msjessica's Diaryland Diary

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Prey

The only people who seem able to actually talk to me while in this are in the middle of their own fucked up shit and understandably are in radio silence.

The people I thought would give an occasional check in or message, almost returning the care I gave to them through the same kind of times are nowhere to be seen.

The people I thought might provide some light distraction find the whole thing too heavy and misread my needs, I don’t have the energy to convince them that their assumptions are wrong.

I’m talking all the time to..... family, extended family, friends of family, people showing up unannounced coming to essentially pay their last respects and I have to make them tea and serve up cake while mum struggles to keep her eyes open and be polite. If someone is actively dying, maybe call before dropping around.

Also, “oh yeah, my such and such relation had X horrific experience while dying from cancer” is not a great topic on such a visit.

It’s a strange bittersweet thing that Mum has touched so many peoples lives that there’s always someone wanting to visit, meaning more and more days pass where her 2-4 hours of energy are spent on discussing the weather with people who haven’t thought to come round in the last few years, instead of on the time we want to be doing things like going through her jewelry together, or finally doing decoupage with her beautiful book catalogues, or reading through and discussing her toastmasters speeches, or cataloguing her collection of owls, or planning her fucking funeral.

Where I want it, there is no time or space, and where I need connection and contact, there are just unread messages and unavailable people. I feel like I’m in a dream somehow. I feel like I’m processing all this cerebrally but it’s not hitting my heart at all, I can hardly even force a chip in it.

And in the times when she is in hospital, instead of being able to seek refuge in my other close family members and grieving and getting solace, I am babysitting her fucking partner, out of one sided obligation. In any quiet moment, I am consoling him. Listening to his fears and theories. Being weirdly confronted with him walking out in his underwear, once naked, when he knows I’m still up and in a shared space. Just so much that is fucked up there I can’t even start to go into it. This whole time, all of the arrangements, everything having to be arranged by this mans moods - why is she dying with all the people who love her, where if it was him he would have the quiet house he says he’s seeking. Why didn’t he go first.

11:55 p.m. - 2018-04-13

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