Two sides of the coin

Bloody bollocking hot flushes kept waking me up last night. This morning I have a migraine already. I tried a bit of hypnosis as that sometimes helps, but a hot flush right in the middle of the file disturbed me. Hot flushes are one half of the problem: I feel hot and sweaty, so I kick off the bed clothes and get some air to my body, I relax, maybe even start to sleep, THEN I FEEL COLD!

I’m wearing a suit for the internment of my mum’s ashes today. It’s the same one I wrote at her funeral four years ago. I can tell that I have less in the trouser department: I don’t think it would fit if I still had testicles!

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Doctor maybe?

The doctor phoned while I was driving. I explained about the hot flushes, the tiredness and fatigue, and the migraines. She says that she still feels that the best route is the complaints people, however she has agreed to write to endocrinology again. She has such a sweet voice that is hard to think badly of her, and I do understand that she can’t prescribe something that she hasn’t got the experience for – especially a controlled drug like testosterone. She gave me the gentlest I-told-you-so type comment: “I did think that this might be a problem”. Maybe something will come of it this time. I did forget to suggest a blood test, but I think she knows that I don’t have balls so maybe she doesn’t think one is necessary.

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Ashes

I went to the churchyard early to remove the concrete pot holder my dad had made. I was a little worried about my stitches, so I was relieved when the slab lifted on the third attempt. It wasn’t too heavy either, so I was able to waddle back to the car to put it in the boot and return with a bucket of soil to replace it.

My husband couldn’t come: he has a stinking cold and doesn’t want to give it to my seventy-nine year old father or my brother’s toddlers.

While I was in the churchyard, I spoke to a woman who’s son was in a plot two along from where mum is to go. She’s expecting that she and her husband will both go into the same plot when they die. I was very moved by what she was sharing; her son was only twenty: no parent should have to bury their child. I didn’t have the heart to tell her of the problems we’ve had getting mum into the same spot as her mum.

The we cannot really be at peace with the beloved dead, until they are at peace; the maybe the reverse is also true.

For somebody so loved, grief never itself dies, instead it changes, grows, into other forms of grief. The shadow of it always covers us, but with time the shadow becomes familiar and perhaps warm, rather than scary and cold.

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Time with my brother

After the little service, my family went our separate ways. I really didn’t feel like spending time with my dad, for which I did feel guilty. I’d only be taking him to a pub for me to eat and him to get drunk and aggy. I had thought to go to Clevedon, but it was getting too late in the day for that, so when my brother suggested that I get myself some food then go around to his, I was glad to.

The boys were having their afternoon nap when I got there, so my brother and I just talked. A bit of a moan about our dad and his foxes views and difficulties and our worries for him. A bit about the little service. We both said that we felt much more emotional at this tiny little private event than at the big circus of fire years ago. I didn’t cry at mums funeral; I felt like a host at a party back then (I didn’t enjoy it). This time it was just about us.

A strange treat was to go with my brother when he took the boys to the dentist. It was lovely to be part of that ordinary little scene. Three eldest jumped into the chair and tried to assist the dentist with the little mirror. The youngest was not so happy.

I also note that I was less aware of the gap between my brother and me this time. I’m glad about that; I wonder if the original sense of distance might have been down to its newness and the presence of his girlfriend: I don’t know if I was quite prepared to take about it in front of her (even though I did).

I was glad to get home and get my head on my husband’s wheezing chest and cry a little…