Beautiful day today, I got up at 10am and it was a sunny, bright, lovely day. My heart was full of joy. On the drive to work the sky was so blue, the sun was really bright; only a few clouds were around the edges of the sky. It was very cold; still frosty even though it was nearly noon. Such a beautiful day! It's hard to believe I'm in England, it's late November and it's a great, great day!! What a wonderful life!
Yesterday I had the best news I've had in the past 12 months - I'm no longer joined at the hip to the awful orphan - Yippee!! It feels so good to be free!
I'm free. I'm free. I'm free at last!!
I feel truely liberated! What a great feeling.
This is how life is going to be from today.... FAB-U-LOUS!
As I left for work today I saw the awful orphan sitting in his downstairs front room or study. The Liverpool scarf was pulled down for my benefit. In my head I called him a bandar (monkey) as usual. I have been trying to stop calling him names in my head but it's not so easy. I had made a resolution to stop the name calling by the end of September but I have failed. Bandar is a lot better than the names I had been calling him in the past!
Friday, 26 November 2010
Sunday, 22 August 2010
Conversation with Amrit.
It was Amrit's 21st birthday on 17th August'10 - Amrit is the awful orphan's baby brother. I haven't spoken to Amrit in over a year. I think that's sad but I've come to accept the situation. When the months start rolling into years you learn to accept that life is not easy, it's not all a bed of roses. If I had sent Amrit a letter on his 21st birthday, this is what I would have said.
Happy 21st birthday Amrit. I wish your Mum and Dad were here to see you as a man - not the boy they left behind. I'm sorry I didn't send you a card, phone you or text you on your birthday. As you know the family has split into factions since your Father died. Within a matter of 4 to 5 weeks problems arose between your brother, your Massar and me. The problems got worse and your brother did a very good job of pushing all of us away. The rest of the extended family decided to take sides and marginalised your Massar, me and our kids. No one tried to mediate or find out what was wrong. Phupar and Phua decided not to be proactive, even though as elders in the family, there was a lot they could have done. Your Massar, me and the kids were villified by the whole family and no one wanted it any other way. I wonder why?
Getting back to your birthday. I would hope that your Mother and your Father would have been proud of you on your 21st birthday - that's what all parents want. They want their kids to be healthy, happy and have a good future. As parents we want our kids to be good people; kind, caring, considerate people who know how to give love and receive love. This can only happen, if we as parents are kind, caring and considerate and if we love our children beyond anything else - above even ourselves.
As your Massi, who was there for you when your Mother died - I can say with my hand on my heart, in all truth, that I treated you like my own son. I treated you better than my own son. I cared for you. I was kind and considerate to you and above all I loved you. I prayed for you, I talked to you, I sat with you, I gave you my time, my energy and my attention. I hugged you and I kissed you.
Not being able to see you or talk to you over the past 16 to 20 months has been hard for me. I didn't just forget about you. You didn't drop into a black hole in my mind. You didn't drop off the world for me. Just because I haven't seen you or spoken to you in person, doesn't mean I haven't communicated with you - I have had numerous conversations with you in my head; every day for the first 6 months or so. Then less over the next 6 months or so. The last 6 to 8 months have been better and worse. Worse because you moved into Caelo late last year and I saw you quite often and that stirred up so many emotions in me; better because I wasn't thinking about you, your brother or your Mum and Dad as often as I had in the past. My mind had been cluttered with all of you. I asked myself thousands of times, why this was happening to all of us. I went over events with you, your brother, your parents, to see if I could find answers. Did you all hate me so much? How did I miss it? What did your Mum say to me? What did Phaji say to me? What did I say? What did I do? Why hadn't this happened when they were alive?
I still don't have any answers for these questions. They just go round and round in my head. I have got used to not seeing you though. Time is a healer. Time does help. But on your Mum's 6th anniversary it was hard for me; then on Phaji's 1st anniversary and Bhog, it was a difficult and emotional time. Now your 21st birthday; again difficult; but I will get over this too. Time passes very fast and life goes on.
There will be other milestones; when your brother gets married, when you get married, when either of you have children. I will have to get over all of them. I'm sure I will. It might be sad for me, it might be a wrench for me but I will manage because I've managed so far.
Don't think it's been easy - it hasn't - I had countless sleepless nights. Not out of guilt, out of worry and upset, because that's the kind of person I am. I haven't done any thing wrong for you, your brother, your Father or your Mother. If other people think I have done something so bad to deserve the treatment I got over the last 20 months, then I disagree 100 per cent. It's easy for people to say, she can't sleep because she has a guilty conscience. Well wrong! I don't. I can't sleep because I am an emotional and caring person, I have feelings and I'm a natural worrier. Too bad for me.
