tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33470504137766768402024-02-09T01:32:29.777+10:30Puffinus ParkPuffinus is a genus of seabirds who soar above the oceans, travelling thousands of miles every year in migrating to their nesting grounds. They mate for life.
This is my journey as I cared for, and now remember my husband. He was a quite older than I, and we had been together for over 25 years. He was sharp of mind but frail. I speak of caring for someone at the close of their life; of loss, grief and love. We shared so much; now I would like to share this journey with you, please.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.comBlogger74125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-33658255612654986342013-12-07T21:01:00.001+10:302013-12-07T21:01:50.255+10:30LOST Ajax and Stamp<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="344" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/_aDqz_E6KUc" width="459"></iframe>Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-33832753890551279182012-05-18T00:32:00.004+09:302012-05-18T00:32:58.774+09:30On this night one year ago, I spent my first night as a widow. May time be damned.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-31920646933711226212012-05-18T00:18:00.002+09:302012-05-18T00:21:41.074+09:3017 May 2011, At The Beginning of My Longest Day.On 17 May 2011, at about 1.00 AM, the phone rang.<br />
<br />
I was not really asleep, and when I picked up the phone, the duty doctor for the ward told me Arthur's condition had deteriorated, and he was not expected to survive. I was shocked and asked what was happening. He explained that Arthur's condition had got worse and he needed to tell me about the change. The doctor was concerned about me driving the car, and said I did not have to rush, I could come in the morning as he thought Arthur could survive for a few days, but he didn't know how long it would be. I said I was okay to drive and would be there soon. <br />
<br />
The words rang in my mind, 'We do not believe your husband will not survive this hospital stay'.<br />
<br />
I put Chelsea, our little female dog, in the car and drove to the hospital. The roads were empty and everything was still. I took the laptop with music loaded into it, and a few other things. Arthur's first wife's little Bible was one of them, along with some blessed water Arthur and I collected about 20 years ago at an Anglican Church in the South East (South Australia) that was supposed have a vision of Christ on the wall, and the Buddha given to him by the last friend he made while in respite at the Care Home in Semaphore.<br />
<br />
I parked the car, and left Chelsea to sleep on the seat. It was dark and cold and so quiet.<br />
<br />
I was frightened. <br />
<br />
<br />Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-63490213642169150722012-05-17T00:30:00.002+09:302012-05-17T00:57:01.634+09:30The Night of Sixteenth May, 2011.Written on 16th May 2012, 11.45 pm<br />
<br />
<br />
I ordered the Memorial advertisement for 17th May. I am still staying with my Mum, all my will to move on drained by the loss of our dogs, Ajax and Stamp. Every day, I still do many things to try to locate them; newspaper advertisements every week or so, leaflets handed around, posters taped to poles or their Facebook page updated. <a href="https://www.facebook.com/AjaxandStamp">https://www.facebook.com/AjaxandStamp</a><br />
<br />
I 'talk' to Arthur, I pray to a God whom I doubt, and just grieve: all joy, all wish for the future stripped from me. I am a cork bobbing on the sea, a sea whose soul-less creatures pull at me to sink to oblivion. To write, even, hurts too much.<br />
<br />
A year ago at this time I was asleep, 11.45pm on the 16th of May, 2011.<br />
<br />
I had spent the day at home, tired and resting, a sleep I now regret. I believe now, though, that I was getting the rest for the ordeal ahead of me, although I had totally refused to believe, even at that late stage, that I would not be bringing Arthur home. After all, the day before, the nurse told me Arthur had not been approved for palliative care at home, that he was getting better and would be going home.<br />
<br />
I was upset, as the lovely social worker was trying to arrange more help for me at home and without palliative care I did not know how we would get it. The doctor told me on Arthur's admission he would not survive, but I made Arthur promise me he would be with me for my birthday. Naively I thought the strength of our love, his love, could deny nature. When this nurse told me Arthur's lung infection was responding well and he would be going home later in the week, I was confused but relieved. I felt the familiar worry, of coping without enough services, settle into my mind. Things were normal.<br />
<br />
I went in to the hospital at about 3 or 4 pm with the laptop and I fed Arthur his tea, some beef soup and chocolate mousse I think, and some spoons of the warm, very sweet tea I always made for him.<br />
<br />
I put on a movie on the laptop, 'When Saturday Comes', about an English football club in the time when Arthur was young and I spoke to him about it. He was too tired to watch it to the end. He was sleepy. He complained to me of earache. He wanted his ears syringed out. He thought they had wax in them.<br />
<br />
I tried to get it done but the only doctor allowed to do it was in Casualty and could not come. Arthur got distressed, saying he could see ants moving about on the ceiling. I calmed him and said he was seeing things, but it was alright. Arthur was given some pain tablets crushed in jam. Later he was still saying his ears hurt. I went to the nurses and insisted something be done. They tried their best to help and called up a doctor. The doctor prescribed some morphine and Arthur was given an injection.<br />
