Thursday, 10 September 2015
Stifled
I'm not usually one for serious writing but something has stuck in my craw as it were. So many subjects are simply hijacked by social and mainstream media nowadays its such a shame. I was playing catch up with Media Watch last night (6 episodes in a binge session) and was amazed to see the lack of exposure for the anti gay marriage movement. Don't get me wrong, I am very pro gay marriage but I'm even more pro democratic process and freedom of speech. This same stifling of debate happens on so many fronts. Whether it be refugees from Syria or in fact anywhere else all seems to be in the "you're a bastard if you think differently" bucket. The bandwagon has become more of an band aircraft carrier. I can hear both sides of any argument and make up my own mind logically and without having to take an extreme stance. The number of political tweets being so damning towards the left or right make me sad. Can we not say both sides have merit but I'm swaying this way because of such and such? the recent ABC series on Rudd and Gillards self destruction "The Killing Season" gave me a much greater insight and my resolve towards both softened as a result. It does not change my mind that they were both wrong and that governing in a minority government does nothing to progress the country but hey, maybe they had a little cause for their actions. I want the world to keep talking about both sides and not just accept the most quickly tweeted and populous point of view nor the views of some famous actor that may or may not have a barrow to push. Even here now I am not writing the full extent of thoughts about the refugee or Ice epidemics for fear of incurring the wrath of some of the 6 people that will read this. Even I'm stifled.
Wednesday, 22 July 2015
The end
Well mum finally did the best thing and died a few weeks back. My big sister got the call and skedaddled down to be by her side but as is always her style, mum decided to wait another 10 days after the withdrawal of all but pain meds before succumbing to death. Can you imagine someone being reported alive in the wild after 10 days with no food or water? it would be in the papers and on 60 minutes the following Sunday night. It is quite extraordinary how the human body fights to keep going even after all brain activity has ceased. That in my view illustrates how flawed nature can be.
I was very surprised by my reaction too. I thought I had long since mourned her when the dementia ravaged her mind and left nothing but a blank stare. It turns out I still had some tears and was happy to let them out for the last time. Telling Dad was the hardest thing. My little sister and I sat with him and it was very tough not to feel for the man that spent 50 years with his wife and had to say goodbye twice. Once when we moved him closer to us and then again now. He was good. He was strong for our sake but it stressed him greatly. I could see it in his body, how he held his legs out rigid and how he went silent. Dad was never a noisy man but was never like this either. I cried more for dad that day.
It was decided to have no service but simply a viewing then lunch at the golf club. That's the way we roll and was so apt it's not funny. Not that wakes are funny but you know what I meant. There were family from all over that had come to say hello and tell me how much weight I'd gained and how big my boys had grown. Both were true observations. By that I mean both boys had grown and no, I was still petite.
My mum was the first dead person I'd seen. When my own grandparents died I said a big old NO to seeing them. I was so glad my boys made that same call. Watching "Walking Dead" doesn't count if that's what you're thinking. She wasn't there at all. Mum was more in her spirit than in her body. That's why she lived so loud I think. It exuded from her.
After the viewing mum was taken away and cremated. I went with my big sister to collect mum afterwards because she was too chicken to pick up the box of ashes herself. Never have I had so many inappropriate yet great one liners to deliver and unfortunately could not resists. My audience of was a tough one I must admit. I'm sure the funeral parlour staff thought I was the worst person in the world for cracking jokes but hey, mum would have laughed so its ok with me. On a side note, why are they called parlours?
I brought mum home and put the nice string handled block bottom bag on the dining table in front of Mr 13.
"what's that"
"It's mamma"
at some point I'm sure he will forgive me and we can laugh and laugh together.
I was very surprised by my reaction too. I thought I had long since mourned her when the dementia ravaged her mind and left nothing but a blank stare. It turns out I still had some tears and was happy to let them out for the last time. Telling Dad was the hardest thing. My little sister and I sat with him and it was very tough not to feel for the man that spent 50 years with his wife and had to say goodbye twice. Once when we moved him closer to us and then again now. He was good. He was strong for our sake but it stressed him greatly. I could see it in his body, how he held his legs out rigid and how he went silent. Dad was never a noisy man but was never like this either. I cried more for dad that day.
It was decided to have no service but simply a viewing then lunch at the golf club. That's the way we roll and was so apt it's not funny. Not that wakes are funny but you know what I meant. There were family from all over that had come to say hello and tell me how much weight I'd gained and how big my boys had grown. Both were true observations. By that I mean both boys had grown and no, I was still petite.
My mum was the first dead person I'd seen. When my own grandparents died I said a big old NO to seeing them. I was so glad my boys made that same call. Watching "Walking Dead" doesn't count if that's what you're thinking. She wasn't there at all. Mum was more in her spirit than in her body. That's why she lived so loud I think. It exuded from her.
After the viewing mum was taken away and cremated. I went with my big sister to collect mum afterwards because she was too chicken to pick up the box of ashes herself. Never have I had so many inappropriate yet great one liners to deliver and unfortunately could not resists. My audience of was a tough one I must admit. I'm sure the funeral parlour staff thought I was the worst person in the world for cracking jokes but hey, mum would have laughed so its ok with me. On a side note, why are they called parlours?
I brought mum home and put the nice string handled block bottom bag on the dining table in front of Mr 13.
"what's that"
"It's mamma"
at some point I'm sure he will forgive me and we can laugh and laugh together.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)