think more about the other person than yourself.  You don't want them to suffer.  A bit like you wouldn't let an animal suffer if it was in a lot of pain."

We stayed with one of my uncles and his wife that night and the next day, the four of us, plus another uncle and his wife went to visit.  She was sleeping when we arrived and another nurse explained that they'd just bathed her and turned her over so she was comfortable.

Within a few minutes she woke up.  The day before I was okay.  She was frail, but peaceful.  Awake, it was another story.  Not only was she frail and swollen, but she couldn't speak and to hear her even try was heartbreaking.  We all said hello and she tried to reply to us but couldn't.  Trapped in her own body.  She used to be so vibrant, so active.  She went on coach trips, painting classes...you name it, she did it.  She had a better social life than I did (or do, for that matter).

Dad nudged me and told me to go round and speak to her.  I couldn't though.  I managed a very weak "hello" and after that my voice just disappeared.  In that one second, the grief took everything from me and all I could do was stare.  I hate to think what must have been going through her mind;"Why is she staring at me?  Do I look that awful?"  I couldn't even manage to tell her that I love her.  I'll probably never forgive myself for that.  I know she knew, but that isn't the point.  I should have told her.

I probably only stood there for a minute before I had to walk away, I didn't want her to see me crying.   That was the last I ever saw of her.  I came home on the train hoping that she'd go soon.  Wishing, urging the universe to take her and stop that pain for her.

I went out to a work dinner on Friday night.  One of my colleagues lost his own grandmother on Wednesday of this week in a similar way, so I felt like he understood more than the others who asked.  Those that bothered to speak to me were very nice.  Those who didn't (but I'm sure had a good bitch behind my back along the lines of "why has she come tonight?  She's just had two days off, she can't be that upset") can pretty much fuck off.  I've got no time for them.

Knowing that the inevitable could happen at any point, my dad and three of his brothers (and their wives) were going to go out to dinner on Friday night and start discussing everything you have to discuss at these sort of times.  There is a fourth brother who refused to go.  He lives closer to the hospital than any of the others but he couldn't be fucked. 

They didn't think she'd make it through saturday so a few of them went and sat at the hospital for a few hours last night and at about 1am they got the call to say that she had passed away.

I know its for the best, I wouldn't want her to carry on like that.  Its no life for anyone.

She was 88.  That is, apparently, a good innings.  But I don't know what that really means.  I'd love to know who came up with that saying.  Which idiot thought it would provide any sort of comfort to the loved ones of the deceased.  It doesn't.  Its just some hollow cliche that people seem to throw in when they can't think of anything original to say, or can't bear the silence.  A bit like "there's plenty more fish in the sea" when you're dumped, or "we must meet up soon" when you bump into someone you used to know.  All meaningless.

I'm not really sure when the funeral will be.  Dad has lots of paperwork to sort out over the next few days and I guess we'll know sometime this week.  He said the hospital give you a little booklet with info on all the things you have to do.  I think that's quite nice, but a little odd.  Can't imagine the opening line of that one.

The picture below is of me and my Grannie 3 years ago on New Years Eve.  My cousin and I had nipped in to see her and she'd offered me a drink.  When I asked what she'd got, she replied; "Gin, Vodka, Whisky, Wine, Brandy, Sherry, Beer.."  I asked (and I'm not sure why!) for a sherry.  "Dry? Medium?  Sweet?"  If I remember right, she served it to me in a white wine glass.  I ended up quite pissed, quite quickly!

This is how I remember her:

I doubt that the recently deceased read blogs, but if you do Grannie, or even if the vibes are just out there in the universe - I love you very much and we all miss you.  It won't be the same without you, thats for sure xxx

Do you have Christmas in France? CHRIIIISTMAAAAS?

I don't get to see much of my extended family.  I live with my parents but their siblings all live quite a way away.  In the case of most of my mother's family I'm pleased about it as the crazy/evil/bitter might be catching and I don't need any of that.

In the case of my dad's family though, I wish I saw them more often.  They're all lovely people that you can talk to and have a laugh with and on the occasions we do get together its always fun to catch up.

Recently one of my uncles was over from Norway.  He lives out there with his wife, who's Norwegian herself.  She's a real sweetie, not to mention extremely intelligent and, as is the case with most people "on the continent", she speaks very good english.  They were over as he had some work business to attend to and so I guess they were trying to make a little holiday of it.  Part of that was to spend a bit of time with us one evening.

