annanotbob2's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- No I've been reading back in this blog about the time when Sam went into the care home. I didn't write much as I was totally fucked up. This was one bit: "The thing is, I've had so much fucking therapy over the years teaching me how to nip undue emotion in the bud but at no point did we cover how to let due emotion run its course. I mean, I can guess that there's a lack of either repressing it (it'll only come back and bite you later) or being overwhelmed by it (falling right into the Pit of Doom) and I can just about manage that, but only by playing a million games of spider solitaire and walking my six thousand steps and barely managing anything else. When I did that two year recovery programme at the psych hospital ED was my adult daughter who had MS and was resisting using a stick to walk with. She worked, drove, lived her life and in no way presented as a source of future anguish, unless we were very unlucky and to go there would have been catastrophising, so I didn't. And not only that, but through those times me and her [fuck off with 'she and I'] spoke on the phone in her lunch hour almost every day and since she'd become a mother herself our relationship had shifted into a beautiful place of understanding and forgiveness for my flaws as a mother and acceptance that I did my best. I miss that more than I can bear. But that's by the way." I'm not ready for any of this. I knew she was dying but I didn't let myself know it properly, I didn't know she'd be gone forever and ever leaving that bloody room empty of her and nowhere to go and find her but on Thursday I have to go and collect her ashes - her ashes! I don't want to, I don't fucking want to, I want her back, right now. 11:28 p.m. - 23.09.19 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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