Felicitations!

It's my blog's birthday! I've been sharing my words, my inner most thoughts, my fears , my musings for a whole year. So if you've got this far thank you very much. I've appreciated every comment and words of encouragement along the way , of which there have been many.  I muse with going bigger, starting a facebook blog but not sure if I can handle the criticism / keyboard warriors I may encounter along the way. 

I will include last year's opening post at the end of this one but oddly there's a number of similarities but also huge differences in what I wrote then. I wrote of new normals, of taking a day at a time and then watching as they merged into weeks . I wrote of fear of cancer returning....well,that one came true! 

Currently I'm trying to, I suppose, ascertain a new set of normals. Not really sure what normal is anymore but would like there to be a sense of normality in my life , a sense of control in what I do. 

I don't think normal is having cups of peppermint tea & chatting in coffee shops everyday ( however nice that is to catch up with friends) , I don't think normal is just working mornings, I don't think normal is sending emails about my late husband to bloody pension companies yet these are all things that have became standard in the past few weeks. I don't think it's  normal being 4 not 5. I don't think it's normal having to budget on a very tight budget ...because no one seems to think it's a matter of urgency or even just plain mannerly to respond to my emails! So I continue to search for my new normal.

Yesterday I stepped in to Peter Mac for the first time since 13th February . When I was there then I had a husband , who was very poorly, we had a had a bad weekend. We had not been listened to by a new doctor on the Friday, he caused me much distress. We went back to see him that Monday and I told him exactly what I thought, what I wanted and he concurred that would happen. Two days later Scott was so ill he needed admitted to Palliative Care , something that Peter Mac doesn't offer. So I don't have the association of Scott dying there, like I do every time I go past / near ONJ. I really 

wasn't sure how my reaction to going back in to Peter Mac would be. I had things to return; 

nutritional cartons, dressing packs, home care notes. " just call in when you're passing! " . They've been on my very long mental to do list. ( it includes things like sell a motorbike, email bloody 

pension companies again!). My friend kindly drove me there, kindly kept on chatting whilst I sat sobbing as we approached the part of the city our hospitals were in. Scott and I had been backwards and forwards at these hospitals for over 5 years. It's a very familiar part of town for us. So when I walked in yesterday I was totally overwhelmed . Overwhelmed by the reason I was there. Returning 

things because my husband died. Overwhelmed with not being there with him. Overwhelmed by everyone else being there for a purpose . There is such a sense of quiet camaraderie when you are in waiting rooms , you're all there for the same reason, whether as the patient or the companion. 

There is no amount of preparation, of anticipation that helps you become a better widow. It's not my natural role...I was much better at being a wife. When you think you can't possibly cry more tears but yes you actually can. I would never have thought it was as difficult to get a response out of blooming pension companies ( I'm dealing with 6 different companies...all equally inconsiderate when it comes to dealing with a grief stricken yet still strong minded woman) . I am concerned over those women who may not be so strong / financially astute. What becomes of them? 

Onwards, just onwards for now. Days still being taken one at a time but quickly merge into weeks (11 of them) . Please love your loved ones. Live life because you can and laugh...or at least smile. There is much kindness in our lives for which we are grateful. 

Last year's blog :

Ah, yes! My blog! Not many mutterings have been made on it. A constant on my mental 'to do' list but to be fair it's a very long list. Anyway, let's start again, let's write a blog, let's mutter away to a hearts content.An opportunity to chatter away to myself and whoever may eventually read this.

Looking Forward : 
How do you allow yourself to look forward again, to anticipate a future , to think freely and without worry ? How do you learn to do that again once a cancer diagnosis takes that joy of planning ahead away , not once but twice. How indeed.

I've always been a plan a -header , always a count down-er,  a relish-er of the the challenge of a plan, the delicious anticipation of a list to be written and then joyfully ticked off or maybe even scored out.
Life suddenly changes when cancer enters your household , it takes priority, it supersedes even the most set in stone plans. It has to be dealt with .

You deal with it. You take one slow day at a time, slowly. You get through each day , realise that one week has passed , then another , then a month or so and then here we are one whole year post diganosis of cancer part 2. I am learning to dare to look ahead , to plan some events in the future ( though not too far ahead...that would be flighty!)

However, that sense of taking every day as it comes, alonst came crashing down again last weekend. We had a scare, we thought another lesion had grown , that stomach clenching grip of fear returned , that utter terror that cancer was back, that acknowledgement that behind the smile, behind the happy persona lies a constant fear . It resides inside me , usually kept bubbling under the surface but on occasion like at the weekend when 'hello' out it pops. As it happens ( thankfully, so thankfully) it was not another lesion , it has been checked at hospital and reassurances given . I'm left with a sense of ' well, it's okay ...for now' and 'let's not get too carried away with this planning ahead business.'

However, life is for living and loving and laughing. It's for looking forward , whether that's to tomorrow or to next month or to next year. It's for making the most of each day. Here's to making each day count. 

A day for mothers

It's Mothering Sunday in Australia tomorrow. This mother will be having her first Mother's Day as a single parent ...one child is away , one child will be working ( after I have delivered them to work...blooming trains are off again this weekend) and the other child will no doubt have a long lie. This mother will be no doubt awake early, feed the dog, walk the dog...bask in the dog's love for her ...its reciprocal, he's my favourite child. ( the other children know and accept this ...he is also their favourite sibling!)

