Big People

When I was a child I remember my parents used to go into the sacred ‘front room’ and close the door when we had certain visitors. Well, I mean when they had visitors. Their friends and relatives would be shown into the best room and we, as children would be left outside.

If we dared to venture in to the room while they were talking we would be shooed out again especially if we dared to speak. It paid to be like the embossed flowery wallpaper – obviously there, but after a while unnoticed.

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When we spoke it was like being at a tennis match, all heads turned to us and a chorus of dissent reached our ears. This was sometime accompanied by a slap if the interruption was way out of place.

The words that were slapped into our bare legs were invariably some variation of, “Big people are talking!”

As we retreated to the dining room or garden I think we children wondered how the ‘big people’ always got their own way and got to make all the decisions.

It came to me the other day that all those people are now gone or going. A friend was talking about the death of her father’s best friend. I recently attended the funeral of another friend’s father, there is death all around and it has sadly become an intimate associate in recent times. All the ‘big people’ I knew have gone or are currently going.

It hurts. It really hurts.

The most recent departure of a loved one has made me realise that we are the big people now. We have to support and comfort each other as we journey on. We have to make the decisions.

It does hurt, but we will make it through. Together.

World Cancer Day

World Cancer Day - this is marked annually as a worldwide event on the 4^th February.

I never knew that it existed before this year. The day, I mean, not cancer.

I’m sure we are all aware of cancer and people it has affected, people it is affecting right now. I know of cancer survivors. I also know of those who have not survived against the illness or who are currently undergoing treatment. Cancer makes me sad beyond expression.

All illness, especially cancer – because of its aggressive nature against the body, reminds me that we have to really delight in life right now. We have to enjoy the moments that we have and fill them with pleasure because tomorrow is not promised to us.

Sorry if that’s too heavy for you right now, but it’s real.

There are things that we can do to prevent some illnesses and if we can stop cancer in our bodies then I think we should. I will do my best for myself and my beloved child, I hope you will do your best for you and yours.

I may already know you, but if I don’t that doesn’t mean that I don’t care about you – I do. I want everyone of us to live the best life possible, in the best health possible. As Lance Armstrong says, Live Strong.

http://www.worldcancerday.org/

A Canadian short film to mark World Cancer Day:  My Healing Journey: Seven Years with Cancer, Joseph Viszmeg.

Amazing, inspiring, life-changing. 

Shared because I care.

Waiting

In films you sometimes see the moment of impact before it happens. Everything seems to go in slow motion. 

The knife glints, the bullet flashes and time freezes.

There seem to be moments like that in real life as well. When you are just waiting for something terrible and inevitable to become a fact ... of the present, and then – all too soon, of the past.

What I’ve found is that sometimes you have to wait for things that you don't want to happen. I always found it difficult to manage those moments. While thinking about my journey and others’ current journeys I wondered ‘how are you supposed to manage those moments?' I still don’t have any answers to give; all I have is my deepest love for those who are waiting in pain-lined days.

Like the scene in the film the first pain is expected and semi-prepared for. However, it’s the repeated aftershocks that also cause so much distress.

No one ever feels the same as anyone else when this happens. Each pain is unique. All I can offer is my love and friendship. You alone know how you feel in each moment and when you can reach out for ... anything. So I wanted you to know I am here for you if or when you need me. You remain in my heart, always.

Much love,

M.

Good viewing?

I like a good TV programme and my TV hard drive will show you the ones that I really like to watch. I have recently watched some amazing films such as Temple Grandin, The Kingdom, and series like The Secret Caribbean with Sir Trevor McDonald; I also had a series link on Monk (for years) and I am currently recording the first series of Six Feet Under – I know! What a variety bag.

Some of these programmes make me laugh, think and sometimes cry.

I’ve been told that I cry a lot when I see emotive things on the screen. They could be happy tears or sad tears, but they usually flow in empathy for the feelings displayed on the TV.

Something really odd happened to me a few months ago, it was in February I think, I settled down to watch a pre-recorded drama that had had a suitably big build up by the producers. I was expecting an intriguing story but I got something totally different.

