Home is where the heart is.

Right now, my heart aches being so far away from home. It's funny, while I was visiting my family last week, I barely cried. Oh, yes, I had a couple of moments where I felt teary or even let a little sob out, but nothing I am known and loved for... The big sob out session.

Since getting back to Devon, things have been feeling weird. Not things really, more me, I, myself, inside... tears have been rising to the surface a lot more than usual. I have gone back to my routine: work, studies, even dating, but somehow all this is being tainted by a much more important feeling I cannot shake: I am loosing my very much loved grand-mother. And so, Wednesday night, I cried. I cried like I haven't done in a long time.

I cried for the emotional pain she's going through, I cried for her fears and her hurry at leaving us. I cried for my granddad and his stress and enormous sadness. I cried for my mum, who's going through one of the toughest moments of her life, no matter how natural and inevitable it might be. I cried for my aunt who's trying to manage this difficult time and the big changes happening in her personal life. I cried for my great-aunt who worries so much about her brother and what might happen once his wife has passed on.

Finally, I cried for me, for the pain I feel at the unequivocal certainty that this is the end of the road for this chapter in my life. I'll never get to cook with her anymore. I'll never get to bug her by speaking into her pans while she's cooking. I'll never get to walk with her, looking for conkers and chestnut in the winter. I'll never get to show her where I live and what England is like. And I might never get to kiss and hug her again.

See, I talked to my mum on Wednesday and the news aren't good. So, after a few tears, it got me thinking some more. We don't realise how precious those moments are until they are about to be taken away from you. We get so carried away with our little lives, we get on with things and somehow, we tend to forget that we're only just passing through, some for longer than others, but in the end, we will leave behind loved ones and it isn't going to be easy for either of us. It is not surprising then, that when the day comes, we get shaken back into the sheer reality of our own mortality. We know it's coming, we talk about it every now and then, we even discuss our funeral plans with friends, we talk about the music we'd like to be played then, what people should say, or wear, we joke about what might be after, and sometimes, we mentioned how we'd like to go. Mostly pain free and in our sleep... But we don't often discuss the hardest options of our demise. Illness, accident, violence... so much can get in the way of our very existence.

But in the end, whether people stay or go, whether we tell them how much we love them, whether we see them everyday or just talk to them a couple of times a month, on thing remains for sure: Home is where our heart is.

A Litte Bit Of Love

I have been blessed to have known and built very strong relationships with all 4 of my grand-parents as well as one of my great grand-parent. When she passed away, I cried for days but was barely 21 and somehow soon forgot the pain I had felt. Today, life feels more fragile than ever before. Having said goodbye to my dad's father last September, I am now contemplating saying good bye to my mum's mother.

I realise how much this has affected my relationship with the others. As I'm getting older and I'm seeing my grand-parents reaching the end of their adventure, I want to spend more and more time in their company. I want to be with them all the time, remind them how much I love them, be there to help them, keep them company and give back the years they have spent with me as a child. I want to cherish every instant, every laugh, every smile, every joke. I want to burn those memories in the back of my mind, to keep safe in the corner of my heart. I realise just how insignificant we really are, we live on borrowed time, each second bringing us closer to the unavoidable end.

Yesterday, having planned to have lunch with my dad's mother who is 85 and a half  (her words, not mine), I decided that a couple of hours for lunch just wasn't long enough. As we sat down to the lovely meal she had prepared, I enquired about her interest in going clothes shopping with me. I wasn't sure of her reaction and somehow thought she would turn me down. Now, this is something I have never imagine ever doing, let alone considered, but for some reason, i just wanted to get her out of this little flat and take her into the big bad world.

I was totally flabbergasted when she jumped to the idea and even mentioned buying some new wine glasses. As we talked some more, she shared that the wine glasses she was using were 43yrs old and that she really didn't like them. She wanted some nice ones, "like your dad has" she said. So, after a coffee, which I was privileged to drink using the cups her and her husband used to use, and which she hadn't taken out since he passed away 5 months ago, she got changed saying "I always dress up when I go out" and we left.

I hear those who know me crying out " But you don't like coffee!" Truth is, I really hate coffee, but she just doesn't understand that anyone would not have coffee after their meal and it makes her so happy to see me drink it, that whenever I see her, I have a cup. It's funny the things you do for the people in your life.

And so, for about 2 hours, my nan and I went round a shopping mall. I didn't find anything, but she found the perfect wine glasses. I was amazed at how much she enjoyed that little trip, let alone how happy it made me. There was so much complicity between us, so many laughs, so much love, it resourced us both.

