|A nearly 2-year-old Monty|
November 29th 2012
Slow cooker, left over veg, chickpeas, stock and an on switch…dinner done, I can now leap into the car and spend the almost hour (if not longer depending on traffic) getting to you.
It’s another crying myself to sleep phase, body churning round a need for you as you once were, something I know I never will have.
Monty is also struggling too at them moment. He’s awake a lot in the night.
I am trying to reel myself back in. I have spent a fortnight making calls and trying to organise hydrotherapy and over night stays, it’s Friday tomorrow and I am still not much closer to a solution. I have had that 'running on marbles' feeling all week, as it speeds along and I still have no answers… my ear aches from spending hours everyday on the phone trying to organise it, speaking to so many individuals, and getting nowhere. And then the small things, that happen, just feel phenomenally overpowering. I just feel bulldozed at the moment!
Fourteen months of letters sit in files on the computer, some published, others between you and me. Fourteen months. I was watching back over the videos I used to make of the kids for you when you were in a coma. Goodness the kids have grown. They were so much smaller, so much younger. They were so young when this happened.
I went into school to chat to each of their classes, as you are coming home on Monday (although this is so impossible at the moment, with the hour it takes me to get to you, by the time I have succeeded in getting you into the car, then back home, then got you back in the car, driven you back then driven home…I am looking at 5 hours (and that’s not even you having time at home)). I am determined to do it, but I am just so distressed it takes so long, that you are so far away. But Monday I am doing it, the kids can come in the car to drop you back. I spoke to their classes about your accident, about how you are now. I did it because you are coming to pick them up from school on Monday. It’s good to ask questions, it’s good to be curious, of course they will be, and I didn’t want the kids to feel overwhelmed by others asking them questions, or isolated because you are so different from their dads. I also wanted our kids to feel supported and see that talking about things is good, positive.
I’m trying not to run ahead and get frustrated that nothing’s happening as I want or need it to. These lessons are hard! All I can do though I suppose is what I am doing, trying. I panic that I’m not doing enough for you, fast enough, that seconds count and I have to have it all sorted for you immediately. I worry that the longer it goes on, the trying to get overnight stays and hydrotherapy amongst other things, extra speech therapy (your speech has regressed so much, there's speech therapy for a few minutes once a week here, so I have to find out a way of getting you more), that time counts, is so vital, I worry you will deteriorate. In writing this I have just seen the word ‘worry’ too many times. It’s eating away my energy.
I can see from this letter I need to breathe. Tell myself a few extra days, a week or so will not kill anyone…perhaps rather than thinking I need things arranged and happening yesterday, putting a longer time scale on it, which in turn may lower my expectations on myself and time scales…less worry?!
Well, on that note, Monty is coming in with me tomorrow, he needs time with me, time just the three of us…
See you in the morning,