I'll spare you the story about my dad and I busting our arses to clean the house while mother did nothing more than expand hers.  The house was clean by the time they got here and I'd managed to have one little dig at my mother's laziness in the process (good times!).

After a quick coffee at our house, its decided that we'll go out to eat and we settle on a curry.  I was in full swing of my diet at that point and I'm sure chicken korma did me no favours, but who cares.

It panned out that in the restaurant, the three of us ladies were on one side of the table and the gents were on the other side.  Unfortunately for her, my uncles wife was between my mother and I and that meant no escape.

My old mother isn't all that great in social situations.  She seems to think she is, but she tends to come across as patronising, overbearing, condescending. Just plain irritating and during the meal - in fact during the whole evening - conversations such as the following one took place:

My mother (in raised voice to my aunt, who is happily enjoying her meal): IS THAT NICE?

My aunt: Yes, its lovely.  Really spicy.  We had a curry in London recently, but it wasn't as spicy as this one.

My Mother: DO YOU HAVE CURRY IN NORWAY?

My aunt (hiding her confusion): Yes, we do...

I was dumbstruck. In situations similar to this one that I've witnessed with other people I've been able to say something like "Yes, Adam knows what a trade union is.  He's 33." but this time I just couldn't find the words.  The total embarassment had eaten them up.  Probably with a smattering of mint raita on the side.

This woman, this extremely intelligent woman, who speaks english fluently even down to the use of colloquialisms, is being spoken to in the manner sterotypically adopted by an English person speaking to a foreigner.  That good old english notion that if you're abroad and don't speak the language, just shout in english and they'll understand.

Except that it wasn't necessary; she did understand.  She's Norwegian, not martian.  They have pretty much the same stuff in Norway they have here.  We've been there, we saw.

I doubt they'll be rushing back to visit again soon...

Video Blog Update

For those of you who saw it and are wondering where it is, I've taken the video blog down.

I needed to vent and I did, and I very much appreciate your comments.  Silly as it may sound, I felt like I needed some rational adults to tell me that I wasn't way off base for reacting the way that I did and because my readers are awesome, a few of you did that - so thank you all very much for that.

I may do another post to update on the situation further, but after a few days to think and no returned calls or email I think I'm fairly safe (but heartbroken) to say that that chapter of my life has now drawn to a close.

If anything, this has taught me that you can't force people to be your friends - nor can you choose their spouse for them to make sure they get someone who you know they really deserve - and I guess if you really care for them you let them do whatever they need to in order to live as happy and peaceful a life as possible.

And thats what I'll do. 

I'll probably despise her forever though, just to be clear on that. :)

Found Ya...

Sometimes, as most bloggers probably do, I like to have a look and see how people have found my site.

A lot of the time its either people who have my bookmarked, or find me through another blog I read but occasionally they find me through a search engine.

Yesterday, someone found my blog after typing in "How to fix a bad mother-daughter relationship".

I don't know if that person found any useful information in my posts.  But, if you are that person and you happened to have come back I'll give you my honest opinion.

If it's recently gone bad, you might be able to fix it.  If it's always been bad, you have to find a way to reconcile it in your head and come to terms with the fact that you're probably never going to have that "my mother is my best friend" thing happening.  Another helpful tool is to look at your mother's relationship with her mother.  If it was bad, there's a pattern here and on some level you have to consciously break that cycle - for your own sake.

It took me a lot of counselling and soul searching before I realised that I was tying myself in knots to please my mother and it was totally pointless.  It never worked.  It was never enough and I got tired of feeling like I was never enough.

Its been a few years now since I was in therapy working through it all, but I can honestly say that now, other than the odd frustration at things that go on in my house I'm totally at ease with the fact that we're not that family. 

I aspire to more for my children.  I want to be a good mother for them if/when I have them.  I don't want to make them feel like I felt for way too much of my life.

Thats just my two cents worth, if you've come back that is.  If you're reading and you're not that searcher, then you've just had another bit of insight into my inner workings!

Reason #1 why my friends are fabulous

SMS Conversation, approx 2:20pm:

Me:  Well, my mood just got better!  I just got wolf whistled at walking back from lunch.  I was close enough to look and see who did it but I decided not to, that way I can imagine he was hot.

My fabulous friend: He would have been hot babes, trust me.  You only deserve hot!  He's probably still pining for you now.