18th June 2013
Dear Alex,
After horrendous reports on how you had been in the morning, I was expecting you at your worst again. Nobody had been able to come near you to get you out of bed. You hand is swollen and purple, your elbow and your foot and ankle too... You literally, from head to foot, are covered in signs of your trying to escape this hellish nightmare that is so very real.
And dear God I pray for peace as I feel you are desperately trying to make sense of it all.
You're in bed calm and resting when I arrive. I curl up beside you and kiss you, nusling into your arm, my cheek against yours and you smile your amazing smile.
... Like a huge round boulder in its form, I see darkness, but above it and through it pockets of bright silver light stream and it penetrates most powerfully through the dusty darkness, darkness seems to dissolve as I focus on the light, I watch the darkness and realise if I focus on that, the light fades, so I focus again on the light which continues to banish the dark, dissolving it as though its nothing but dust. The bright light has almost dissolved all the darkness, and it feels like a healing cleansing, pure light. Then I look to the left, a bright royal blue peacock, the most majestic and beautiful peacock glides past, I watch it and am aware of how in awe of it I am. Wondering what it is? What it represents, it feels like a king.
Someone knocks on the door and I realise we have been asleep almost 2 hours!
I feel the explanation for my dream needs to be researched, knowing it meant something. I think the light is divine light, light from the Most High, and if I continue to focus on this, it will dissolve our troubles, our anguish like dust, but if I focus solely on the dark, it overwhelms... The peacock represents majesty, often peacocks are seen in original nativity scenes, and it was a message to say the Most High is very real and very involved in this. That He is present and I have to follow...
Peacocks' feathers (of which the kids just the other week found several on the street a few weeks ago, there are no peacocks around here!) represent new life as the old feathers fall out every year and new more brilliant, beautiful ones replace them each year, a sign of renewal, which is a word the peacock symbolises.
So that word patience arises very profoundly again.
To see you as calm and happy as you were when I came in was a surprise and a relief.
My dream was dreamed as I was in your arms, and was an extremely relevant one...
Let's just keep holding out, hoping this is just a phase as I continue to pray for peace for you and acceptance, so that you may move forward.
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Monday, 17 June 2013
Sunday, 16 June 2013
Dear Alex, Father's Day.
15 June 2013
Dear Alex,
Seasons pass, skies fill with bulbous clouds, my journeys to you have begun again and nature becomes again a source of inspiration and courage.
The 'day-by-day' mantra that I hate reigns. I see it just has to be this way, this, quite literally, is the only way to get through this. Because you see, to think ahead, to plan, I have not that luxury. If I think even of a few days ahead I cannot cope, so much unknown swirls around, I cannot see. So when I take the kids today to see you and you seem tired but calm, I smile and fall into your arms loving you and thanking God that even though we go through all we do that sometimes the sun comes out. Occasions like today when you speak quite clearly and kiss me and bask in the presence of the kids, it tips the scales and yesterday, a terrible day of cries and uncontrollable anger and hitting out and indecipherable requests, frustrations, washes away in one good visit.
No you can't come home, no, I don't know when you can, yes your constant request to come home and when are you coming home and let me see my kids tear out my heart, but when you were home it was too much for you, you seemed worse. And my angel, you know I have to protect these kids of ours, so for now, I know this is what has to happen.
And I have to have patience, because my goal of having you home has not shifted. And I know some day it will happen. I have to hold on to this.
Maybe all this, this angst and hurt and seemingly endless pain, maybe this period of time is the process of you being so aware of your situation and accepting it...? Who knows.
The first thing you say to me when I come in today, you seem desperate to communicate it, you are pointing to your head and saying 'it's all here, everything still'
I know it is, I think sometimes due to the brain damage you become confused and lost, unable to process everything as you need to or as someone without a brain injury can. But this desperate need to communicate the fact that 'it's all here, everything still, in my head' shows me how at times it is all still in there.
A simple sentence from you which fills me with hope again.
One day at a time my angel.
Happy Father's Day, your kids love you so very, very much...
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
 |
| A happy visit with dadda. |
Dear Alex,
Seasons pass, skies fill with bulbous clouds, my journeys to you have begun again and nature becomes again a source of inspiration and courage.
The 'day-by-day' mantra that I hate reigns. I see it just has to be this way, this, quite literally, is the only way to get through this. Because you see, to think ahead, to plan, I have not that luxury. If I think even of a few days ahead I cannot cope, so much unknown swirls around, I cannot see. So when I take the kids today to see you and you seem tired but calm, I smile and fall into your arms loving you and thanking God that even though we go through all we do that sometimes the sun comes out. Occasions like today when you speak quite clearly and kiss me and bask in the presence of the kids, it tips the scales and yesterday, a terrible day of cries and uncontrollable anger and hitting out and indecipherable requests, frustrations, washes away in one good visit.
No you can't come home, no, I don't know when you can, yes your constant request to come home and when are you coming home and let me see my kids tear out my heart, but when you were home it was too much for you, you seemed worse. And my angel, you know I have to protect these kids of ours, so for now, I know this is what has to happen.