I've been quite sick over the last 20 months or so. I have been diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I have been very depressed; my antidepressants have been increased a few times. I have had lots of bouts of back pain and not been able to do a thing, let alone get to work. I have had at least 4 sinus infections and countless coughs and colds; all due to stress. I don't just wake up everyday and shrug off my problems and have a rosy happy life every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. I'm not like that. The past 20 months have been sad and bad for me. They have been tough on me and my family. But luckily because of the love and support of your Massar, Amrita, Jasmeet, and Gurpal - I am ok. More than ok, I'll be able to handle more of the same heartache that I have handled for the last 20 months. I am stronger and more able now. Whatever the future throws at me, with regard to my extended family - I promise you and your brother - I will cope. Thanks to both of you.
Your brother didn't manage to break me. He tried hard enough and he came pretty close but he's not strong enough. I came very close to losing my mind a good few times but even God will help those people who have nothing bad in their hearts for other humans. I can say I have nothing bad in my heart for one other person who I know or have known. I never will have. Nobody can break a person's spirit if God doesn't will it. I believe that with all my heart.
I did not mean to make this a letter of accusations. It was supposed to be about your birthday and why I did not contact you. I don't blame you for what has happened. I do understand that when you have one member of your immediate family left in the whole world, you have to stick with them - I understand that you would have stuck with your Veer no matter what; good or bad; right or wrong - I do understand that. However you were an adult, you weren't a child, you could have tried to find out what was wrong. What had we done? Who did we murder?!? Even our religion tells you to forgive, to love and to be a good human being. Our religion tells you about Insaaniat. That's the most important thing any religion can teach you. In the last 20 months, you heard one side of the story and probably lots of random versions from various members of the extended family and you made no effort to hear my side, Massar's side, Amrita's side, Jasmeet's side or Gurpal's side. Obviously you were told not to contact any of us and you did what you were told. Result - you loose a minimum of 6 members of your extended family. That's what your Veer wanted you to sacrifice. What was he afraid of? What did he think we would do to you? Did he think we would kidnap you? Kill you? Poison you? What was it? What was the worse thing that could have happened for you to be aware of what was going on, on a week by week basis? He obviously had things to hide. How long will he be able to hide them for? Everything will come to light one day and it won't be long now. What will he do then? Will he send you into exile - send you to India for a year or would you prefer the USA? How will he keep you from finding out what he did, what he said, who he abused, who he slandered? I'll tel you how - there is no way he will be able to stop you from finding out one day, exactly what happened and who did what and who said what.
It's obvious you feel let down by all of us and feel you had bad treatment from all of us after your Father died. It's obvious you also have a lot of questions you want answered and you have every right to those feelings and thoughts. I hope you get the answers to your questions one day and I hope you don't have to wait too long.
If you ever want to talk to me about what has happened I am willing to listen to you and give you any answers I can. If you don't want to see me on your own that's fine too - I'm willing to see you with anybody of your choice except for your Massi nisha. No, sorry, I'll change my mind on that, I'm willing to see you even if you want her to come with you. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to give you the chance to tell me how you feel and what you want to say to me - good or bad.
I have no ill feelings towards you. I wish you good health, happiness and success in whatever you choose to do. I wish you a good life. Your Massi.
Happy 21st birthday Amrit. I wish your Mum and Dad were here to see you as a man - not the boy they left behind. I'm sorry I didn't send you a card, phone you or text you on your birthday. As you know the family has split into factions since your Father died. Within a matter of 4 to 5 weeks problems arose between your brother, your Massar and me. The problems got worse and your brother did a very good job of pushing all of us away. The rest of the extended family decided to take sides and marginalised your Massar, me and our kids. No one tried to mediate or find out what was wrong. Phupar and Phua decided not to be proactive, even though as elders in the family, there was a lot they could have done. Your Massar, me and the kids were villified by the whole family and no one wanted it any other way. I wonder why?
Getting back to your birthday. I would hope that your Mother and your Father would have been proud of you on your 21st birthday - that's what all parents want. They want their kids to be healthy, happy and have a good future. As parents we want our kids to be good people; kind, caring, considerate people who know how to give love and receive love. This can only happen, if we as parents are kind, caring and considerate and if we love our children beyond anything else - above even ourselves.
As your Massi, who was there for you when your Mother died - I can say with my hand on my heart, in all truth, that I treated you like my own son. I treated you better than my own son. I cared for you. I was kind and considerate to you and above all I loved you. I prayed for you, I talked to you, I sat with you, I gave you my time, my energy and my attention. I hugged you and I kissed you.