This mother is discovering daily that it's not easy being a lone parent. We've had some fairly hefty family stuff in the last couple of weeks and I really could have done with a husband to talk to , to share with , to be reassured that it will all be okay. That's not an option now...I still tell him , he just doesn't reply.

This mother used to go to bed knowing that there was a father to wait up / collect wayward children and could sleep easier ( although always having an ear open even whilst sleeping to know they were back safely.)This has been difficult for me to get used to. This is when I feel the weight of single parenthood the most...well that and a much reduced income! Please switch the lights off and unplug the telly at night as I've just had a huge electricity bill, which prior to Scott's death would just have been paid without a thought. April the 25th was the first time in over 25 years that we did not have a full time wage coming in. I now think of money values in terms of weeks groceries...my youngest daughter spent a week's grocery money on a pair of strappy shoes on Wednesday! ( her wages which she's worked hard for so up to her how she spends them)

So this mother has a new found respect ( which I always did have ) for those mums and dads who have to parent on their own. Who have to take the role of both mother and father , who have to say no, I can't afford it when maybe once they said what the heck. Who for all sorts of reasons, choice, circumstance, find themselves doing it on their own.

Have a lovely day tomorrow . Be spoiled. Be loved. Be proud of your achievement as a parent.

#mothersdayinmay

Nine

Back in September 2016 , I received an invitation to attend an afternoon tea at our Palliative Care Team 's office. I recoiled at the invitation as I did not identify myself as a Carer...even the government  didn't recognise me as one until 5 weeks before Scott died and that was on appeal and a lot of vociferous complaining by our hospital social worker.

At that afternoon tea...only attended as a last minute decision and really swayed by the picture of the scones with jam and cream on the invite ( yes, I really am that shallow) I suddenly found myself in the company of only one other 'wife' ( who is so lovely and we have kept in touch) the rest were all recently bereaved and were all widowed. I was wearing a red gilet and red shoes and carrying as always my red Cath Kidston bag and wondering if I was wearing too much red? Seems this was not so as the lady I sat next to was dressed , most fabulously , from top to toe in red . This lady said the words to me which have burned in my mind since, " I've been a widow for 9 weeks" . I was so utterly horrified at her words. With the realisation that I would one day be saying those same words. Those words filled me with fear , with horror, with a sense of unknowing what was ahead. I started to sob , I spent a lot of that afternoon sobbing. I really felt justified when I later found out we should not all have been in that mix together. It was an administrative error. It was wrong. However , good did come out of it, a bereavement group was set up from this event and whilst I haven't  been , I did receive an invitation....along with my condolence card from them.

Today, I can say , with tears, with horror that I too, have been a widow for 9 weeks. I have not had a husband by my side for 9 whole weeks, for 63 whole days , for 2 months and 2 days. Neither Scott nor I liked the word widow. He would get very upset at the thought of me being one but hey...I get very upset at actually being one. Neither of us liked me being known as his carer. I was simply just his wife, someone who loved him so much that I would have done anything for him at anytime of day or night. Going from being that person who was constantly alert to pain , to distress, to difficulty breathing, eating, talking. To being the person administering medications , to monitoring their effects , their side effects. To being the keeper of the diary inside my head, knowing what, where , when 

...and how we were going to get there. To being the writer of the journal. To being the person who would sit quietly , just happy to 'be with' . To being so focused on 'caring ' for Scott , as in caring and loving him .

Being a widow of 9 weeks means you no longer have to physically do any of these things. The challenge of having been so focused on one person for so long and then not having that person there is so difficult. The adjustment to a life of  not having a husband with you is so hard. The ache of physically just missing their presence at your side, never being held again by them. Told and the telling of I love you's , which were said so very, very often. The busyness and the focus of a day consumed with making sure needs were met has just suddenly gone and as a widow of 9 weeks standing I am finding the lack of focus difficult to adjust to. There is just a vastness where  that focus used to be , an empty space....within me and around me. 

We still hoot with laughter, we constantly look through photos ( because that's all we have now, no more chances to do our 'selfie of the day ' , we started this in January when Scott's health was 

declining.) , we still eat and I still cook for 5 ....I'm not really sure of portion size for 4 yet! We still smile and remember dad moments, we had so many. We still go about our everyday motions of work / university/ school and there is a constant sense of movement within our house as we are in and out doing these things. Walking dog , feeding dog, loving dog. He is less forlorn than he was but  currently feeling sorry for himself with an ear infection and only putting up with ear drops for the treat he gets afterwards. Yet , above and beyond all these things we do , because we have to do them , we just all ache with missing . With missing my husband, my best friend , my children's father, my dog's daddy. We just miss him, the person he was, the laughter he created, the love he showed. It's a whole Scott sized space in our lives now. An awareness of this is where he should be but he isn't. 

There is still horror in the mailbox ( there actually is...snails who eat letters and a cockroach on a letter the other week!) yesterday's mail left me so distressed and upset. Then , this morning I check and see if my email regarding this has been responded too and it hasn't and this causes distress to me....absolutely not to them. Some person, in the UK ...just doing their job , not feeling any sense of urgency or even downright manners in a need to reply. In the same mail, letters from our old hospital 

asking Scott for a donation, asking me twice and then even asking the previous owner, who hasn't lived here for 6 years , for a donation. If I hadn't been so distressed from opening the first  letter these ones might have been bearable. Again , I can appreciate that they  are just computer generated but still difficult to get mail like this. 

So, we continue on this new path of life, with its unknown twists and turns , bumps and hollows, corners and hills . A path not of our choosing. But a path we must make the most of ....because we can.