Posts Tagged ‘Friends’

Can someone develop inertia?  It sounds a bit like reversing backwards.  Well whatever it is, I’ve got it.

When my mum died, my happy pills kept the black dog at bay for the first few months.  Its departure was replaced by an emptiness, a desire to do nothing.  So that’s what I did.

Now, twenty months later, mum’s boxes are still littered around the house, their only movement being from the spare room to my study when Clare came to stay for a few weeks.

Each time I open a box, I am assailed by memories and doubts.  How can I disrespect my mother by throwing away her memories, her cherished possessions?  So instead, I spend hours on Facebook, playing stupid games, surrounded by boxes.

The only thing that motivates me is a deadline.  So, in the last year, I’ve performed, directed, designed and built more sets than ever before.  And while I’m doing it, I love it.  But when I get home, I go straight to the computer and kill vampires, harvest crops and hunt for treasure.

Then, last week, I was chatting to a friend whose mum died late last year, and she remarked how, since then, she’s had no desire to work in her garden.  She despairs at how bedraggled it looks, remembering how much she used to cherish it.  She wasn’t very impressed when I started smiling, and was even less impressed when I laughed at how many boxes she’s got in her spare room…all filled with her mum’s belongings.  What’s more, she said, all I want to do is read.  And even then it’s only because I’ve got to get the book back to the library before due date.

Sound familiar?

So we’ve come up with a plan.

Each week, for two hours, we’re going to take turns visiting each other.  The visitee will decide on the highest priority – emptying boxes, weeding or clearing out cupboards.  The visitor will comply and be rewarded with tea and chocolate biscuits.  Or red wine, if we’ve done really well.

I went to her house yesterday.  It was great.  There’s a long way to go, but it’s a start.

Who knows, I might even be able to empty a box or two myself before she comes around next week…


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The leather uppers and soles of my favourite Green Cross slip-ons are parting company.

My ‘friends’ find this particularly amusing when I am wearing white socks. I’ve usually found it easy to shrug off their derogatory comments; but this morning I realised that their chirps may be cutting deeper that I know.

Because last night I had a dream.

I was fleeing the German WWII Panzers, and thought I was home and dry; until I heard the following exchange:

“Heinz! She iss gettink avay. After her!”

“Don’t vorry Klaus. I can see her. Ze shoes, zey are smilink at me.”

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I have met some remarkable women who have treated breast cancer as one of those ‘Shit happens’ things.

But every now and then I come across someone who is not coping with the perceived loss of her womanhood. Nothing I, nor anyone else, can say or do, will soothe or make a difference to her physical and emotional healing process. Everything sounds trite and clichéd. Banal. She’s heard it all before.

It’s at those times I understand the power of prayer. Calling on a higher being to Do Something.

Even if it all it does is make me feel better.

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