<br />
I stayed with Arthur until he fell asleep, about 10 pm (on the 16th of May.) I kissed him on the lips, and made sure he was comfortable. I packed up the laptop computer and went home. I curled up to sleep with our four dogs. I expected to be back next morning to see that he was treated for the earache. I spent the time before he fell asleep talking to Arthur about football, the things he had seen as a kid in England, our dogs at home and that I loved him.<br />
<br />
At home I fell into a light sleep, dogs by my side, in our bed with sheets unchanged, my husband's scent on the pillows.<br />
<br />
I was not prepared for Arthur to die. <br />
<br />Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-30314307541426097812012-01-25T13:47:00.000+10:302012-01-25T13:47:41.179+10:30Australia Day Address | What's On | Australia Day<a href="http://www.australiaday.com.au/whatson/australiadayaddress2.aspx?AddressID=30#.Tx90QqMG_q0.blogger">Australia Day Address | What's On | Australia Day</a>Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-78010367693962721862011-12-31T23:07:00.001+10:302011-12-31T23:32:31.564+10:30Last Day Of 2011, My Last Year as Arthur's Wife.I say goodbye to 2011, and I say goodbye to Arthur, for the first time. Goodbye, my Husband, goodbye our Earthly life as husband and wife. I loved you then, I love you now, I love you forever.<br />
<br />
In the turmoil of grief this record stopped on 18 July 2011 because on 19 July 2011, the unthinkable happened. Two of our beloved dogs, the litter-brothers Ajax and Stamp, got out of the yard. Despite my desperate searching, I have not found them. The grief of their loss, the broken promise to Arthur in his final hours of life that I would care for our dogs, the endless fruitless search, has sapped me and brought me to the brink of total despair, and pitched me into endless pain.<br />
<br />
I am still staying with my Mother. I have not the energy to move out. I know I must put my grief on hold to search for our dogs or I am useless to them. I know their Mum and Dad, little Chelsea and Trafford miss them terribly, as do I. <br />
<br />
When I asked and prayed and cried to Arthur for help in finding them, and he was not able to help me, I knew finally how alone I was. I think his eternal energies are for keeping them safe and being with his son, Anthony. With his Downs Syndrome, Anthony sadly has dementia, and he is now in a special purpose nursing home run by the government for people with intellectual disability. It is a good place but I see in Anthony that failing strength I saw Arthur go through, though without any dementia. I know Arthur needs to use anything he can from Heaven for Anthony. He knows I am strong.<br />
<br />
I miss Arthur like the heart misses blood.<br />
<br />
Each morning, in the haze between sleep and wakefulness, my first thought is a prayer for the soul of my beloved Arthur, and the second a prayer that this be the day I find Ajax and Stamp. <br />
<br />
Christmas Eve was too sad to write about until now. I always lit candles and by their light Arthur and I ate Arthur's favourite treat, fruit mince pies and drank a glass of port wine as we listened to Christmas Carol records, with our dogs sitting next to us. In preparation I always decorated the house and set the Manger scene under the tree and a Star on top.<br />
<br />
I would join in the carols and Arthur would hold me. It was a time for just him and me and our dogs with love. Christmas Eve was our special time together.<br />
<br />
This year my Mum visited my brother on Christmas Eve. I was alone, with Chelsea and Trafford, and Mum's little dog Shep. I lit the big lavender candle that was at Arthur's funeral service. I found two fruit mince pies and a tiny glass of Scotch. I put on carols on You Tube with the laptop, the ones we always listened to. I held Arthur's suit jacket, the one he always wore on ANZAC Day with his medals that I had sewn in place many years ago. I sat Chelsea and Trafford with me, and just remembered.<br />
<br />
I remembered the Christmases past, Arthur's smile, the children opening presents, Xmas dinners at restaurants for us all, baking for Xmas, decorations, trees, his arms about me, his kiss and the way he said he loved me. I remembered holding him when he was too weak to hold me, and the last Christmas in 2010 when I sought the best seafood, Alaskan Crab, prawns and oysters, cold meats, salads and ice-cream, all set in a tempting cold buffet.<br />
<br />
My Mother, my son Jason, Arthur and me, enjoyed a lovely informal Xmas lunch. Jason hooked up the laptop and I located You-Tube videos from England. Arthur saw his home town of Brightlingsea, historical videos of Manchester United Football Club, and many other things he was amazed and happy to see. It was a magical, special day, the last we Christmas we ever shared together.<br />
<br />
This Christmas Eve I held his suit jacket to my breast and cried out the tears I have held back since the day he died, or at least some of them; the others are still behind the dam wall, that is flood I too much fear.<br />
<br />
The year 2011 ends, a part of my life ends. I go from wife to widow and happiness has died within me. The clock moves on and drags me with it, away from my old life, into the one I do not want.<br />
<br />
The only happiness for me now is to find Ajax ad Stamp.<br />
<br />
May 2012 bring that comfort.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.ajaxstamp.com/">www.ajaxstamp.com</a>Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-89757700002275304792011-07-18T03:52:00.002+09:302011-07-18T03:59:14.293+09:30The MysteriesYesterday was the 17th of the month and I spent it with my Mum. In the shower, of all places, I prayed for Arthur and asked God to care for him, and to let Arthur know I still remember him, and that I am trying hard to get on with life. I said I was sorry I did not care for him better, that in the last days I did not spend every minute with him that I could, that I got too tired and that I was not always there when he wanted me to be. I asked God through Jesus Christ to care for Arthur.<br />