And I have to have patience, because my goal of having you home has not shifted. And I know some day it will happen. I have to hold on to this.
Maybe all this, this angst and hurt and seemingly endless pain, maybe this period of time is the process of you being so aware of your situation and accepting it...? Who knows.
The first thing you say to me when I come in today, you seem desperate to communicate it, you are pointing to your head and saying 'it's all here, everything still'
I know it is, I think sometimes due to the brain damage you become confused and lost, unable to process everything as you need to or as someone without a brain injury can. But this desperate need to communicate the fact that 'it's all here, everything still, in my head' shows me how at times it is all still in there.
A simple sentence from you which fills me with hope again.
One day at a time my angel.
Happy Father's Day, your kids love you so very, very much...
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Thursday, 13 June 2013
Dear Alex, Shedding some light.
13th June 2013
Dear Alex,
Shaking, I pull the car up at the Care Home. I don't know why I am so worried, I suppose it's a physical reaction manifesting itself from the past several weeks.
Accounts of how you have been over the last 5 weeks are given, dates, timings, events and I wonder how our life ever descended into this. Life of doctors, specialists, treatments, hoping, disappointment, perseverance, endurance and intrusion.
How can it be that we sit here discussing your behaviour, your medication, the best plan of action?
It's so overwhelming I have to place my hand on my heart in an attempt to prevent it searing through my throat.
I try and take the positives from today. The neurologist spends a long while listening, writing and offers his observations, he was patient, clear and thorough. Explaining clearly the build up to your coming home was unstable, finally being at home and being more aware, normal things you used to do, the way you used to be sunk in. You couldn't cope with your situation and the circumstances, being at home and hearing your kids, but not being able to do anything or even see them meant you spiralled into a deep depression, anxiety levels through the roof and this you fought day and night with your cries and aggression. Nothing could calm you as you had not the memory to retain things, like I would be back were I not there, nor what was happening. You became confused and with the brain injury and the damage still so present and foreboding, you just could not cope.
He has said you should stay in the Care Home, not unsettling you at all, no home visits, so that you stabilise. That everything you understand, your environment stays the same.
So no more home for you for a long while.
At least I know this will not last forever and at least I know why this change in you came about.
Although I try and stifle the questions:
Does this mean you will never be able to live with us?
Will we never be a complete family again, all living under one roof?
What if... What if... What if...?
And what if? Alex, how will I continue to deal with all this heartache?
I'm tired, so tired of my heart aching, of it aching for you, for me, for those souls of love of ours, all four of them.
I'm tired of not knowing where we may or may not get to.
Tired of having to deal with a life so different, full of joy at simplicities, and anguish at simplicities we are unable to achieve.
Tonight I try to focus on the slightly more positive side of what the neurologist said.
I can't deal with anything else.
There's no point in thinking of the 'what ifs' I know, but they wait like hounds at the door waiting to strike...
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dear Alex,
Shaking, I pull the car up at the Care Home. I don't know why I am so worried, I suppose it's a physical reaction manifesting itself from the past several weeks.
Accounts of how you have been over the last 5 weeks are given, dates, timings, events and I wonder how our life ever descended into this. Life of doctors, specialists, treatments, hoping, disappointment, perseverance, endurance and intrusion.
How can it be that we sit here discussing your behaviour, your medication, the best plan of action?
It's so overwhelming I have to place my hand on my heart in an attempt to prevent it searing through my throat.
I try and take the positives from today. The neurologist spends a long while listening, writing and offers his observations, he was patient, clear and thorough. Explaining clearly the build up to your coming home was unstable, finally being at home and being more aware, normal things you used to do, the way you used to be sunk in. You couldn't cope with your situation and the circumstances, being at home and hearing your kids, but not being able to do anything or even see them meant you spiralled into a deep depression, anxiety levels through the roof and this you fought day and night with your cries and aggression. Nothing could calm you as you had not the memory to retain things, like I would be back were I not there, nor what was happening. You became confused and with the brain injury and the damage still so present and foreboding, you just could not cope.
He has said you should stay in the Care Home, not unsettling you at all, no home visits, so that you stabilise. That everything you understand, your environment stays the same.
So no more home for you for a long while.
At least I know this will not last forever and at least I know why this change in you came about.
Although I try and stifle the questions:
Does this mean you will never be able to live with us?
Will we never be a complete family again, all living under one roof?
What if... What if... What if...?
And what if? Alex, how will I continue to deal with all this heartache?
I'm tired, so tired of my heart aching, of it aching for you, for me, for those souls of love of ours, all four of them.
I'm tired of not knowing where we may or may not get to.
Tired of having to deal with a life so different, full of joy at simplicities, and anguish at simplicities we are unable to achieve.
Tonight I try to focus on the slightly more positive side of what the neurologist said.
I can't deal with anything else.
There's no point in thinking of the 'what ifs' I know, but they wait like hounds at the door waiting to strike...
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Wednesday, 12 June 2013
Dear Alex, Today...
