Today is Sunday, I must remember tomorrow is Monday

I've completely lost track of days and time but that's what diaries are for except if they come from England.  Now I have to go through and mark all the Australian holidays and unlike my old diary doesn't have the moon phases or times in cities all over the world.  I've been using the same brand of diary for 12 years and I hate change but I managed to buy one that has plenty of writing room. Now to cover it because I hate writing in a naked book and I always put extra fabric on the back for the pens so I never have to look for them.

I did not have one iota of guilt for staying home on Christmas Day.  I rang mother and my duty was done.  It felt so great not having to get up, shower, dress, do hair, grab presents and get out the door.  I almost broke my fingers getting the plastic cork out of the 'champagne' only to find it was too vile to drink and I tipped it down the sink. The BOH didn't make last year's mistake and rang to ask what kind of alcohol would I like and I had four bottles of Black Ice vodka in the fridge. I bought two slices of ham off the bone and sourdough bread for the Christmas sandwich and set everything up within reach and put my feet up. I planned on reading parts of my book and watching episodes of the dvd equally.  That was the plan but the cat foiled part of it by gently withdrawing the ham from the middle of the sandwich. He never eats this kind of meat but there he was, on the carpet, chewing his way through my treat.  It was the only moment in an otherwise pleasant and peaceful day.
Then came the night.  I remembered the days when I'd feel so full I couldn't move but now I looked forward to a mince tart and a cup of coffee and enjoyed it.  Now for a week or so the cat has been tiptoeing down the drive, around the Acer tree and past Vinnie's car (the last in the row of the Arthur Daley car yard I'm hosting) and then making a rush for the front door.  This time I decided to find out what was making him so antsy.  Big mistake.  The drunken bogans 3 doors up let off illegal fireworks and they didn't have enough power to go up but went sideways down the street past my place. The explosions were explosive even if the stars looked good going fastly past me.  The cat took off and I went for the cat, right into the orb web he'd been avoiding all week.  Man, I have no idea where that spider ended up but the way I threw it out of my hair, he's probably still in orbit. I backtracked and just put on all the outside lights and opened the doors and stupid came in about 15 minutes later with his eyes still spinning.
And for all the cat lovers who think I should have gone up and had words with the idiots, forget it.  Never go near drunks or explosives especially if they are in charge of the explosives. It was re-inforced yesterday when I saw one of them, built like a brick outhouse wearing torn denim and a haircut I last saw on Travis Frimmel in Vikings.

No guilt Boxing Day as mother had accidentally turned her phone off completely. I went down to see her the next day.  There had been muffled fireworks a long way off but the cat decided he'd sleep on the bed until the nudge nudge feed me started way too early in the morning.  I staggered out, opened the back door, decided a pee was more needed than his breakfast, came back, grabbed his bowl and a can of food, opened that, washed the bowl and had the feeling I was being watched.  Now remember this was two days after Christmas so no hangover and the bird sitting on my toaster was real.  It watched me, I watched it, stupid sat on the floor still demanding breakfast. A short chase over the counter (not as fast as the mouse) and I had it in a tea towel and out the door.  By this time even the dumbest of cats worked out that something was up but he was late as usual so sat by the back door and watched the dumbest of birds fly off.  I just hoped when I put the toast in that it hadn't pooped in the toaster.

Three more days until New Year's Eve which I hate with a passion.  The cat and I will be in bed early and won't hear any fireworks at all.

Christmas run

I arrived at Southland at 10.22 and left at 11.36 and didn't retrace my footsteps once.  Only forgot the most important thing, two bottles of Black Ice Vodka.
No child was harmed in the gallop through the shopping centre.
Best comment to whining children: "I want, I want, I want," Mother, "Put in on your dream list". Brilliant, see that, not "Christmas list" but dream list so in other words maybe in 20 years you'll get it.
Most embarrassing moment: Woman trying to get her purse into shoulder bag, puts blue chill bag on floor and yells "sit".  Man behind her says, "well trained".  It was sheer coincidence that she was extremely fat and had red hair.
Grab taxi to see mother.  Am pleasantly surprised that I've almost lost the desire to hit her with a brick.
Lunch arrives and I do my usual rant about the food and Bible basher roomie tells me to shut up. I don't tell her to take a cross and stand in line, I'm mellowing.
Every Carer that came in asked if I was having lunch with mother tomorrow. They all got told I was staying home to get pissed. In the absence of vodka, I have Bombay Sapphire gin and Peach Champagne. 
I have a book I've kept for the day and must get out a violent movie to offset the sugar crapola of Christmas carols on every channel.
I bought a sparkly ball for the cat who batted it once and walked off.  Apparently cats of his superior intelligence don't do balls. It's okay, I washed it off and wrapped it for the kid across the street.