Within 10 minutes of watching the programme I found that I was almost howling with despair; I could not believe what I had seen in front of me. Through the unexpected tears I managed to find the remote control and rewound the recording to check that this was the correct programme.

I was watching The Promise, broadcast by Channel 4 earlier this year and the images on the screen so distressed me that I was unable to focus or register the scenes until I had watched them about three times. At first I thought it was actors but then I realised that this was actual real newsreel from the Nazi concentration camp at Bergen-Belsen in 1945. The Jewish people shown on the screen were so emaciated I had trouble believing that they were real. Those who were not yet dead – and many thousands lay dead on the ground – were in such a bad condition that you could almost see through them.

I saw them cling to life. I saw some who had obviously just died because they couldn’t breathe any more. I saw their bodies being dragged, carried and dumped into open pits. The ones not moved by hand were pushed along unceremoniously by bulldozers into mass graves. The bones that held the small amount of flesh that remained tore like fragile rice paper as they fell.

I wept copiously.

Each time I remember those scenes I shiver in horror and the same thing happens when I see what devastating harm one man can inflict upon another man. I was only a witness through the television screen over 60 years after the event and still I felt the impact of their painful existence.

War inevitably brings about death. It is always horrible.

After the events of the past day, as I hear about people celebrating death, I have found myself thinking about this programme again and I still can’t find anything to smile about when I think of death as a result of war.

Accessible caring

Caring is usually a close contact occupation. Long distance caring is harder to implement and maintain. But whatever the distance between the cared for and the care giver there has to be a means of access.

I was at a meeting that was important to me and I needed to retain some form of control and focus. I had notes with me and I concentrated hard throughout all the time I was there. When it was over I felt a sense of relief because it all went reasonably well. What I didn’t realise until later was that I was also showing signs of distress that I believed I had hidden well. Leaving the meeting I met up with some people and one of them looked at me – more than a glance – it was someone close to me, and she asked if I had been crying. I had not, but she rightly noticed that my eyes were red and watery (I didn’t know I had even got that emotional but evidently I had been closer to tears than I was willing to consciously acknowledge).

You see, I had allowed this person into my life and she was comfortable enough with our closeness to mention what she noticed and to inquire as to my well being. Without this close proximity it would have been like caring from the end of a pole vault, assisted by binoculars from across a paddy field – not the easiest situation to handle.

When somebody knows you, they recognise shifts in behaviour and can talk to you about them, touch you, comfort you or guide you to a safer place.

When this happened to me the other day I felt a sense of understanding and peace come from the care giver in my life at that moment. It made me reflect that sometimes I must lift up my anchor – that I have used to maroon myself on my private emotional island – and row closer to the bank that the care givers are standing on. It is when I begin to row that I notice that they are also pulling me in using the guide ropes attached to my bow.

I know I must be accessible to receive their care so I keep on moving towards them and we both come into each other’s view.

Fractures and potholes

I have broken bones in the past – in the pursuit of sporting activities. I had committed my all to the quest for the ultimate goal of achieving victory. I always did exceptionally well, I was proud then, and I remember the times with pleasure. The fractures that I received are now constant reminders to me of those times.

The bones that I broke were never as firm as before the incidents. I do not see the breaks now but I feel the effects of them occasionally. And then in my mind’s eye I look back at a time of intense pain and discomfort.

Those breaks may be invisible to the eye but they are there, below the surface. Too much stress on those parts of my body and I know about it all over again.

They are like the road surfaces in our towns. For months the small cracks in the road are invisible. Then pressure is added to the break. Water is one of the main culprits. When the water on the road becomes ice it expands and the stress on the fracture from the water below and the vehicles above cause the road to crumble and holes appear.

These visual fractures in our road surfaces are no longer rare occurrences, unfortunately.

I know that sometimes I cause my fractures to hurt because I am the culprit. I do things I know will exacerbate the pain, yet still I persist – and then suffer.

This is my personal pothole.

I know I must avoid causing the damage and then I will not have to repair the site repeatedly. The same goes for my heart. If I look after myself I will not have to fix the damage I expose myself to. There is always a cost associated with experiencing a pothole.

Some potholes can be avoided, others just have to be repaired.

I vow to care properly for all the potential and actual potholes in my life.