<br />
I thought about life and death, and the fear I have that my religion is wrong and there is nothing after death. It is the logical and scientific way, but it is so final and frightening. I do not understand how it can be though. It does not make sense that something as complicated and mysterious as life can just stop and all that we think and understand just stops. We must, I believe, transcend our bodies, because we are more than our body, which is limited in its existence. There are Mysteries to which we mere mortals aspire but cannot know fully in this life.<br />
<br />
So my understanding is that Arthur is beyond my earthly reach, but I am not beyond his, that he has an awareness of me, but he is in the light of eternal love.<br />
<br />
It does not dampen my longing, though. I long to go home, to go back. I am two calender months from when Arthur died, and my grief is still a frightening lake of dark water. If I go in too far, I cannot see the bottom and the other side is shrouded in mists. I fear I will float across the water, bobbing up and down as waves engulf me, and never see the shore again.<br />
<br />
I could grieve and grieve and grieve until there is no more to be wrung from my wretched soul. What happens then? Where is Arthur in my life if I am not grieving for him?<br />
<br />
Dear God, I miss his touch, his voice, his smell. After Arthur died, when I took the pillow from under his head, the little cylinder-shaped pillow he always asked to be put under his neck, it was warm with the last warmth his body ever shared. I held it to me and cried to the nurse. "It is warm, when it is cold he really will be gone."<br />
<br />
I want to feel my husband's warmth next to me in my bed. I long to hold him close and feel his skin on mine, I long to touch him and hold him. I want to hear his strong heart, the heart that just kept going when all of his body was failing around it, the heart that loved me so.<br />
<br />
Love is a Mystery.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-78888590474982107702011-07-15T01:56:00.000+09:302011-07-15T01:56:45.665+09:30Written on March 7th 2011, Arthur's Last View of the Sea.The <a href="http://www.physiotherapy.asn.au/">physiotherapist</a> visited today. As she only is on-site on Monday's, this is the first time she has been able to assess him. Up until now Arthur had been in bed, as the hospital report suggested he was too weak to bear weight.<br />
<br />
She is very good, we massaged Arthur's legs with a heat-rub cream and moved them around to warm up his joints. With the help of another care-assistant, Arthur was able to briefly stand, before sitting back down in a wheelchair. He stood up three times before finally laying back down on the bed. <br />
<br />
The physiotherapist advised that Arthur would need to be transferred by a <a href="http://praxis-healthcare.com/00000198640aab305/000001985b0ca0838/index.html">hoist</a> for a the first week, to get his body used to assuming various positions and bearing the weight-transfers. They got him up and out of bed with a hoist and body sling, into a Princess air-chair. Arthur sat in the front day room where he could see the <a href="http://www.adelaide.world-guides.com/adelaide_beaches.html">ocean</a>. This must be the first time Arthur has seen the sea in at least five years. <br />
<br />
He seemed very comfortable in the air-chair and went to sleep. Later I took him onto the front verandah which overlooked <a href="http://www.southaustralia.com/9002561.aspx">Semaphore Beach.</a> A warm day with a cool sea breeze, the sun reflected off the slight choppy water like a million mirror shards tossing on the surface. The air smelled of salt and, while he slept beside me, I listened again to Arthur's voice in my mind, "There is nothing like sea-air, it does you the world of good."<br />
<br />
I suppose now that is how it will always be, the voices of the ones who are gone will come back, a scene, a sound, a smell, I wonder for how long that will happen. Always, is my guess. We used to go to those lovely beaches in Adelaide, including, in past years, the famous <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Maslin_Beach,_South_Australia">Maslin's Beach</a>, not the ordinary end, but the bit way up the end of the cove, accessible by either a long walk along the sand or about a half-mile of winding wooden walkways down the cliffs. <br />
<br />
We would get to the sign warning of imminent entrance to the Unclad Beach. Down in the sparkling white sands and beautiful water. At at last we could be free of all trappings and swim as free as dolphins, and sun-bake amongst people for whom modesty was the ultimate practice, where you see but do not see and the body has no sexual meaning. I have never felt safer, freer, more respected or happier than on that beach, as natural as the surroundings we enjoyed. This was a precious gift Arthur gave to me.<br />
<br />
I am sitting with him now on the verandah and the breeze is gaining strength, and Arthur saw the clouds on the ocean's horizon and told me that a storm may be brewing.<br />
<br />
You can take the sailor out of the sea but not the sea out of the sailor! <br />
<br />
I can see that the grasses on the sand-dunes, planted to stabilize them, are well grown and look hardy. The Lags Jetty just up the street is one Arthur took me and my children to a number of times and, I would love to take him back there. If I can get his electric wheelchair here, I will try that, maybe with Jason to help. It would be a short ride down the street to get there. If Arthur ever has to go into a nursing home, I want it to be one like this, by the sea, but I hope it never comes to that.<br />
