annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Tough
Oh man. She is a tough little soul, my daughter. Still here, breathing unevenly but persistently. Again, she is not quite with us but definitely not gone. I don’t know what to do or say or think or feel. I want it to stop but not to end. I cannot bear it but I really fucking dread what will come next. It’s been two months, two fucking months since we were told she had only days, a week or maybe a couple. I am a zombie.
I live in the care home. I set up my camp bed, next to Sam’s bed, late in the evening – I’ve just done it now, and pack it away in the morning. I spend my days holding her hand or knitting (one cowl and one scarf completed, onto a new scarf in the morning – I can only do straight rows or rounds with no counting). Today would have been art group so I painted here – the bunch of flowers I bought for Sam:
And I walk my three miles a day and sometimes swim in the sea – the beach is crap here for swimming – miles of rocky, sea-weedy shit, lurking invisibly under shallow water. OK at high tide but you have to catch it quick before it fucks off out again. I’ve given up everything else, more or less. I went to yoga yesterday but after about twenty minutes I was beside myself with anxiety about being so far away from Sam and actually walked out. Just stood up, mid downward-facing dog, walked off the mat, grabbed my glasses and fucked off back to the care home, leaving all the blocks and mat and shite where it was.
Limbo – is this what they mean by limbo? Neither one thing nor another, but stuck, frozen in between.
Apart from that, we are eating our way through this, me and Younger Daughter and Son. We’ve probably created the equivalent of a new person in body weight already between the three of us, but hey, we could be boozing or jacking up smack, so we’re doing good.
Time for bed now. The nice night shift woman brought me a bowl of popcorn she just made and we had a lengthy chat about the pleasure of taking your bra off after a long day. Sam is still Sam and all is as well as it will be.
I am grateful for: friendship extended over the ocean; a swim on a cold day; a camp bed; memory foam (the camp bed is hard); the chippie down the road making curry goat tomorrow – it has a big sign in the window, saying ‘Curry Goat, Saturday only’. I stuck my head round the door and she said, ‘Yep, I’m starting it now – come early – it goes quick.’ So I will.
xxx
12:43 a.m. - 01.07.17
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