Enter Clowne*
Apr. 20th, 2023 06:39 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
smokingboot*Job description, not instruction.
It's always been my place in the family. I try to text her every day however briefly, talk about something that may interest her enough to draw her out away from disease obsession /further issues, but I need new information to do it well. Finding that new information, making conversation even when I want to be quiet myself, is hard work. And when it's all day every day, it quickly becomes a tough gig.
It wouldn't be so difficult if we could actually do things, but that's where the maletin comes in. The carry case goes everywhere she does, likewise the bag with its bulging broken zips, purse perched on top almost asking to be stolen. What's in these? We can't be sure, but she carries them everywhere and doesn't want anyone else to touch them. One young relative jokingly suggests burning the damned things (OK, it's mostly a joke.)
Not only is there a possible risk to Mum's health pulling these enormous weights around, but we can't get her in anywhere cos they constitute potential security risks. As an aged citizen of Granada, she is entitled to get into the wonderful Alhambra complex for free. But she just won't. The cathedrals,the monasteries, the museums are likewise beyond her, because she insists that the bag and carry case must be with her at all times. The result? We can't take her anywhere apart from cafes and shops, so new input is minimal; and even I can't keep talking with no subject matter at all. Give me credit, I can blather pointless rubbish for about three days before actually needing something to say, just to spark her up and make her smile. But I get tired, tired, tired, almost tearful. However ludicrous it sounds it is hard emotional labour, no holiday at all.
That isn't to say there was no fun in it, there were great moments. She has considerable intellect, it just tends to return to the confines of her illness. But I trip up when I refer back to the real and she doesn't recall. Then she frowns at me, and the sidelong glances begin, and I can feel the suspicion creeping in round the edges, that this isn't right, it never happened this way, is this really my daughter? Have they got to her, or found someone else to take her place? And then the voice drops further because she doesn't want to be overheard, because they are listening or maybe I am taping things, and then it begins. The only way I can get round this is to look confused and say I got her mixed up with someone else, move the conversation forwards, and even then, there will be a time of disquiet. But it will work. It requires completely sublimation of objective reality in order to embrace one that soothes her, and is very efficient, but one shouldn't do it for long cos it bangs the brainpan hard.
Her memories of home life are sweet and gentle. 'I enjoyed those years' she says, forgetting the desperate misery we went through, though she concedes that for me 'it must have been a bit boring'. Yes, boring when it wasn't downright dangerous, but I push those memories away. The world she remembers is a kinder place, so we'll stick with it, because some small corner of Heaven lies in that direction for her. I can do that, ignore the triggers, reassure some internal kid yelling WTAF that later I'll listen, later, later. I only once had an ouch point I could barely stand. And none of this is her fault. She was as ladylike, as affectionate, as cordial, as generous as she ever could be. There were difficulties, but she's worth them all.
My next posts should be more cheerful, having registered the discomfort, cos my real good humour rises when I can give poor Clowne the rest she needs; in fairness, she spent years on this stage. So bye for now, Clowne, and well done.
It's always been my place in the family. I try to text her every day however briefly, talk about something that may interest her enough to draw her out away from disease obsession /further issues, but I need new information to do it well. Finding that new information, making conversation even when I want to be quiet myself, is hard work. And when it's all day every day, it quickly becomes a tough gig.
It wouldn't be so difficult if we could actually do things, but that's where the maletin comes in. The carry case goes everywhere she does, likewise the bag with its bulging broken zips, purse perched on top almost asking to be stolen. What's in these? We can't be sure, but she carries them everywhere and doesn't want anyone else to touch them. One young relative jokingly suggests burning the damned things (OK, it's mostly a joke.)
Not only is there a possible risk to Mum's health pulling these enormous weights around, but we can't get her in anywhere cos they constitute potential security risks. As an aged citizen of Granada, she is entitled to get into the wonderful Alhambra complex for free. But she just won't. The cathedrals,the monasteries, the museums are likewise beyond her, because she insists that the bag and carry case must be with her at all times. The result? We can't take her anywhere apart from cafes and shops, so new input is minimal; and even I can't keep talking with no subject matter at all. Give me credit, I can blather pointless rubbish for about three days before actually needing something to say, just to spark her up and make her smile. But I get tired, tired, tired, almost tearful. However ludicrous it sounds it is hard emotional labour, no holiday at all.
That isn't to say there was no fun in it, there were great moments. She has considerable intellect, it just tends to return to the confines of her illness. But I trip up when I refer back to the real and she doesn't recall. Then she frowns at me, and the sidelong glances begin, and I can feel the suspicion creeping in round the edges, that this isn't right, it never happened this way, is this really my daughter? Have they got to her, or found someone else to take her place? And then the voice drops further because she doesn't want to be overheard, because they are listening or maybe I am taping things, and then it begins. The only way I can get round this is to look confused and say I got her mixed up with someone else, move the conversation forwards, and even then, there will be a time of disquiet. But it will work. It requires completely sublimation of objective reality in order to embrace one that soothes her, and is very efficient, but one shouldn't do it for long cos it bangs the brainpan hard.
Her memories of home life are sweet and gentle. 'I enjoyed those years' she says, forgetting the desperate misery we went through, though she concedes that for me 'it must have been a bit boring'. Yes, boring when it wasn't downright dangerous, but I push those memories away. The world she remembers is a kinder place, so we'll stick with it, because some small corner of Heaven lies in that direction for her. I can do that, ignore the triggers, reassure some internal kid yelling WTAF that later I'll listen, later, later. I only once had an ouch point I could barely stand. And none of this is her fault. She was as ladylike, as affectionate, as cordial, as generous as she ever could be. There were difficulties, but she's worth them all.
My next posts should be more cheerful, having registered the discomfort, cos my real good humour rises when I can give poor Clowne the rest she needs; in fairness, she spent years on this stage. So bye for now, Clowne, and well done.
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no subject
Date: 2023-04-20 02:22 pm (UTC)I'm curious, too, about what's in the carry case and the bag with the broken zippers. Any thoughts?
no subject
Date: 2023-04-21 06:07 am (UTC)I think it's over a decade's worth of serviettes and tissues. When she uses a tissue to wipe her mouth or hands, she doesn't leave it behind. She stuffs it into her bag. She makes pretty much no mess at all, so it's not smelly or dirty, which is just as well as I suspect she never throws these away. I think she is afraid of someone taking her DNA.
no subject
Date: 2023-04-20 07:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-04-21 06:01 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-04-21 06:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-04-21 06:16 am (UTC)And I never saw it before 😂😂😂
no subject
Date: 2023-04-21 06:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2023-04-21 06:32 am (UTC)