12 th June 2013
Dear Alex,
We wake, the kids and I, the alarm startles me after a night of tossing and turning with nightmares and cold sweats.
I want the world to stop.
Breakfast complete, four kids dressed and ready for the school run. I stay in and help out in Esmie's class for an hour before putting my foot down and getting to you. You call after requesting the carer ring me on repeat since you woke. I tell you I am nearly there...
When I arrive you have astonishingly calmed down. You seem extremely tired, your voice croaky from crying for the hours since you woke. Three hours they inform me.
But whilst I am there I get through, we talk and I find Alex, the Alex from before this period of time began. Eventually after I give you a massage and you get I get you into bed you are still calm, peaceful almost lying there and tiredness washes over me. I lean over and kiss your almost sleeping head.
'I'm going to pick up the kids now, I'm back as soon as I can be in in the morning'
'Ok,' you say drowsily, a soft smile on your lips.
'See you tomorrow, I love you, will you marry me and have my children?'
'What more kids?' I ask laughing, you smile a big smile, eyes closed
'Yeah!'
'We'll discuss it again tomorrow ok?!'
And I leave satisfied.
I drive back for the school run, getting flashed for speeding on my return. Not hugely speeding, 3 miles over the 40 mph limit, but I know I am done.
I have 20 minutes before school pickup and prepare the picnic tea for the kids.
We get home at 3.40 and are back out within 10 minutes for Lola's dance class. Popping into town whilst we wait for her with the others I get milk.
Then the 3 big kids have St John's ambulance training. On returning to the house, a tidy up, time doing puzzles, a bath and reading with Esmie. Picking up again and arriving home at just before 8.
They're in bed, in their sleeping bags camping on the floor in my bedroom that sleeps us all.
Calling the care home I hear you are asleep finally, finally after 6 phone calls to me from the care, again at your insistence and me unable to calm you via the phone.
Washing and dishwasher and putting clothes away, a final tidy and I crash.
A lavender tea to hand, pillow doused in lavender oil I hope to sleep better tonight...
I relaxed a while with you today as you were calm, I thought to myself 'is this it? Is this all over? Have you finally come through this time?'
Only to be called so many times with you unable to talk, too distressed.
Back to where we have been for 6 long and lonely weeks now...
And I want the world to shut tonight.
Just for one night.
But I know I have to keep on doing this, hoping we are not here forever...
I'm back in for a crisis meeting about you tomorrow, where the neurologist, nurse, carers, we all shall be present in the hope someone can shed some light.. That somehow, someone can do something.
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Dear Alex,
We wake, the kids and I, the alarm startles me after a night of tossing and turning with nightmares and cold sweats.
I want the world to stop.
Breakfast complete, four kids dressed and ready for the school run. I stay in and help out in Esmie's class for an hour before putting my foot down and getting to you. You call after requesting the carer ring me on repeat since you woke. I tell you I am nearly there...
When I arrive you have astonishingly calmed down. You seem extremely tired, your voice croaky from crying for the hours since you woke. Three hours they inform me.
But whilst I am there I get through, we talk and I find Alex, the Alex from before this period of time began. Eventually after I give you a massage and you get I get you into bed you are still calm, peaceful almost lying there and tiredness washes over me. I lean over and kiss your almost sleeping head.
'I'm going to pick up the kids now, I'm back as soon as I can be in in the morning'
'Ok,' you say drowsily, a soft smile on your lips.
'See you tomorrow, I love you, will you marry me and have my children?'
'What more kids?' I ask laughing, you smile a big smile, eyes closed
'Yeah!'
'We'll discuss it again tomorrow ok?!'
And I leave satisfied.
I drive back for the school run, getting flashed for speeding on my return. Not hugely speeding, 3 miles over the 40 mph limit, but I know I am done.
I have 20 minutes before school pickup and prepare the picnic tea for the kids.
We get home at 3.40 and are back out within 10 minutes for Lola's dance class. Popping into town whilst we wait for her with the others I get milk.
Then the 3 big kids have St John's ambulance training. On returning to the house, a tidy up, time doing puzzles, a bath and reading with Esmie. Picking up again and arriving home at just before 8.
They're in bed, in their sleeping bags camping on the floor in my bedroom that sleeps us all.
Calling the care home I hear you are asleep finally, finally after 6 phone calls to me from the care, again at your insistence and me unable to calm you via the phone.
Washing and dishwasher and putting clothes away, a final tidy and I crash.
A lavender tea to hand, pillow doused in lavender oil I hope to sleep better tonight...
I relaxed a while with you today as you were calm, I thought to myself 'is this it? Is this all over? Have you finally come through this time?'
Only to be called so many times with you unable to talk, too distressed.
Back to where we have been for 6 long and lonely weeks now...
And I want the world to shut tonight.
Just for one night.
But I know I have to keep on doing this, hoping we are not here forever...
I'm back in for a crisis meeting about you tomorrow, where the neurologist, nurse, carers, we all shall be present in the hope someone can shed some light.. That somehow, someone can do something.
Me xxxxxxxxxxxxxx
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