annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary
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Valley
Yesterday I wrote this but didn't post it. I'm going to post it today without reading it. Sorry if it's crap, which it might be.
"I have been plagued with the phrase "the valley of the shadow of death" and the concept of it. I feel as if that is where I abide, never mind walk through. Mostly that's to do with Sam, and this everlasting dance towards and away from death, but also having friends with cancer (though both are doing well and death is no more likely for them than for any of the rest of us, but still, it has hovered around them as a possibility, however unspoken) as well as a brother with a terminal illness, a friend having died a few weeks ago and all that kind of thing. Even the cat, the dratted Bobcat, has end of days writ large on her tiny, scrawny, aged self.
I can't shake it off. I do the things, the self care things, some of them, but I can't shake off the death vibe. I'm immersed in it. Not myself - though maybe I am - even hypochondriacs get ill, you know.
I cannot bear it any more. I feels like that, a burden I am bearing that I manage to put down for a moment here and there - like now to be honest, though I have been fucked with it all day. I haven't been to see Sam today - the first day in weeks - I just could. not. go.
She spoke yesterday. When M, her keyworker, asked her how she was, she said, "Come on Sam, speak to me, tell me how you are? Are you feeling OK? How are you today, come on, tell me!" And she could see at once that Sam was building up to a word, and out it came, "Fine!"
What I cannot even consider at the moment is the hope. I refuse to go there. I don't understand what the fuck is going on and that's because it's inexplicable. Not in the sense of being supernatural, just that no one understands. The hospice staff shrug and smile and say that sometimes this is how it goes. And you'd think I'd be happy but I'm not, because I know how it goes. It starts with me being amazed, relieved, delighted to spend a bit more time with my girl. I relax, start doing things I did before - venture further afield perhaps - I haven't left this shithole town for weeks. Time passes, maybe a week, maybe more, or less, who knows, but then something happens and here we are again, standing on the precipice, about to be shoved over. This time it's real, we think, and we are going to lose her forever. Anguish is the word. The worst. We sit by her bed, watching her every breath, every variation in the colour of her face, the temperature of her hand. And nothing happens. Until after about a week of this, she perks up and then we do it all again."
I didn't get round to discussing the verse from psalm whatever that the valley of the shadow of death comes from as I was a bit fucked up, but here's the full verse (I may not believe in it, but it's the King James version I don't believe in):
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.
So what the fuck is that? What are the rod and staff? And... well, just what the fuck. Why has that wedged itself into my mind?
Anyway, that was last night. Today I went to the carer's art group at the hospice, which is a bit frustrating because the teacher is so slow at getting things going, but then OK as I had a large piece of paper
and this is a section.
I'm not doing great today either, to be honest. I don't want to visit Sam. I did go, but I felt angry and exhausted and resentful then ashamed and sad and more exhausted.
I found this old pic of the kids when they were little and used to love dressing up in random clothes:
Aw.
12:11 a.m. - 11.07.17
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