<br />
Watching the ocean is so relaxing. I wish I had the wealth to be able to put Arthur into somewhere like this for a couple of days a week, regularly.<br />
<br />
As I watch the sea my best friend's words come back to me. Having just lived through the trauma of putting her mother, who has dementia, into a nursing home, Jill reminded me that what is happening to Arthur is natural. It is part of life.<br />
<br />
The oceans are also natural, the <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=goFB5HrVkc8">tides </a>come and go, and never stop. <br />
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We cannot halt them, we can just take into our self the solace and comfort they provide. Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-5721187552964213462011-07-14T04:17:00.000+09:302011-07-14T04:17:18.711+09:30Sandra, he always called me SAHn-drAH.My best friend helped me out when I was feeling low. <a href="http://www.behindthename.com/name/jill">Jill</a> is a wonderful friend. I give thanks for <a href="http://www.behindthename.com/name/gillian/tree">Jill</a>, my friend,.<br />
<br />
This sad time has opened big emotions for everyone. For my middle son, he suffers the effects of emotional trauma, for his two brothers, anger. They turned on him and castigated him for his faults, of which he has quite a few. There is no doubt his faults, which stem from his sad feelings, low confidence and self-centredness, impact on the rest of the family. However, the others were not here to see him rise to the circumstances, in ways which they did not. They shied away from the sadness and tragedy that unfolded, and my middle son bore the brunt. My daughters too, I kept most of it from them. My eldest daughter had already broken contact with me four years ago so there was nothing to say to her and, anyway, she lives overseas. For my youngest, I needed to shield her from it, and as she lives interstate it was easy to tell her little.<br />
<br />
My other two sons spent this last weekend in furious electronic communication with me, trying to get me to drop my middle son in favour of them, citing his behaviour, The eldest son did some distressing things, including distributing photos of my middle son's messy house. It was messy in part because of the trauma of the burdens of the situation, and his brother's action caused great embarrassment and hurt. I helped my middle son to start seeing a counsellor, and just as he was starting to make progress, he was traumatised again by his brothers' rejection.<br />
<br />
My Mother is shocked at my two sons' behaviour and tells me to ignore them until they wake up to themselves.<br />
<br />
Neither of those two of my sons seem concerned with my immediate welfare. They think my long-term prospects are better if I am not trying to help their brother, but all they did was hurt and traumatise me. It unleashed a wave of grief and loneliness which took me days to control.<br />
<br />
I am still fragile. I miss <a href="http://www.behindthename.com/name/arthur/tree">Arthur</a>, I just want to hold him again. I want him to talk to me again. I want to hear him say 'Sandra' in that High English or Italian way he always did, "SARn-drAH'; <a href="http://www.behindthename.com/name/sandra/tree">Sandra</a> and <a href="http://www.behindthename.com/name/arthur">Arthur</a>,<br />
<br />
I am tired. I have withdrawn from my university subject and I will take it up later,<br />
<br />
For now, I need rest.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-55391255046628299582011-07-10T14:05:00.000+09:302011-07-10T14:05:17.623+09:30Is it better to fight against a sea of troubles...I feel so bad, that if it wasn't for the dogs, I would rather join Arthur than go on.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-41306412627470461922011-07-06T01:43:00.002+09:302011-07-06T02:07:19.568+09:30Sons and DaughtersI visited my eldest son on Sunday, July 3rd. He made dinner for me, and we went out and walked his <a href="http://www.burkesbackyard.com.au/1998/archives/26/roadtests/dog_breeds/tenterfield_terrier">dogs</a>. During the walk I spoke to him of that last day with Arthur. He was in <a href="http://www.vic.gov.au/">Victoria</a> on a job when it happened. He has been distant during this time, and even on Sunday he was more into solving practical things than giving me any emotional support, He seemed to shy away from anything emotional, which I understand. But it did make it plain to me that I no longer had someone who would put their arms around me and hold me, or tell me it will all be okay. I just <a href="http://www.wikihow.com/Hug">wanted a hug</a>. I wanted to get into the car and go to my best friend, just to get someone to comfort me. But I know I need someone like my son to think of the practical things too.<br />
<br />
This week the local housing agency came and fixed the light switch in Arthur's place. He was waiting for months for them to do that, also to paint his bedroom. His windows and doors needed fixing and again, they didn't come. He always paid his rent on time too, for over forty years in the one house. That disappointed me, though they did put in a ramp for his wheelchair. Arthur would not move into my house, I wish he had, for I am sure I could have looked after him better there, but he wanted us to be in his place, so I respected that. It is hard though, because I have to let it go, the place where many of my memories were formed.<br />
<br />
My second son moved his catamaran today, and this caused an argument with my eldest son, over the trailer. I am sure they will work it out tomorrow but truly I do not have the energy for my offspring's squabbles.<br />