Now, you need to understand, my nan, this one especially, is very superstitious. There are many things that are considered a really catastrophe and breaking a glass is one of them... After I carefully took out her 8 new wine glasses and placed them in her display cabinet, I started packing the 9 old ones. In my haste, I knocked one which I watch, obviously unable to stop it, slowly roll of the table and smash on the living room floor. Nan came running in shouting: "What did you break?" I apologised as I showed her the old wine glass on the floor. She looked at me concerned: "it's not a new one?" she asked. "No" I replied, shaking my head. She laughed and said:" I don't care!" we both laughed as we cleared up the mess. Then her superstitious self kicked in and she cried with glee "It's luck for you because you broke it!"

As I got ready to leave, she said "why do you live so far away, I wish you didn't, then we could do this more often." My heart skipped a beat, I felt sad, guilty for moving abroad, ashamed for not making a bigger effort to spend more time with her. But then she hugged me and kissed me on the cheeks the way only your nan can, her hands on the side of your head, like when you were 5. She kissed one side, then the other, then again and again and again. I laughed, hugged her and kissed her saying "I love you, nan".

Saying good bye...

It's half term and, working term time only, I should be relaxing, watching tv really late, sleeping in, maybe even doing a bit of research for that degree of mine. At least, that was the intended plan. But life is full of surprises and challenges, and it's brought me a big one this time around. Something a lot bigger than I thought I could deal with.

You see, I got a call from my mother a few weeks ago, telling me that my Nan just wasn't doing well at all. She was diagnosed just before Christmas with metastasized bone cancer and was hospitalized a couple of days before Christmas eve. And, just because it's more fun where there's two of you, my granddad has a nice advancing case of Alzheimer. So when my mother called, it took me less than a heartbeat to decide to take the advantage of the coming holidays to visit my family and spend some time with my grand-parents.

When I saw my gran at Christmas, even though she was in hospital and in pain, she could still get up and get about with some support, was very alert and was even complaining about every little things, as well as being her usual inpatient major pain in the butt. Don't take this wrong, I totally adore my gran, but you got to call a cat a cat, and my nan, well she was never a sweet little kitten but rather a though tiger.

Today, barely 2 months later, she has changed too much for one to comprehend the unreasonable advance of the disease. She cannot stand on her legs, even with help, she drifts in and out, not managing to focus on a conversation, she sleeps all the time and is starting to forget who the people in her life are. When she mistook my cousin for my brother (in her defense, they do look a lot alike) and started asking him about his travel in India, that was a bit of a shock for the family. And to add to the fun, she's gone totally deaf! The one good thing is that she is not in pain anymore.

She is being cared for very well by all involved in her day to day care, and so is my granddad. The dylema we however face is the reluctancy of her husband to face to the fact that she is dying. He told her it wasn't the cancer but her fall over the summer that caused her current condition. The sadness in this, is that he really believes it and, even though my aunt actually told him nan was dying - using those exact words, not a conversation anyone wants to have with their dad, he is really sturggling to get to term with it.

So, yesterday, during a moment of clarity, as I was alone with her, my gran asked me, tapping her head: "I'm not here because of the fall, am i? it's the cancer." I looked at her puzzled, I wasn't sure what she was getting at. I think she could read it in my eyes and asked again "I'm here because of the cancer? Your granddad says it can be cured." I felt so shocked as she carried on "It can't be cured, can it? Tell me the truth, I want to know." then she added in a whisper... "I need to know".

I couldn't believe what she was saying. I was battling so hard to hold the tears I could feel forming in the corner of my eyes, I didn't want to break down right there and then. I  looked around, maybe trying to find someone to rescue me from having this conversation, maybe making sure the coast was clear and no one would interrupt probably one of the hardest thing I even had to do. I turned back to her, took a deep breath and said: "No nan, it's not the fall. It is your cancer." I paused for what felt like a lifetime, but she was staring at me, somehow urging me to carry on. "It's not one they can cure." I paused again, looking at her. Her eyes weren't telling me much, I couldn't figure out what she was feeling. I added: "but they can manage it." My mother returned to the room at that moment, saving me from falling apart in front of Nan. I made my excuses to go the bathroom and, once there, I wept.

Once I composed myself, I returned to the room. Nan had been moved into her bed and was now snoozing peacfully. Granddad was sitting next to the bed, just looking at her, as he does everyday between 2 and 5pm. He is watching the life leaving his beloved wife and it is breaking his heart. And that's a very hard thing to witness.

Now, each person deals with imminent death and all the traumas and responsibilities that come with it, but experiencing it first hand is a whole different ball game. Over the last few years, my mother and her sister have reconnected and strengthen their relationship in a way I could never have hoped for. It's made me so happy to see they were not only getting along, but also really building their bond. Today, I worry as I see that bond weakening as they both try to deal with their parents' situation as best as they can with very different support and input from their respective husbands. Unfortunately, it is putting so much pressure on all 4 of them, that I'm not sure their relationship can survive.