Not being able to see you or talk to you over the past 16 to 20 months has been hard for me. I didn't just forget about you. You didn't drop into a black hole in my mind. You didn't drop off the world for me. Just because I haven't seen you or spoken to you in person, doesn't mean I haven't communicated with you - I have had numerous conversations with you in my head; every day for the first 6 months or so. Then less over the next 6 months or so. The last 6 to 8 months have been better and worse. Worse because you moved into Caelo late last year and I saw you quite often and that stirred up so many emotions in me; better because I wasn't thinking about you, your brother or your Mum and Dad as often as I had in the past. My mind had been cluttered with all of you. I asked myself thousands of times, why this was happening to all of us. I went over events with you, your brother, your parents, to see if I could find answers. Did you all hate me so much? How did I miss it? What did your Mum say to me? What did Phaji say to me? What did I say? What did I do? Why hadn't this happened when they were alive?
I still don't have any answers for these questions. They just go round and round in my head. I have got used to not seeing you though. Time is a healer. Time does help. But on your Mum's 6th anniversary it was hard for me; then on Phaji's 1st anniversary and Bhog, it was a difficult and emotional time. Now your 21st birthday; again difficult; but I will get over this too. Time passes very fast and life goes on.
There will be other milestones; when your brother gets married, when you get married, when either of you have children. I will have to get over all of them. I'm sure I will. It might be sad for me, it might be a wrench for me but I will manage because I've managed so far.
Don't think it's been easy - it hasn't - I had countless sleepless nights. Not out of guilt, out of worry and upset, because that's the kind of person I am. I haven't done any thing wrong for you, your brother, your Father or your Mother. If other people think I have done something so bad to deserve the treatment I got over the last 20 months, then I disagree 100 per cent. It's easy for people to say, she can't sleep because she has a guilty conscience. Well wrong! I don't. I can't sleep because I am an emotional and caring person, I have feelings and I'm a natural worrier. Too bad for me.
I've been quite sick over the last 20 months or so. I have been diagnosed with Irritable Bowel Syndrome. I have been very depressed; my antidepressants have been increased a few times. I have had lots of bouts of back pain and not been able to do a thing, let alone get to work. I have had at least 4 sinus infections and countless coughs and colds; all due to stress. I don't just wake up everyday and shrug off my problems and have a rosy happy life every day, seven days a week, 365 days a year. I'm not like that. The past 20 months have been sad and bad for me. They have been tough on me and my family. But luckily because of the love and support of your Massar, Amrita, Jasmeet, and Gurpal - I am ok. More than ok, I'll be able to handle more of the same heartache that I have handled for the last 20 months. I am stronger and more able now. Whatever the future throws at me, with regard to my extended family - I promise you and your brother - I will cope. Thanks to both of you.
Your brother didn't manage to break me. He tried hard enough and he came pretty close but he's not strong enough. I came very close to losing my mind a good few times but even God will help those people who have nothing bad in their hearts for other humans. I can say I have nothing bad in my heart for one other person who I know or have known. I never will have. Nobody can break a person's spirit if God doesn't will it. I believe that with all my heart.
I did not mean to make this a letter of accusations. It was supposed to be about your birthday and why I did not contact you. I don't blame you for what has happened. I do understand that when you have one member of your immediate family left in the whole world, you have to stick with them - I understand that you would have stuck with your Veer no matter what; good or bad; right or wrong - I do understand that. However you were an adult, you weren't a child, you could have tried to find out what was wrong. What had we done? Who did we murder?!? Even our religion tells you to forgive, to love and to be a good human being. Our religion tells you about Insaaniat. That's the most important thing any religion can teach you. In the last 20 months, you heard one side of the story and probably lots of random versions from various members of the extended family and you made no effort to hear my side, Massar's side, Amrita's side, Jasmeet's side or Gurpal's side. Obviously you were told not to contact any of us and you did what you were told. Result - you loose a minimum of 6 members of your extended family. That's what your Veer wanted you to sacrifice. What was he afraid of? What did he think we would do to you? Did he think we would kidnap you? Kill you? Poison you? What was it? What was the worse thing that could have happened for you to be aware of what was going on, on a week by week basis? He obviously had things to hide. How long will he be able to hide them for? Everything will come to light one day and it won't be long now. What will he do then? Will he send you into exile - send you to India for a year or would you prefer the USA? How will he keep you from finding out what he did, what he said, who he abused, who he slandered? I'll tel you how - there is no way he will be able to stop you from finding out one day, exactly what happened and who did what and who said what.
It's obvious you feel let down by all of us and feel you had bad treatment from all of us after your Father died. It's obvious you also have a lot of questions you want answered and you have every right to those feelings and thoughts. I hope you get the answers to your questions one day and I hope you don't have to wait too long.
