in which I snivel, whine, and cry

I watch trashy hospital dramas; they don’t have real blood, and the medical setting is incidental to problem solving, romance, family dynamics, work politics. Only sometimes do I get drawn into the patient drama.

This week, Spurs Fan was away with work. Socialising in a hotel, meeting colleagues, training. Watching the football in peace. Sleeping without friendly little snores in his ear. Having his breakfast made for him. I had the tv to myself and could catch up with the hospital stuff.

So far, so unremarkable. Until somebody’s mother died. The mother of a long term character, who cried out “you can’t die- I’m not ready!”.

Pah. And again, pah.

I shouldn’t have watched it. I’ve been all discombobulated since.

I’m not ready for this.

I’m not ready for my mother not to be here.

I’m not ready for any of it.

I’m not ready for all the ‘no mores’- hugging, laughing, planning, just being.

I’m not ready for Herself just to be in our minds, memories and stories.

I want her to be here. I want her not to be gone. I want her alive and well and giving orders. I want to be able to complain about her latest great idea for my career. I want her to be enjoying the company of her grandchildren. I want her to be travelling, playing golf, drinking gin. I want to be annoyed at her dismissive comments on my chosen attire. I want to tease her and look after her and meet her for fancy coffee after her hair appointment.

I want to not have been sleeping when she died. I want to have been with her and the Brother as she left us alone. I want her to have known that it was ok, it was her time, but that it’ll never be right.

I want to have remembered the prayers earlier. She’d have liked some more before she died, when she may still have heard them. Did she ever know about the rosary beads or the wooden cross she was holding?

She did know how much we all loved her. She was looking after us all until her last hours.

I’m not ready for this.




Somewhere in the ether, a stylish whitehaired lady is sitting with a bald, speccy, middle aged man and they’re laughing at how that weepy daughter of theirs never did get any sense. Also, she’s telling me to go and wash my hair.


16 thoughts on “in which I snivel, whine, and cry

  1. It’s an ache, a gaping space, and there’s no use in trying to hide it. I love the way you’ve handled it, with humour and an affection which brings Herself to us, though she can’t be with you in person. Glad you’re feeling grand now. Enjoy the hospital dramas. I love them too.

  2. Ha! This comment is written by someone who burst into tears in the middle of Tesco’s.
    HIS favourite fruit cordials were on two for three.

    And I remembered how I’d actually bought three botles for him – never thinking of course he might not be around to finish them. He lived for another four days.

    But I was crying in Tesco’s a year later.

    1. It’s the odd ones I’m sure; I think I’ll be semi prepared for the Christmas/ Birthday shopping, it’s the supermarket moments that will take me by surprise 🙂

  3. It’s very unfortunate how unexpected little things bring all the grief and misgivings back to the surface. That’ll go on happening, I guess, and all you can do is try not to be overwhelmed by it.

  4. You’ll never be ready for it – and that’s as it should be. Your thoughts and desires to be with your mother are evidence of time well spent with her and it’s good to think on those things.

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