<br />
I have thought a couple of times that maybe soon I should have Arthur's ashes interred, but I am not ready yet. I had his funeral service too soon for me, I was not ready, but my children, or at least my daughter and youngest son pushed me into having it only seven days after Arthur died. They said I needed to get it over with and they could not stay, as they had return flights and jobs they could not be away from for too long They thought they were helping me, but it was not the case. In the end only my middle son went with me to the funeral service, so the others may as well have left me to have it in my own time. <br />
<br />
My middle son says he stills cries himself to sleep at night, and he is getting help from the doctor. <br />
<br />
This has affected us all, in different ways.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-13087431447716174842011-07-02T01:08:00.004+09:302011-07-02T01:22:51.816+09:30MemorySix days ago, I stood in our old bedroom, so empty but for the bits and pieces strewn around, left after the removal of the furniture. I said 'thank you' to the house, to the room, for sheltering us. And then it came upon me, the waves and waves of memories; the sights, sounds, smells, words, touch, love, anger, laughter, desire. Longing tore at my soul.<br />
<br />
I wept as I had not wept before, and memory held me hostage to my pain. I saw again every detail. I felt his touch, his voice. I heard my voice. I saw our dogs, I felt the air, the heat of summer, the cold of winter, the intimate touch of husband and wife, the caress to soothe pain and distress; his to me and mine to his. All this and much, much more cascaded from my memory, as clear as day and yet as distant as the fading moon that shone on our wedding night. <br />
<br />
My blessing and my curse I name it, that so easily I can bring it all back, and it is very nearly real.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-67458332877726423242011-07-01T01:37:00.003+09:302011-07-01T01:43:47.586+09:30Compassion.My son JD assembled his new bed today. I am happy to see him making progress and moving forward. We discussed some of the things we had been through. He said now when he sees old people on TV, he sees them so much differently. He can see how frail or weak they are and he knows they have not much time left.<br />
<br />
I said it was gaining more understanding of ageing than we ever wanted to have, and he agreed. He said one thing he learned, that someone getting slowly weaker and then dying like Arthur did was something he would not wish on his worst enemy.<br />
<br />
JD was the only one of my children closely involved with helping Arthur and me, as the rest live away. I also did not burden them with my troubles, but JD and I have shared an intense life experience. It is even more remarkable because JD did not even very much like Arthur, differences in temperament being as they were. That is what makes JD's effort so remarkable. It is one thing to do this for someone you love, it is another to do it for someone whom you do not. <br />
<br />
JD wrote Arthur a letter and put it in his casket. I do not know what it said, but I know JD had great compassion for Arthur and I hope it helped JD.<br />
<br />
JD also was a great comfort during the service. I know this all took an emotional toll,on him, but his character has shown through in all this and I am so very proud of him.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-73598066376479925392011-06-24T23:37:00.000+09:302011-06-24T23:37:25.015+09:30The Luxury of Tears.Two days ago, I felt an internal shift. I had this tiny calming feeling, that Arthur was with me, in some way. I do not know if it is real or the result of my mind, desperate for relief, tricking me into thinking it is so. It was nothing dramatic, just a feeling that all was not lost, that Arthur knew what was happening to me. Is my psyche finding a way to care for me, or is there actually a link with Arthur, a thread so fine only a distant echo of our lost connection can traverse its span? I do wonder.<br />
<br />
Today is one calender month since Arthur's funeral service and I have not contacted the director about interring his ashes. I am not ready yet, for that.<br />
<br />
I applied for a part-time job this week. Arthur left me some money but I cannot stay out of work for very long. My children suggested I retire and they give me an allowance. I told them they need to save for their old age as having funds makes all the difference to quality of life.<br />
<br />
I tell Arthur what I am doing,sometimes, am I being silly? I hope Arthur is with God. I fear the atheists' idea that death is the end; it is a horrible thought.<br />
<br />
I am keeping grief at bay, I tell myself not to give in to grief and I hold it off. I am not weeping all the time. There was a time when I could weep and there was someone there to comfort me. His arms would encircle me and I could cry my hurt into his shoulder, when the relief of tears was my privilege. Arthur is not here to do that for me anymore and I am afraid to weep alone.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-9455984901771989332011-06-19T23:17:00.006+09:302011-06-19T23:33:32.069+09:30Driving HomeMy friend's birthday dinner was nice, with about a twelve people attending. Her mother and sister were there but her mother has early stage dementia and my friend's sister took her mother home early. My friend's Mum remembered Arthur and said he was a lovely man. I appreciated that.<br />
<br />
I enjoyed the company and especially I enjoyed talking to another couple who had a Tenterfield Terrier. We spent some time showing each other dog photos on our phones.<br />
<br />
