Where did I get to. One death, one attempted murder and I arrive at mother’s. My youngest brother and his wife already there. The relief.
Dazed and still shaken up, thanks to Mr BMW. SiL was asking me if I was okay with this funeral choice, okay with that. I really don’t care, do whatever, keep nodding, get it over with, bloody grateful they’re doing it. That is one upside of the brain injury and subsequent executive dysfunction and memory issues – I can’t be trusted with responsibility any more. Every cloud.
“He’s still upstairs, do you want to go and see him?”
Well that’s a big fat no. “His body is still here?”
“Yes, they said they’ll be here by lunchtime to collect him”.
What a horrible way to die. Starving yourself because you’ve given up as soon as you receive a cancer diagnosis. No treatment or fighting for life, thanks. Yes, mother was a terrible nurse, constantly shouting at him but no one deserves to watch their partner of 43 years die like that.
“Can you smell it? HE STINKS. Its bloody horrible. STINKS. He’s stinking the house out!”
And there she is, true to form. That’s her recently deceased husband she’s talking about, my sympathy evaporated a little and I’m back in the room.
Now, I’m not proud of this bit but can you honestly tell me you’ve never rooted around a dead person’s prescription meds to look for any ‘good’ ones?(!) We shared out the Lorazepam but they’re only 1mg. Rubbish. I’d forgotten about them until now as I type. Post accident I had horrific panic attacks and doc gave me diazepam. Which really worked. Little life savers. Sadly I only managed a few strips because he said they’ve very addictive, no more. You think? I still crave them four years later!
Her phone rang and a few minutes later I heard her say “Joy’s here! Do you want to speak to her?!” and then passes the phone to me with “Its your Aunty M!”. What, the Aunty M who I haven’t spoken to since my accident (as regular readers will know I was in depression hell for two years) but who recently decided she’s going to let bygones be bygones but I don’t know what the bygones were? THAT Aunty M? The Aunty M who told me she witnessed you force me to eat vomit off my plate (amongst other pretty horrific stuff) and also told me (in my THIRTIES) you all thought my adopted dad had been sexually abusing me and how you wanted him back so much (he ran away) you locked him in your house 2 years later regardless of me? THAT Aunty M?
I was shaking and furious. She ALWAYS does this. Always tries to act important to whoever she’s talking to, always passing the phone over, as if mobiles don’t exist and she has to control who speaks to who. But I can’t cope with surprises any more. My brain’s wires are scrambled. And this a really bad time.
I’d spoken to mother a few weeks previously about never being able to get through to Aunty M and I didn’t know why or what I’d done because I hadn’t spoken to her. It was relayed back to me that she was prepared to let bygones be bygones and you’re welcome to go over for a cup of tea.
I knew mother had a hand in this. Her constant lies. So many lies. Everything starts with “I’m not lying, but” or “your father will back me up on this”. Well he won’t any more. I’m not speaking to Aunty M right now. Definitely not at this moment when I can’t concentrate. My head empties under stress. Not a thought to be found, only panic.
I was shaking. I might’ve said a bit loudly, “NO! NO I WON’T!”
She rang again two days later when I was there and mother did the exact same thing again. But this time I spoke and said I’d call her later when I was home. Without mother chirping in.
Then the following Monday their youngest sister Aunty A died.
To Be Cont’d…/