The Mysteries

Yesterday 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.

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.

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.
 
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.

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?

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."

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.

Love is a Mystery.

Written on March 7th 2011, Arthur's Last View of the Sea.

The physiotherapist 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.

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.

The physiotherapist advised that Arthur would need to be transferred by a hoist 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 ocean. This must be the first time Arthur has seen the sea in at least five years.

He seemed very comfortable in the air-chair and went to sleep. Later I took him onto the front verandah which overlooked Semaphore Beach. 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."

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 Maslin's Beach, 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.

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.

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.

You can take the sailor out of the sea but not the sea out of the sailor!

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.

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.

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.

The oceans are also natural, the tides come and go, and never stop.

We cannot halt them, we can just take into our self the solace and comfort they provide.  

Sandra, he always called me SAHn-drAH.

My best friend helped me out when I was feeling low. Jill is a wonderful friend. I give thanks for Jill, my friend,.

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.

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.

My Mother is shocked at my two sons' behaviour and tells me to ignore them until they wake up to themselves.

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.

I am still fragile. I miss Arthur, 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'; Sandra and Arthur,

I am tired. I have withdrawn from my university subject and I will take it up later,

For now, I need rest.

Is 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.

Sons and Daughters

I visited my eldest son on Sunday, July 3rd. He made dinner for me, and we went out and walked his dogs. During the walk I spoke to him of that last day with Arthur. He was in Victoria 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 wanted a hug. 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.

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.

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.

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. 

My middle son says he stills cries himself to sleep at night, and he is getting help from the doctor.

This has affected us all, in different ways.

Memory

Six 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.

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.

My blessing and my curse I name it, that so easily I can bring it all back, and it is very nearly real.

Compassion.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.