A whirlwind weekend, two days of happenings, sad, touching, funny, heartbreaking and constructive. All at once, a mixture like cake batter; throwing everything in, stirring around and hoping for the best.
We went to see Colin on Saturday. He is hugely improved, and as ever has that Spin Doctor mentality that will find the positive in any worse case scenario. He sees the funny side and talks of the personal problems created by his operation as if he is Eddie Izzard facing an audience. He is witty and erudite, he sees the good and he deals with the bad. He is an inspiration and I am very lucky to have him. He inspires me, gives me confidence, takes me along on his fantasies and makes me smile.
Move on to visiting Mother. She has changed so so much in the two months I haven't been able to visit her. Her eyes are dead and shark like. She uses them to look for flaws, for subterfuge and lies. I do not recognise her in this ungracious shell.
She is obsessed with thinking that the hospital will be sending her to Roslyn Lee. Now Roslyn Lee is a mental hospital outside Edinburgh, way back in the mists of time when Colin and I were just kids, the words Roslyn Lee were used as a threat – bad children could be sent there, a fearful place of demons and madness. It seems now that Mum has taken those threats of bygone years and turned them on herself. She is living as that fearful child and the threat is everywhere.
Well as you can imagine I did the only thing possible and burst womanfully into tears within minutes of seeing her and being accused point blank that I am sending her to this place. My tears reinforce her determination that she is right, and I (and everyone else) am lying. I find a doctor and check all her notes, he assures me that there is no way she is going to Roslyn Lee and that they are waiting for a place for her in a small home in Musselburgh. Doctor comes with me to talk to mum. She looks from him to me, she says we are both lying. The dead shark like eyes show no softness,no response, they are focused inwards on a terrible torment that nobody can clear.
Gut wrenching, heart breaking, a living grief for someone you love who has already gone but still there in a format far removed from themselves, your past, your memories. Mum it's me, I'm here with your grand daughter, isn't she fabulous, she's 12 and gorgeous. See us Mum, let us in.
No answer to our pleas, we are all crying when we leave, but she turns away and says she is going to face 'it' with dignity and she will not cry.
I cry enough for us both. Dignity, who needs it.