For the first Christmas in many years, I will not be looking back.

Try again

I wrote a very long post yesterday which was read by Elephant's Child before it disappeared. I think I pressed a wrong button somewhere and I keep getting error notices from Blogger that also disappear before I can grab the error number to email them about the error.

Nov 30, see mother, very ill.  Home at 6 and phone call, mother much worse, needs us.
I sit from 6 til 8 next morning in a chair designed by the Spanish Inquisition and cripple myself.
She really was dying, nothing fake about that.  Oxygen, morphine, anti-psychotic drugs for the terrors, struggling to breathe, eyes fallen back in her head and red in a pale face.

By the next Friday, she is sitting up in bed after a shower and eating breakfast.

Saturday morning, deep in the only sleep I've had since the last Saturday, the phone rings.  After I calm the heart beat down to non heart attack, I realize it's mother.  She's rung my number but can't remember how to talk into the phone.  I hang up.

Sunday, she is off the morphine by injection, no oxygen, other drugs gone just some ventilin to clear the lungs.

I don't ring, take her calls or go to see her for 4 days.  Something has snapped inside me.  After sitting for so long with half my mind watching her die and the other half preparing a funeral, I've lost it completely.  I cannot get my mind to reboot to normal and I'm dealing with the fact that I am filled with anger that even dying, she managed to manipulate me into being with her because she was frightened.

I refuse to go to the Christmas Party. I go down the next day and she has more visitors than she can handle.  Tells me off for not getting them out.  Afternoon tea is party leftovers, which I don't get so I can't tell her not to eat it.  I do tell her to put the bed up but she's in charge and doesn't so she shoves the chocolate crackle slice into her mouth, doesn't chew it and chokes.  As in purple in the face, no breath choking but manages to bring up most of it with much coughing and more choking.
In between coughs and flying crackles she points to the Kleenex box so I move it closer to her and she looks in and says, "Wash my teeth, there's chocolate on them". The carers are hovering around by this time so I pick up my bags and leave.

Only been back once, yesterday and only because she needed her DVD viewer because she was tired of looking at the ceiling.  I didn't intend to take it, the BOH was going to do it and called in on Monday night to pick it up.  By the way did I have any painkillers, his hand was hurting from using it to break his 8 foot fall onto a concrete floor.  I take one look, tell him to get to the hospital as it was broken, no it's not, he just needs painkillers.  Tuesday night I get a call, do I have anything stronger than the pills I handed out the night before because they don't give out painkillers at the hospital where he is having his arm plastered from wrist to elbow.

My sister asked mother if she saw anyone from the other side when she was dying. By the way mother wasn't dying, just a little ill for a day or so.  Yes, she saw her mother and my father and sister asked why didn't you go with him?  Mother said he told her to go back.  I swear if he wasn't already dead, I'd kill him.

Hold the curtain, the fat lady ain't sung yet

The curtain is almost down

After more farewells than Nellie Melba, Mum has finally taken the stage for the last time.
It is now a matter of days then hours. I stayed all night, Sunday and almost crippled myself in a monster of a chair. So now we are staggering the visits until she drifts into a coma and will be moved to the Lavender Room, with comfy chairs and a soothing fish tank to watch.
Doc Marvin has been wonderful. To clear away the monsters she has been so frightened of, he's ordered special meds and morphine has taken away any pain. 
She has gone downhill in a matter of days and the staff have come in from their days off to say goodbye although not in so many words.
I will be back at some stage.