This is today. This is Tuesday October 2nd, 2007.
I have been so incredibly stressed out all day, due mainly to my family and their total lack of ability to trust me and my levels of responsibility. My nan especially seems to think that I am a total failure. Which I am not. I am only a little bit of a failure :-/
She also seems to presume that I am completely incapable of organising a piss up in a brewery, let alone my mothers funeral.
The cantankerous old bat hardly even knows me, for fucks sake. All our conversations revolve around the niceties and the weather, her T.V. schedule and her numerous aches and pains.
I have tried to explain to her on many occasions why I drink tea without milk, refuse to go to McDonald's and why I have an unhealthy phobia of social situations. But you try explaining the principals of veganism, capitalism and mental illness to a geriatric philistine. Then maybe you'll know how I feel.
Once mums funeral is over, that is it. I want nothing more to do with C.O.B.* She does nothing but make me feel small, stupid and worthless, and to be honest, my already somewhat fragile self-esteem can't really cope with that.
*Cantankerous Old Bat.
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
Monday, October 1, 2007
I really wish this wasn't happening.
I don't really know what to feel or think, so I'm going to write about my mother...
My mum was born in 1950, and she led a remarkable life. She never won any medals, or travelled the world. But it was her amazing inner strength, pride and determination which made her such an awe inspiring lady. She battled through so much. A difficult childhood, an abusive marriage, and being a single parent to three children. The death of her second partner, my step father, in 2003, broke her heart but she stayed so strong. When she was told about her illness, I remember her sitting us all down, totally unfazed, and dropping it into conversation as one would pass the time of day or observe the weather. To me and my siblings, however, the two syllable word echoed in our minds like a rusty bullet in a tin can. Can and ser. Can. Ser. Cancer. Cancer. Cancer...
I think she knew then, though she didn't let on, that cancer would ultimately kill her. The first time, it didn't. But then, one day last year, she sat us all down again, but this time it was different. This time the words 'tumor' and 'inoperable'.
Even then, right up until a week before her death she was just so strong. She kept her sense of humour, and her dignity, until the very end.
So, to Christine Margaret James. My amazing mother.
My mum was born in 1950, and she led a remarkable life. She never won any medals, or travelled the world. But it was her amazing inner strength, pride and determination which made her such an awe inspiring lady. She battled through so much. A difficult childhood, an abusive marriage, and being a single parent to three children. The death of her second partner, my step father, in 2003, broke her heart but she stayed so strong. When she was told about her illness, I remember her sitting us all down, totally unfazed, and dropping it into conversation as one would pass the time of day or observe the weather. To me and my siblings, however, the two syllable word echoed in our minds like a rusty bullet in a tin can. Can and ser. Can. Ser. Cancer. Cancer. Cancer...
I think she knew then, though she didn't let on, that cancer would ultimately kill her. The first time, it didn't. But then, one day last year, she sat us all down again, but this time it was different. This time the words 'tumor' and 'inoperable'.
Even then, right up until a week before her death she was just so strong. She kept her sense of humour, and her dignity, until the very end.
So, to Christine Margaret James. My amazing mother.
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