I need someplace to rant and just be.
This blog is that place and tranquil space.
Something I have never shared is my dark family secret. I rarely speak about my love for my late parents. I loved them. They loved me, unconditionally. I have a lot of shit still to work through about losing them... I'm an only child, an adult orphan. Maybe losing both our parents gets us like that?
My Mutti died around 13 years ago. Suddenly. Unexpectedly. She wasn't even 60. My dad left this earth 4 years ago, I think. I was a bit of a wreck when he died. I think it was four years ago this month. Four or three. Three, I think. ...It wasn't wholly unexpected. He had a vicious prostate cancer which had moved into his bones. But he was pretty fit and healthy in his early seventies, fitting a new kitchen in his home, until the week before he went into hospital, when he visibly greyed and aged before my eyes.
I was shocked, and then there was a horrific decline and zombie-like limbo time spent visiting the hospital, sitting in its harsh white lights, holding his cold, cold hand, listening to his watery oxygen streaming, and trying to make some sense of his morphine-induced gibberish.
Waiting for those bright, rare, moments of lucidity, when he was my magnificent, all-seeing, all-conquering dad again.
I have still to scatter his ashes where we scattered those of Mutti, whom he called Biddy. Biddy was never her name. She was Joan Crawford. She was as mean, moody and magnificent. Her ceremony took place on the island of Lindisfarne. It still waits for him.
...And this week, while I was feeling ill with a head-cold and allergic rhinitis, probably after doing too much for several weeks, the past reared up to meet me once again. The telephone rang, and the past bit me when I least expected it.
FEATURED ART: The Wishing Tree
ARTIST: Anne-Julie Aubrey