If you ever want to talk to me about what has happened I am willing to listen to you and give you any answers I can. If you don't want to see me on your own that's fine too - I'm willing to see you with anybody of your choice except for your Massi nisha. No, sorry, I'll change my mind on that, I'm willing to see you even if you want her to come with you. I'm willing to do whatever it takes to give you the chance to tell me how you feel and what you want to say to me - good or bad.
I have no ill feelings towards you. I wish you good health, happiness and success in whatever you choose to do. I wish you a good life. Your Massi.
Monday, 2 August 2010
BBQ
We have more reason to have fun and have a good time - thankfully. We had a BBQ on Sunday 1st August. We had a proper get together finally; it was probably the first time this year that we had a few of our friends and some of the kids friends over to the house. We started early as it was a Sunday; we had lots of good food and drink. We bought alloo tikki (potatoe cutlets) with cholay (chick peas) and tamarind chutney. We BBQed chicken and vegetables on skewers. Our very good friend made tandoori paneer. Another good friend made marinated tofu. We had salads galore; enough to feed the 5,000! There were also lamb kebabs - delicious; the best kebabs in the whole of Great Britain. My husband who made most of the food, also made tharka dhal (spiced lentils) on the gridle.
The food went down a treat, it was absolutely delicious. Everybody was so so full. My husband's BBQ gets better and better every year. It is legendary. Stories about his BBQ are told all over from, San Francisco to Delhi to New York to Penang!
We all had a great evening - it was lovely to be able to relax and have fun with friends and family after such a long time. We used to do this kind of entertaining almost every weekend but now we seem to be so wrapped up in our problems that we don't do much at all. That needs to change. We need to make time to relax, have fun and generally chill out.
The food went down a treat, it was absolutely delicious. Everybody was so so full. My husband's BBQ gets better and better every year. It is legendary. Stories about his BBQ are told all over from, San Francisco to Delhi to New York to Penang!
We all had a great evening - it was lovely to be able to relax and have fun with friends and family after such a long time. We used to do this kind of entertaining almost every weekend but now we seem to be so wrapped up in our problems that we don't do much at all. That needs to change. We need to make time to relax, have fun and generally chill out.
Thursday, 29 July 2010
Sinus Problems.
I have been feeling depressed and very sluggish since my brother's Inquest began. I'm having headaches, feel heavy headed and have aches and pains too. Just trying to do normal everyday things is so hard; I feel as if I'm wading through treacle. I know it's because I'm upset at being rejected and shunned by my family. I try not to dwell on it and I try not to feel depressed and sad over everything that is going on but it's probably more of a problem with my subconscious mind rather than my conscious mind. It doesn't matter how much I try not to feel down and depressed, I am affected with even the best will in the world.
Sunday, 25 July 2010
Inquest.
My brother's Inquest was finally heard on Wednesday 21st July'10. I had wanted to attend but I was laid up with an infection after having a tooth removed. I had booked 3 days leave from work to attend the Inquest.
The evening before the Inquest, I knew I wouldn't be able to go and accepted I could do nothing about the situation. I hoped that my nephew would call me, to ask if I was going to his Father's Inquest. I had always told him I would be there and I was sure he would give me a call even if it was late evening. My nephew and I had a good relationship. I have kept in touch with him, phoned him often; he would come to see me at the library where I work, I would take a break and we would go for lunch. Sometimes he would meet me after work and we would go to my home together. He'd have dinner with me and my family and stay the night. I didn't get the call I was waiting for and that made me feel sad.
The next day I had no idea whether the Inquest had gone ahead or not. I'd had no contact from my nephew, my brother's ex-wife, or my baby brother and there was no way my sister nisha was going to contact me.
As usual I watched the BBC news at 6pm and then the BBC local SE news about 6.30pm. My brother's Inquest came on the news about halfway through the programe. I was very shocked even though I had had a feeling all day that the Inquest may be on the local news. It was weird, surreal. I saw photos of my brother and our family and then nisha was speaking to the camera on behalf of the family. I wasn't phased but I was shocked. I did realise that nisha was quite able of making this item on the local BBC news happen. She's a political being, she has contacts and she's articulate. It's the only good thing she has done in years. I'm glad that people were made aware - that if their beloved son, brother, husband, or Father, had to go into hospital, with mental health problems, within a couple of days or a couple of hours, they could be dead. We should have made people aware 5 years ago when my brother died.