I stayed overnight with my friend and her husband. I sometimes did this over the years. I would stay the night because of the laws about driving and drinking alcohol. Arthur would always be glad when I got back. I would ring to say I had had a couple of drinks and would be coming back in the morning. He would get a bit short with me and not be too pleased about it, but when I came back next morning (or sometimes after lunch) he would be at first a bit grumpy. Sometimes I got a bit upset too, but mostly he was just glad to see me. Of course this was before he got sick and needed me to care for him. While he could still get out of bed and look after himself, I would be away for some hours, mostly with my son to do things.<br />
<br />
As Arthur became frailer I could only be away for a couple of hours, while the workers were there. I once took a puppy to someone down the coast and was away for about six hours . He was alright, and I had made arrangements with my Mum for her to be on standby if he needed her but everything was alright. I felt bad about leaving him alone for that long. Now I wish I hadn't gone, because I rue any feelings of loneliness that Arthur had. However, Arthur was glad the puppy went to such a lovely home, with an older couple whose old dog had passed away.<br />
<br />
In the last months I would just go out while the workers were there, down to the shops. There were even doctor's appointments I never attended, and if any of my family or friends asked me to anything I would say no. I told the Terrier club I could no longer help with fund-raising days anymore and I stayed in the home with Arthur.<br />
<br />
This dinner party was the first time I accepted an invitation since 17th May, and it was only because it was from my best friend. Late at night we talked and she revealed to me that her first experience of death was as an eight year old girl when the family doctor's daughter was accidentally run over by her father driving his car out of the driveway, and the doctor committed suicide a few weeks later. Evey decade of her life she lost some-one she knew. I contrasted this with my situation, I told her that as my family is scattered across the country and I didn't have any contact with my extended family, this is the first time anyone close to me has died. I once met Arthur's cousin Dorothy when she visited Australia. We drove all the way to Queensland to see her when she came out to visit her sister Katie, Arthur's favourite cousin. Ten years later we visited England and Arthur's home village. Katie was still living in Queensland near her son, but Dorothy had passed away. I told my friend that was the first time I had stood at the grave of someone I had known in life. That was in 1994.<br />
<br />
My friend told me she is impressed at how I am handling this. I told her it is because I am still in shock, still horrified, and I probably have post-traumatic stress. It did help, though, to talk and put it into words. <br />
<br />
On the drive back I took a detour along the seaside road for a while and gave thanks that Arthur got to see the ocean one last time during his stay at the nursing home for respite. I cried as I was driving. I was driving to my Mother's house, I was not driving home to Arthur. I should have been driving home to Arthur, to him being glad for me to come back home, to being greeted by the dogs and Arthur. I was always a bit worried that he would be a bit unhappy but he was always glad to see me. Now there is no-one to care if I come home or not, or to miss me and be happy to see me come in the door. I just wanted to go home to Arthur and I seem to be knowing it will not happen. I do not want to know this.<br />
<br />
It is just over one month since Arthur died, and I am getting further in time from when I was with him in life. It is getting longer since I was with him alive and I do not want the time to go, I do not want to be further away from Arthur.<br />
<br />
Like today driving back from my friend, I just want to go home.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-72406525992162744992011-06-18T15:11:00.000+09:302011-06-18T15:11:41.659+09:30I want to go home.My best friend has invited me to her birthday party tonight and I will be going. I have no reason not to, and I want to go, but it is strange to not be thinking of Arthur and of how long I can be away, to be arranging respite or just saying no to my friend's invitation. I have no reason not to go and no reason to rush back. I will not be ringing to make contact with Arthur and let him know I will be late or when he will see me coming in the door.<br />
<br />
The guilt, the trade-off of the pleasure of an outing and knowing Arthur wants me with him all the time, the loneliness that I know he will feel until I get back, is gone. I have no reason not to go out and now I do not want to. I want to be home with Arthur, I want to go out and come back to him. I do not want to come back to emptiness.<br />
<br />
Today I called in to collect a bottle of wine from the house, to take to the party. As usual, as soon as I went in I started talking to Arthur. I broke down in tears, the first real deep weeping. I told him I just wanted to come home. Please let me come home. I just want to come home to Arthur. Please let me come home to Arthur, I want to take care of him, to keep him warm in the cold winter, to make him soup, change his pads, make him comfortable on his pillows, to buy seafood for him; to be his wife.<br />
<br />
I just want to go home. Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-35778244146756166532011-06-17T22:43:00.000+09:302011-06-17T22:43:09.173+09:30The 17th.It is the 17th of June, exactly one calender month since Arthur passed away in my arms. I still cannot write of it or the service on the 24th of May, before his cremation.<br />