I deal with this the only way I can, I try to be honest with the people around me, try to be supportive of my mum and my aunt, I appraoch my granddad's state with as much empathy, kindness and gentleness as I can, trying to help him through this while I'm here. Part of me wants to put everything on hold back in Devon and stay with them for a while. I guess I'm just not ready to say good bye just yet.

I can dream, can't I?

Here I am, once more, battling a sleepless night. I've already had alcohol and took out my little box of tricks... but none of it has worked. My id is having a ranting contest with the rest of me and I am loosing fast. Alternatively, I'm going slightly mad... which is a very real possibility!

So much is being stressed over and replayed in my head that I'm not even sure which I should be worrying about the most, if any. There's my assignment - nowhere near finished yet with its deadline in sight - the workload waiting for me tomorrow, this body I am struggling to be at home in at the moment, that missing love connection, the strong loneliness, the end of life... all screaming inside my head to get heard, to be understood, to feel compassion and a hug to comfort them. Instead, all it gets is noise and my heart aches.

Unforunately, at this moment in time, it has nowhere safe and freeing to go to. No heaven to rest a little, no happy place to think of nothing but the beauty of life. No, right now, it wished those pills would work better and numb the pain all together. Right now, it feels like there is no sense or purpose to being here... Oh my God, it is really depressed tonight! And if i listen to it too much, I'll get down there with it. It's so much easier to be miserable and to feel sorry for yourself. Being happy, now that's hard work. Takes commitment, dedication and willingess to take risks. Easier said than done, I know, I know... 

But then again... You see, there is that little light of hope, that small ounce of  faith that there is more to this life than feeling this pain. On an evening like tonight, it's very faint, a whisper really. Only if I concentrate and listen carfully, very attentively, can I hear it. I need to focus, block out the cacophony, but, yes, here it is, that soft gentle voice, coming from deep down inside me, muffled by the sound of the ranting and the loud voices of the fragmented sides of me. That voice tenderly reminding me that all this is only a phase, a bad trip from a place inside me that has had a tough day. 

So now, I focus on that voice, on the beauty of its music and it's helping me blocking out the rest. I sooth myself by being gentle of those feelings and emotions. After all, they come from a very real place, even if they don't usually all pop out at once! I suppose, they just felt like a field trip tonight. How unconsiderate of them!

Looking at each of them, I calm myself. Nothing I can do about it now anyway. Tomorrow will be another day, we can talk about it then. And who knows, by then, I might have actual answers and solutions to sort it all out. Hey ... I can dream, can't I?

Ode to my Mother - Part 1

As I was reading a magazine article on mothers & daughters, I couldn’t help be reflect on how much my relationship with my mother had changed over the last few years and how, after 36 yrs of knowing one another, and even though we had to deal with so many obstacles, call it childhood, divorce, teenager girl, struggling single mum, evil brother ;-) ... we have finally accepted each other for who we are, as best as we are able to.

It’s taken me a great deal of time and personal reflection to accept and understand the reasons behind everything she did or said around me, as well as a very lengthy process to stop blaming her for everything that was going wrong in my life. And the ones who know me well will know I was never one of those people who take responsibilities for their own self easily…

Today, I wonder what type of mother I would have been had I had children. I can’t help but think of the mistakes I would have made. Would I have been over protective? Would I have been too sever? Would I have bothered at all or would I have handed them over to a nanny? Although, knowing me, I think I probably would have gone for the overprotective, “love you too much”, “no one will ever be good enough for you” type of neurotic mum who ends up being ruled by her little bundles of joy... or as a friend of mine said once: regular little hooligans! 

What I am sure of, is that I would do everything in my power to prepare them for what the future holds in store; and that would mean do whatever I beleive to be best for them, which is not necessarly what is best for them - as many parents find out day in, day out. I understand that everything she ever did was to help me become who she thought I'd be, following her ideas, values and her experiences as a child. This realisation and the changes I have been going through, has allowed me to see the love she has for me, in it's true form, stripped of the emotional baguage I have seen it through for the last 30 odd years.

Thing is, I probably will never know what mother I might be. And that's ok, but for that reason, I value my mother’s input and influences even more so today than ever before. The interesting thing is that a lot of the things she did or said, that hurt me at the time, have ended up serving me, helping me develop my true self toward its full potential - No, I'm not saying I'm there yet, but I'm definitely getting closer. Now, I truly believe I am a better person because of her, and I’d like to think that she is too because of me.

Someone asked me a few years ago why I kept going back, why was I bothering with her, why was I putting myself through this over and over. I replied: because she's my mum, she's the only one I have and I will not give up on her. Today, I am so glad I never did. I have reached a more balanced state of mind and have established a brand new relationship with her, which has brought us closer than ever before. I admit, it is a load of my shoulders to have finally managed to change the dynamic of that bond. We have both reached a new chapter in our lives, and luckily, we are now in a position to really support one another through the challenges to come.