The next day the Inquest continued. I have no idea what happened at the Inquest that day either. All my relatives are far too selfish to be bothered with me no matter how much I may have done for them in the past. Again there was a small piece on the BBC local SE news. There were more photos and a piece of video too. It seemed as if the Inquest had questioned whether my brother should have been given a powerful drug known as accuphase. That seemed quite positive; I had been expecting nothing to come to light at such a late stage. It seemed as if my brother's sons would be able to sue Hillingdon hospital for negligence. It was a lot more than I had expected.
On Friday 23rd July, the 5th anniversary of my brother's death, I watched the BBC local SE news again. I assumed the Inquest was still being heard. There was no mention of my brother that day. It was a bit strange as they had not said the Inquest was over the day before and I expected to hear that the Inquest had continued and that a conclusion or decision had been reached. There was a short piece on the BBC local news website but there was no further update on the Inquest. So I felt in limbo not knowing what had happened. I didn't know whether the Inquest was over or not and I didn't know the outcome of the Inquest. Obviously I felt a bit sad and depressed. Not one of my rotten, selfish family could be asked to pick up the phone to let me know what had happened at my brother's Inquest. You wouldn't treat a stranger the way they treat me. Oh dear, time to get the violins out!
The worst thing about the whole thing - no contact, watching my sister nisha on the TV - was watching her acting and talking as if she ever cared a damn about my brother. It was a great performance from nisha, Oscar worthy. The only problem with it was that it lacked honesty and it smacked of two facedness and the hypocrite in nisha was sreaming at me through my TV set. Nice try nisha, but you are a loser big time. I know and you know and our dead brother knows how much of a hypocrite you are. You hated his guts while he was alive but since he's been dead you've been the grieving sister to the tee. What is the point of hating someone while they are alive and then loving them when they are dead and long gone? I have no idea. But this is how it is for quite a few of us in our family. For nisha to give a damn about you - you have to be dead with a capital D; or you have no hope in hell of nisha giving a toss for you or yours. SAD but true.
I'm still none the wiser about what happened at the Inquest. I know as much as anybody else knows, who didn't attend my brother's Inquest. Days have passed since the Inquest was over and still no one from my family has called me or contacted me. I may as well be dead.
The evening before the Inquest, I knew I wouldn't be able to go and accepted I could do nothing about the situation. I hoped that my nephew would call me, to ask if I was going to his Father's Inquest. I had always told him I would be there and I was sure he would give me a call even if it was late evening. My nephew and I had a good relationship. I have kept in touch with him, phoned him often; he would come to see me at the library where I work, I would take a break and we would go for lunch. Sometimes he would meet me after work and we would go to my home together. He'd have dinner with me and my family and stay the night. I didn't get the call I was waiting for and that made me feel sad.
The next day I had no idea whether the Inquest had gone ahead or not. I'd had no contact from my nephew, my brother's ex-wife, or my baby brother and there was no way my sister nisha was going to contact me.
As usual I watched the BBC news at 6pm and then the BBC local SE news about 6.30pm. My brother's Inquest came on the news about halfway through the programe. I was very shocked even though I had had a feeling all day that the Inquest may be on the local news. It was weird, surreal. I saw photos of my brother and our family and then nisha was speaking to the camera on behalf of the family. I wasn't phased but I was shocked. I did realise that nisha was quite able of making this item on the local BBC news happen. She's a political being, she has contacts and she's articulate. It's the only good thing she has done in years. I'm glad that people were made aware - that if their beloved son, brother, husband, or Father, had to go into hospital, with mental health problems, within a couple of days or a couple of hours, they could be dead. We should have made people aware 5 years ago when my brother died.
The next day the Inquest continued. I have no idea what happened at the Inquest that day either. All my relatives are far too selfish to be bothered with me no matter how much I may have done for them in the past. Again there was a small piece on the BBC local SE news. There were more photos and a piece of video too. It seemed as if the Inquest had questioned whether my brother should have been given a powerful drug known as accuphase. That seemed quite positive; I had been expecting nothing to come to light at such a late stage. It seemed as if my brother's sons would be able to sue Hillingdon hospital for negligence. It was a lot more than I had expected.
On Friday 23rd July, the 5th anniversary of my brother's death, I watched the BBC local SE news again. I assumed the Inquest was still being heard. There was no mention of my brother that day. It was a bit strange as they had not said the Inquest was over the day before and I expected to hear that the Inquest had continued and that a conclusion or decision had been reached. There was a short piece on the BBC local news website but there was no further update on the Inquest. So I felt in limbo not knowing what had happened. I didn't know whether the Inquest was over or not and I didn't know the outcome of the Inquest. Obviously I felt a bit sad and depressed. Not one of my rotten, selfish family could be asked to pick up the phone to let me know what had happened at my brother's Inquest. You wouldn't treat a stranger the way they treat me. Oh dear, time to get the violins out!