<br />
Today, I sent the invoice from the Funeral Director to the Arthur's funeral fund.<br />
<br />
Arthur is at the Funeral Director's Chapel. They said he could be there until I am ready to pick him up. I cannot deal with that yet. I will leave this be for a time. I am talking about Arthur's ashes and speaking as if that is him. I do not feel it is him. How can a person come to just this? A life, a complex system of physiology, a mind, feelings, touch, hearing, sight, taste, smell, enjoyment, pain, longing, anticipation, love and it comes down to ashes?<br />
<br />
I cannot comprehend it, I cannot understand it. There must be a soul to tie it all together, a soul that exists beyond the physical body. We must be more than the sum of our parts.<br />
<br />
Arthur cannot be gone; he may be beyond my reach and beyond this life but I cannot accept he is just gone.<br />
<br />
The 17th of the Month, it is my wedding day, and the day I became Arthur's Widow.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-79251571813388948672011-06-16T03:24:00.000+09:302011-06-16T03:24:56.118+09:30Something and Nothing.I moved our bed to my room at my Mum's place today.<br />
<br />
I could no longer sleep in the single bed as it made my back hurt, so I paid a couple of men to move my marital bed here.<br />
<br />
This is the first time I have gone to bed in it since Arthur died. I have settled the dogs under the quilt with me as usual: there is an overwhelming sense of familiarity and strangeness. Something I know well is forever changed. When do I roll over to talk to Arthur, when will I feel his weight next to me, hear his breathing, feel the heat of his body, or smell the scent of another human being that I know as well as my own? When will I talk about our beloved dogs or...but this is pointless because I know the answer. It will be never.<br />
<br />
I am glad to have back a little of that which I had - the bed we shared; but I want Arthur back. I long for him. If I think about it too much, it is truly horrifying, beyond endurance, so I cannot write anymore tonight.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-35152708466752531172011-06-14T21:01:00.000+09:302011-06-14T21:01:57.304+09:30Sorry, Arthur.Today the hire bin was collected. Most of it was stuff that was water-damaged or broken. I found some photographs, and greeting cards and trinkets, and saved it all. I also found some of Arthur's first wife's things that I had stored away. She died before I met Arthur, he must have been in this kind of grief when he met me. I have carefully put those aside too.<br />
<br />
I feel sad every time I pack his things. I say 'Sorry Arthur' over and over out loud, particularly when I lock up and leave the house. I say it as if he can hear me. I wonder if, and hope, he is somewhere where he can.<br />
<br />
Last week's feeling that I had, that any minute I should be driving off to visit Arthur, has changed. That has faded, and is replaced by the regret and guilt of the things Arthur will not know or experience again. I just want to keep saying sorry. <br />
<br />
I cannot look forward and looking back hurts too much, so here I am; nowhere.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-23732943871489085372011-06-13T20:52:00.002+09:302011-06-13T20:54:46.102+09:30It just stops?Last week was bad, I felt that I was away from Arthur for too long and it was time to visit him, in hospital. I spent a few hours in each day at the house alone, packing. With a 'project' to focus on I could just remain numb and do one thing on a time. I held Arthur's Manchester United shirt, one that he wore so much in the last months, to my breast and cried as I remembered holding him to me, the hugs that had to be gentler as he become frailer, the last embrace as he died in my arms. I lay on the bed in his place and smelled the scent, fading day by day, of him on the pillows. I could not do it for long, with an ocean of pain lapping at the wall, like a flooded dam that needs only the gentlest agitation to send the water crashing over the top.<br />
<br />
<br />
I despaired that meals I would never cook again for Arthur, the football matches we will never see together, the sweet tea I would never make for him again. I will never feel his touch on my hair again or a playful touch of my breast, followed by a cheeky grin.<br />
<br />
I despair the things Arthur will not know, the Manchester United wins he will not see, the dogs he will no longer cuddle, the touch of my hand, the Christmas dinners and jokes we will never again share.<br />
<br />
I do not understand this sudden severance, how can things just stop like that? I cannot comprehend it. Last week I was numb and just operating.<br />
<br />
This week I am still not crying, I am just horrified by it all.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-64450986999827152902011-06-13T20:22:00.000+09:302011-06-13T20:22:18.834+09:30Writing is hard. Packing up a life is harder,I flinch away from writing this diary, I fear to touch the wall of grief. I know I have an appointment with pain.<br />
<br />
Today, my best friend and her daughter helped me fill the big bin I had delivered. We cleaned out the rubbish from the garage. For a long time I have been stashing stuff in there to make room for Arthur's equipment. We found many things, including cards, photographs and ornaments, which I have carefully put aside. It is so sad to see Arthur's little things being packed away, and to see the cards we gave each other and photos of us doing things together.<br />
<br />
I found the letter that Arthur found in France in 1945, on 6 June, D-Day. He just picked it up, with no envelope, on the ground. I must find the family one day.<br />
<br />
