Emotional Emptiness

I’m emotionally bankrupt today. After a week of waiting for the right palliative drugs to arrive for my mother, we are still waiting and I’m spent. It is mind numbing to me that in the middle of a pandemic, chemists can close for 4 days while people are literally struggling to breathe.

It is unbearable that in the hour of my mother’s greatest need, I feel that we have failed her. I avoid anger for now, but I know it will come eventually and consume me. It is incomprehensible to me in a civilised society that elected officials should think it is acceptable to write off the deaths of thousands of elderly people as some sort of corona virus collateral damage that we all accept. We won’t and we can’t.

It is unthinkable that people who are paid £8 an hour or less are expected to be on the frontline doing 12 hour shifts in care homes helping people to die with dignity and comfort while MPs think they need an additional £10,000 to work from home-doing what, nobody knows. Worse, we don’t fight against this injustice, we just let it go through as if it is right and fair. It isn’t.

In the middle of this personal despair and grief, I find it ridiculous that the same MPs are making noises about schools completely re-opening while they have closed parliament because of the risk of spreading corona virus. After 35 years working in schools, I can accurately say it is impossible to social distance in a school with 250-1500 children. The consequence of this potential decision is too much for me to deal with at present so I stop reading the news. I fill my work time with recruitment, rotas and planning.

I fill my personal time with things I’ve never done before like baking which is strangely soothing. I stop myself looking at old letters and photos because I can’t do that yet. I finally let my anger surface in the oddest way as I crack up after 2 days of trying to do a jigsaw puzzle and throw it back in the box. Patience is not a virtue shared by me or my mum. The futility of it all lands heavily at times and I struggle to concentrate on reading or watching TV.

Another day passes and after yet another terrifying call from the care home and an exchange with a paramedic, we finally have the drugs and the authorisation in place. Who knew how wonderful paramedics are. Who knows how they can be so calm, kind and reassuring to relatives like me despite the horrors they are facing. God bless you Alex. I’ve dealt with 3 different young paramedics in the space of a month and I’m humbled by the care and dignity they’ve awarded my mum.

The care home staff make sure we get to see mum on her birthday with new technology they’ve had to get their head round on top of everything else. They keep us updated and we know that if we cannot be there, there is no one else we’d trust more to care for mum. I’m not sure how we will ever repay them for their courage, their kindness to us and for the love they have shown my mum.

I’ve created an unfortunate new phrase to sum up these passing days. I call it grief limbo. It’s lying in the wings, it’s in the corners of your mind, silently waiting, it chokes your heart and your eyes fill with tears without warning. You don’t want the limbo to end because of what it will bring so we hold still and wait. Another day goes by.

Joy

After the initial shock and sadness of saying goodbye suddenly to year 11 and then closing to reopen, it has all been about people. Despite the upset of the exam cancellation and missing the everyday rhythm of school, it feels like we have gone back to the true essence of education. The joy of seeing a child understand something for the first time, the joy of a community that pulls together to help each other through adversity, the joyful support from colleagues virtually and in real life. The fear has gone of being judged because of a number, or of being labelled by a team of inspectors who don’t know or understand your school or your community or what it takes to build the relationships that have sustained us through the last few weeks.

Like everyone I will be relieved when we have come through this crisis, that will be a time of real joy. However I intend to hang on to the shift in priorities that we have seen in education in the last few weeks. It’s about the people, small and big, young and old, it’s not about the data. I hope we all do this so that it’s not “back to business” as we knew it but back to what truly matters-caring for each other and building communities.

From a personal view I’ve enjoyed calling friends instead of texting, time with my wonderful spouse and time to notice things more. Stay safe.

The Family Ups and Downs

Being an immigrant of sorts meant that most of my extended family remained in Scotland while we moved to and made our home in the West Midlands. Being the youngest I had 2 languages, the Scottish accent while in the house and the Black Country twang as soon as I left the front door. My brother had a lovely soft Scottish lilt that Midlandised over the years but I always envied his voice. Even now I think in my head in a Scottish voice but as most of my immediate family have passed away I reserve it for talking to my mum who has dementia. I have this bizarre belief that it helps her to connect that it’s me.

My mum was never a huggy mum or a lovey dovey mum when we were kids. She’d had too brutal a childhood and it took years for her to lose that anger. Ironic that with dementia she is a sweet, calm dote adored by the care staff. I worked abroad for about 8 years and I now cherish the letters from family during the pre internet days and the phone calls pre Skype when I enjoyed the sound of that broad Glasgow lilt. During those absences we learnt how to say I love you and we learnt to hug each other closely and enjoy the contact.

My dad was the fun one when we were kids; the carry the little you up the stairs one, my very own Eric Morecambe, witty, funny, gentle and with the sharpest memory ever. Together they made a formidable couple and when they rowed in their younger days it was fiery and fierce. Time and love mellows and my last happy memory of them is from 2015 when they celebrated their 60th wedding anniversary. It was a very small party as my brother died in 2013. Life after that was never quite the same again for any of us.

In 2014 my dad was 80 and I asked friends to send him a card, even those that hadn’t met him. We got so many from different corners of the world, it was a surprise and he loved it. Mum was 2 years younger and her birthday was the day before his so she was a bit jealous but we spoiled her too. She did love to be the centre of attention, probably because she had none as a child.

My dad passed away in 2016 and it really was like the light going out. Mum slumped into depression then dementia and we were too slow to realise the symptoms of dementia. Two falls while in hospital and 3 hip operations later and we’d lost her to full blown dementia. I still see her sometimes, the roll of the eyes when she’s annoyed with someone, the cheeky giggle when you make her laugh and the tender way she will sometimes say “take care hen” with that Scottish charm when I say goodbye.

So now we are a blood family of 3, a sister, a niece and me with my favourite uncle in the background and mum in hospital with CV. She’s always been a fighter but I don’t think she should have to keep fighting. I’d like her to be safe, peaceful and pain free when her time arrives.

I have no regrets. I was blessed with amazing parents. I had a fantastic relationship with them both. I spoilt them materially whenever I could get away with it and I have wonderful memories to sustain me though I miss them intensely every day.

Now through marriage I have the biggest, kindest, friendliest Irish in law family and that has been a huge blessing. Recently we gained 3 beautiful new great nieces in 3 months so we have a natural balance between loss and new life. The cycle of life will always go on.

This is a terrifying time but it’s also a time to revisit and renew family ties, to write a real letter, to make long, cosy phone calls and to actively listen to the person on the other end. Do it while you still can and make it a priority. Family matters.