The worst thing about the whole thing - no contact, watching my sister nisha on the TV - was watching her acting and talking as if she ever cared a damn about my brother. It was a great performance from nisha, Oscar worthy. The only problem with it was that it lacked honesty and it smacked of two facedness and the hypocrite in nisha was sreaming at me through my TV set. Nice try nisha, but you are a loser big time. I know and you know and our dead brother knows how much of a hypocrite you are. You hated his guts while he was alive but since he's been dead you've been the grieving sister to the tee. What is the point of hating someone while they are alive and then loving them when they are dead and long gone? I have no idea. But this is how it is for quite a few of us in our family. For nisha to give a damn about you - you have to be dead with a capital D; or you have no hope in hell of nisha giving a toss for you or yours. SAD but true.
I'm still none the wiser about what happened at the Inquest. I know as much as anybody else knows, who didn't attend my brother's Inquest. Days have passed since the Inquest was over and still no one from my family has called me or contacted me. I may as well be dead.
Tuesday, 13 July 2010
Pulling Teeth.
I had a nasty molar out Friday 16th July 8.30am. Not a clever decision. The tooth had been bothering me since Christmas and I procrastinated for soooo long; finally the week before my brother's Inquest I decided to bite the bullet and get rid of the tooth.
Thursday afternoon I called for an appointment with my regular dentist. I was told it was his last day and he had already left the building. OMG! So I made a brave/stupid decision to have my tooth out first thing next morning with a new dentist.
My hubby took me to the dentist bright and early. I was nervous as hell. I got called in, saw the dentist for the first time and thought he's not as good looking as my regular dentist. Bad omen. He was very nice though, very polite and thoughtful too. So I relaxed. He agreed my tooth needed pulling out. So he gave me a couple of injections to numb the area. One was horrid; left hand corner of my upper and lower jaw - nasty. Then I went out to wait for a fat lip to arrive.
OK all nice and numb - he poked around, I couldn't feel anything. So he started pulling. It took at tiny little while, longer than I would have liked and then I felt the tooth fall on to my tongue; I spat it out and caught it! Yuk! I had my eyes closed the whole time. I can't stand the sight of those long needles they stick in your gums and jaw and I didn't want to see the forceps he'd asked for either. I had these very stylish shades on that he had given me to wear, so at least I looked cool. He was happy with my catch and complimented me; (ironic - I could never catch a ball at school and was the bane of the PE teacher's life).
The dentist told me how to care for the wound and told me to take pain killers asap. So all good. We were on our way home pretty soon after arriving. I was also told to give him a call if I had any problems.
I went home chilled out for a while, the anisthetic wore off. I'd had some paracetamol and I went to work at lunch time. I got some goodies from M & S as I was starving. Got trifle, rice pudding, jelly and tucked in when I got to work. I had more pain relief when the time came round and did a salt water rinse at the prescribed time. I worked for about 4 hours and went home. I dosed up with pain relief, did the rinsing and had some soup for dinner. I took a sleeping tablet and got a good sleep. I got up early on Saturday and my mouth was throbbing with pain at the site of the jab in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I called the dentist; he had a day off. Great. I didn't want to see another dentist so I left it at that.
That day was horrid, pain and more pain. I stayed on a soft food diet and lots of painkillers. That night I took another sleeping tablet; I got 2 hours sleep. It seemed as if the night would never be over. I was in a bad way.
Sunday was worse. More pain, more swelling in my mouth and I was popping pills and brushing my teeth for England. I was exactly like a bear with a sore head. Snappy to say the least. That night I took 1 and a half sleeping tablets. I went to bed at about 11pm but I was climbing the walls until about 3.30am; had no sleep at all and I was ready to go to A & E. Luckily due to exhaustion I slept for a few hours.
Monday morning: back to the dentist. He had a look. He was more than a teeny bit concerned; he said there was an abcess and I needed antibiotics; he gave me 2 different ones. Then the bad news - if my mouth was no better in 24 hours I would have to go to A & E to have the abcess lanced. Lovely.
I took the meds religiously. I brushed and rinsed like a crazy person and I prayed that I wouldn't end up in hospital. More pain all day and all night but I took 2 sleeping tablets and was knocked out thankfully.
Tuesday morning: no better. Phoned dentist, he advised that I go to A & E. Went to local A & E with hubby and was told by the doc that they didn't deal with teeth or mouths and my dentist should not have passed the buck. But he said he'd make some calls to see if he could get me seen somewhere. So he asked me to get an x-ray done of my mouth while I waited. After the x-ray I was sent to Ashford hospital with a letter for them to take a look at me.
