My Miraculous May: Day 17

Nope! I’ve not fallen off the wagon and lying in a crumpled heap somewhere popping paracetamol and attaching myself to a homemade Volvic drip. I am still alcohol free. I have now beaten my last alcohol free time of Lent in 2012. Now for those of you who know me I am not the slightest bit religious but I saw Lent as a reasonable time to give something up and hey it wasn’t forever. I gave up at that time for 44 days in total so beat Jesus’ 40 days. Read em and weep Big Man. * adopts smug face*

The past few days however have been full of ailments that have made me feel like Methuselah. Head cold plus irritating cough now, knee ligament pain after it had finally left me and tiredness that resembles narcolepsy. Sheesh!! I am hoping that this is just a new phase of the abstaining me and after this period of feeling like shit I will rise like a Phoenix with a new lease of life and purpose and with a new strength to rival Samson.

What’s with all the biblical references Edmonds? Think I should stop before I hit Sodom and Gomorrah!!

So today’s gem from my mother whilst she was hosting a family lunch was:

‘ I have made up my mind. If the time comes for me to go into a nursing home I’m going to take an overdose’.

Shit! I hope Evergreen Residential offers a sodding refund!

Seriously though the sad thing is she is being deadly serious ( excuse the pun). My mum was my Nana’s sole carer right up till she passed away aged 100. In fact up to that point in my mums 67 years then she had only spent 7.5 of them not living with her mum. Their relationship was overwhelmingly close and not one I ever stood a chance of having or would actually want to. My Nana made it very clear when she was a very fit, healthy and energetic 70 something that she’d rather die than be put into a home. It was only a rotten family that did such a thing. Hence my mum became a martyr to her. Losing herself in the process and any close mother daughter relationship we had. Countless times comments would be made regarding the subject and if I ever gave reasons as to how difficult it must be for families to make those kind of decisions it was shut down with an accusatory, ” well we know you wouldn’t care like that” or an opinionated “they are not good children to do that” or the old chestnut ” rotten nature”.

So today when the statement arrived in front of others and with no Nana sitting on her throne in the corner priming herself for attack it was met with dismayed faces and even an exclamation of disbelief.

What I felt was:

Guilt. Selfishness. Hurt. More guilt. Sadness. Loss. Difficulty. Inadequacy Provocation. Anger. Disappointment.

What was comforting was that the others felt that for me too and that was apparent in their reactions and support. As frustrating and hurtful it can be with statements like that from my Mum I feel sorry for her. Her nature is very different to mine and she never stood a chance against the sledge hammer that was my Nana although she doesn’t seem to carry the battle wounds I have. Perhaps that is because she never went into battle unlike me who is a fighter. I fight for what I believe in or what I feel is unjust. My mum accepted it as her lot in life but I am learning to accept and love those wounds more and more and not drinking stops me from trying to ignore them. They are a part of me. They are part of my design. They are not just something that is negative but in being up against such odds for all of my formative years and beyond they have given my qualities that I like about myself. Without my Nana’s ego maybe I wouldn’t be so self deprecating and able to genuinely compliment others. Without her opinionated bullying I wouldn’t stick up for others so much and champion their beliefs and rights. Without her acid tongue I wouldn’t be able to recognise my own venom and hold myself accountable for it and apologise sincerely. Without her conditions I wouldn’t be able to lift mine and love unconditionally.

Scars both real or metaphysical whether we like them or not are part of our story. Some I wouldn’t be without. Every time I look at my mummy tummy with faint double scar I remember from there is where my babies first took breath. That I would never change.

Nighty night x

Ps 47 days

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