This is almost too painful to write. I have packed up a lot of things, and I have found a workman to move it. And all I can do is say sorry, sorry, sorry Arthur, that I have to do this, that I have to pack away your life. I am sorry I cannot stay in the house anymore, but I cannot stay there without you. I cannot bear it.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-56727793977003678922011-06-08T01:00:00.001+09:302011-06-08T01:03:07.603+09:30Arthur, I miss you.I am numb, few tears flow. I am not giving in to grief, for tasks call me; only I can complete them. But I ache, a deep unrequited yearning. I want to pick up the keys to the car and drive to the hospital, drive to Semaphore, leave my Mum's place, where she is caring for me, and drive home, drive anywhere to see Arthur, to hear Arthur, to hold Arthur. I just want to touch his hand, feel Arthur hold me close, hug me, to feel his hair, his hand, to hug our dogs between us.<br />
<br />
I hurt to the core of my soul.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-10742509405290885732011-05-31T12:30:00.001+09:302011-05-31T12:31:29.824+09:30Love and grief.It is my birthday, seven days since the funeral service for my husband, 14 days from when he died in my arms, as our little dog Chelsea lay between us.<br />
<br />
I am here, Arthur, in our room, the dogs are with me, and my whole being aches for you. You promised me when you lay sick in that A & E bed, that you would be here for my birthday. Now I know your body could not hold out that long, but I am here, I am having my birthday with you.<br />
<br />
I love you.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-82277881423280847732011-05-17T07:29:00.000+09:302011-05-17T07:29:59.748+09:30Last Rites.The hospital called at about 1am this morning to say my husband's condition had worsened and that they did not expect him to survive this hospital stay. I came straight in. The fluid has built up in his lungs and they think his kidneys are not working.<br />
<br />
I must be matter-of-fact in writing this, I am in the room with him as he sleeps and I do not want to weep. I am determined he should be comfortable and have dignity. He has had morphine for pain. I instructed the doctor to recommence the i/v antibiotics as he cannot take the oral ones now. He has slept all night.<br />
<br />
<br />
I do not know if he can hear me say 'I love you" and "I am sorry', or if he knows one of the dogs, Chelsea is sleeping by his side, or heard the Anglican give the Prayer for the Dying. I half-hope he did not hear the last one, or he will be frightened, maybe. Or maybe not.<br />
<br />
He has a single room and caring staff. Last night he complained of an earache and the doctor said there was a build-up of wax and the EN&T could not do it till the next day. Arthur got distressed by the pain so he was given a shot of Fenadril??? and later had 1 and 1/2 Temazapan, and later some morphine so he is sleeping heavily. I am watching his catheter drain, and not a great lot of urine has been voided so my hopes are fading.<br />
<br />
I played some of his music he lives, Handel's Largo, that he told me he played on the violin for his mother as a schoolboy. He had to give up violin studies to go to work on the fishing boats at 14 years of age. He really regretted that. Many years ago I bought him a violin and he played that Largo for me.<br />
<br />
My son said he would come out from London to help, my mother and my other sons will help me too.<br />
<br />
But now is the wee small hours, I am still his wife, I still care for him. I am writing this part of his story. Not an end, but a passing. I must pass him on, in his time, to his Mother, Father, only sibling - his brother and other loved ones who have gone before. I have taken a lock of his hair and tied one of mine to his wristband.<br />
<br />
Our love will be forever.<br />
<br />
He is groaning a little, I must tend him now.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3347050413776676840.post-47684504273416493412011-05-14T11:14:00.001+09:302011-05-14T11:18:09.706+09:30The First Box Packed, and I Accept Reality.Arthur is was eating and taking sips of fluids last night. His colour is better and he is talking. He complains of not being able to sleep and the staff woke him to reposition him, but otherwise he is looking okay.<br />
<br />
This morning I started packing the kitchen up. I have finally accepted that this is nearing an end. Last night Arthur said he had not lot of time left and he wants to spend it with me. For the first time, I agreed with him. It was a profound moment. I have feared it for so long, cried bitter, frightened tears and told myself that we had years yet to live and love. Now I know we do not.<br />
<br />
I am truly helping Arthur close his life with dignity and comfort, as much as I can. Today I packed up the first box, my kitchen implements and cooking pans I know I will not be using in this house again. I will cook Arthur no more pastries he so loved, much preferred to sponge cakes. His food is now pureed or soft. I will not be him cooking <a href="http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/4740/rock+cakes">rock-cakes</a>, roast dinners with<a href="http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/5130/yorkshire+puddings"> Yorkshire puddings or</a> pancakes, or mixing him a shandy or a gimlet drink. When I made <a href="http://www.taste.com.au/recipes/21133/traditional+fruit+mince+pies">fruit mince pies</a> at Christmas, when he would steal them from the cooling racks, trying to look innocent with mouthful of rock-cake.<br />
<br />
Will these memories comfort or sadden me in the years to come?<br />
<br />
<br />
Truly now, I am also helping myself to close my life as Arthur's wife. I am preparing to be his widow.Way2fargonehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07456734366722986054noreply@blogger.com0