I waited at Ashford with my hubby for the consultant to come out of surgery. The only thing that kept me from going stir crazy was the thought of seeing somebody who could take the pain away, even if they were going to stick a scalpel in my mouth. Pretty desperate.
I got to see the consultant fairly quickly, she looked very young and was pleasant and caring. Good omen. After asking what had gone on she had a look at the offending area of my mouth. She flushed the area 3 times with antibacterial and then packed the socket where the molar had been with clove paste. She prescribed a new antibiotic and told me to rinse with corsodyl 4 times a day. I asked her about the abcess; she said she couldn't see one. I thought - was it ever there? But then I thought great, at least it's not going to burst in my mouth!
We got back home around 3.30pm. I had some soup and one of the superduper new tablets - at least that's what I told myself they were. I managed to stay awake for about half an hour and then had to go to bed. Slept like a baby. Four hours later my hubby woke me up for my next dose of magic meds. Things were looking up. I could sleep, the pain was bearable and I was almost a happy bunny!
Wednesday: much better today; almost human. Able to do my morning regime almost 100% just left out drying my hair due to lack of energy. So not bad. I had a lovely day being spoiled rotten; my daugter looked after me and got me soup and scrambled eggs and anything I wanted. She even watched 4 episodes of Coronation Street with me; (she hates Corrie). A perfect pick me up.
After Wednesday things were on the up. My mouth was better. I could open it a bit wider and I could stick my tongue out a bit. I was also able to get off the soft food diet.
Thursday was good. I was almost normal. I spent the morning getting myself sorted out and after lunch time I went out to a lovely little parade of shops with my daughter. The first time I'd been out for pleasure in days. It felt good to be doing normal things at last.
Friday I was back to normal. The pain was gone; I was eating a more normal diet and I could almost stick my tongue out properly. I just had a tiny little soreness at the site of the injection in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I even felt like going out in the afternoon for a couple of hours to paint some pottery. Very theraputic and relaxing. It was the 5th Anniversary of my brother's death. I was happy to spend part of the day peacefully doing something I really enjoy. I hope he would agree that I made a good choice. I hope he has peace now where ever he is.
Thursday afternoon I called for an appointment with my regular dentist. I was told it was his last day and he had already left the building. OMG! So I made a brave/stupid decision to have my tooth out first thing next morning with a new dentist.
My hubby took me to the dentist bright and early. I was nervous as hell. I got called in, saw the dentist for the first time and thought he's not as good looking as my regular dentist. Bad omen. He was very nice though, very polite and thoughtful too. So I relaxed. He agreed my tooth needed pulling out. So he gave me a couple of injections to numb the area. One was horrid; left hand corner of my upper and lower jaw - nasty. Then I went out to wait for a fat lip to arrive.
OK all nice and numb - he poked around, I couldn't feel anything. So he started pulling. It took at tiny little while, longer than I would have liked and then I felt the tooth fall on to my tongue; I spat it out and caught it! Yuk! I had my eyes closed the whole time. I can't stand the sight of those long needles they stick in your gums and jaw and I didn't want to see the forceps he'd asked for either. I had these very stylish shades on that he had given me to wear, so at least I looked cool. He was happy with my catch and complimented me; (ironic - I could never catch a ball at school and was the bane of the PE teacher's life).
The dentist told me how to care for the wound and told me to take pain killers asap. So all good. We were on our way home pretty soon after arriving. I was also told to give him a call if I had any problems.
I went home chilled out for a while, the anisthetic wore off. I'd had some paracetamol and I went to work at lunch time. I got some goodies from M & S as I was starving. Got trifle, rice pudding, jelly and tucked in when I got to work. I had more pain relief when the time came round and did a salt water rinse at the prescribed time. I worked for about 4 hours and went home. I dosed up with pain relief, did the rinsing and had some soup for dinner. I took a sleeping tablet and got a good sleep. I got up early on Saturday and my mouth was throbbing with pain at the site of the jab in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I called the dentist; he had a day off. Great. I didn't want to see another dentist so I left it at that.
That day was horrid, pain and more pain. I stayed on a soft food diet and lots of painkillers. That night I took another sleeping tablet; I got 2 hours sleep. It seemed as if the night would never be over. I was in a bad way.
Sunday was worse. More pain, more swelling in my mouth and I was popping pills and brushing my teeth for England. I was exactly like a bear with a sore head. Snappy to say the least. That night I took 1 and a half sleeping tablets. I went to bed at about 11pm but I was climbing the walls until about 3.30am; had no sleep at all and I was ready to go to A & E. Luckily due to exhaustion I slept for a few hours.
Monday morning: back to the dentist. He had a look. He was more than a teeny bit concerned; he said there was an abcess and I needed antibiotics; he gave me 2 different ones. Then the bad news - if my mouth was no better in 24 hours I would have to go to A & E to have the abcess lanced. Lovely.
I took the meds religiously. I brushed and rinsed like a crazy person and I prayed that I wouldn't end up in hospital. More pain all day and all night but I took 2 sleeping tablets and was knocked out thankfully.
Tuesday morning: no better. Phoned dentist, he advised that I go to A & E. Went to local A & E with hubby and was told by the doc that they didn't deal with teeth or mouths and my dentist should not have passed the buck. But he said he'd make some calls to see if he could get me seen somewhere. So he asked me to get an x-ray done of my mouth while I waited. After the x-ray I was sent to Ashford hospital with a letter for them to take a look at me.
I waited at Ashford with my hubby for the consultant to come out of surgery. The only thing that kept me from going stir crazy was the thought of seeing somebody who could take the pain away, even if they were going to stick a scalpel in my mouth. Pretty desperate.
I got to see the consultant fairly quickly, she looked very young and was pleasant and caring. Good omen. After asking what had gone on she had a look at the offending area of my mouth. She flushed the area 3 times with antibacterial and then packed the socket where the molar had been with clove paste. She prescribed a new antibiotic and told me to rinse with corsodyl 4 times a day. I asked her about the abcess; she said she couldn't see one. I thought - was it ever there? But then I thought great, at least it's not going to burst in my mouth!
We got back home around 3.30pm. I had some soup and one of the superduper new tablets - at least that's what I told myself they were. I managed to stay awake for about half an hour and then had to go to bed. Slept like a baby. Four hours later my hubby woke me up for my next dose of magic meds. Things were looking up. I could sleep, the pain was bearable and I was almost a happy bunny!
Wednesday: much better today; almost human. Able to do my morning regime almost 100% just left out drying my hair due to lack of energy. So not bad. I had a lovely day being spoiled rotten; my daugter looked after me and got me soup and scrambled eggs and anything I wanted. She even watched 4 episodes of Coronation Street with me; (she hates Corrie). A perfect pick me up.
After Wednesday things were on the up. My mouth was better. I could open it a bit wider and I could stick my tongue out a bit. I was also able to get off the soft food diet.
Thursday was good. I was almost normal. I spent the morning getting myself sorted out and after lunch time I went out to a lovely little parade of shops with my daughter. The first time I'd been out for pleasure in days. It felt good to be doing normal things at last.
Friday I was back to normal. The pain was gone; I was eating a more normal diet and I could almost stick my tongue out properly. I just had a tiny little soreness at the site of the injection in the corner of my upper and lower jaw. I even felt like going out in the afternoon for a couple of hours to paint some pottery. Very theraputic and relaxing. It was the 5th Anniversary of my brother's death. I was happy to spend part of the day peacefully doing something I really enjoy. I hope he would agree that I made a good choice. I hope he has peace now where ever he is.
Monday, 12 July 2010
Coventry.
I'm back in Coventry again. It was almost instant. I was only brought back for a few days and about 3 texts. Then back again to my beloved Coventry. Obviously my brother feels I have some very serious attachment to Coventry and love going there often.
I'm a sad woman. Waiting for crumbs off the table. Some small piece of recognition, some small piece of aproval, some small piece of love or even a tiny crumb of being liked. Sad.
I tried very hard for recognition, love, regard, approval, affection for exacty 32 years with my Mum and Dad. I tried for all of those things for 29 years with my older sister. In 1977 I broke my Mother's, my Father's and my older sister's hearts. I was 16 years old. I wanted desperately to be forgiven and loved or liked and respected. So I gave love, respect and affection by the ton. But I never got what I wanted. I realised 5 years after my older sister died that although she made me feel loved, respected and showed me and my family a lot of affection she never ever really forgave me. That makes me feel sad beyond words.
My parents seemed to be getting over their hurt after about 10 years or so. Then for the next 10 years no matter how much my husband, my children or I did, it never seemed to be enough. There was minimal approval and minimal appreciation for what ever we did. I made sure all we ever did was give: give love, give time, give affection, give attention, give physical effort and give finacially too. It was never good enough.
The other brother's and sisters and son's-in-law were always better than us, even if they did bugger all consistently. I think it's a rule of life: be good, give, give, give; and you get a truck load of shit in return.
So it took me decades to learn, my family think I'm shit. I'm slow. I admit it. I was told I was thick almost everyday of my life from a very early age until I was at least 14 years old; classic self fulfilling prophecy. But finally five years after my older sister died in 2004, and all I had done for almost every day for 5 years was give, I fianlly woke up and smelt the coffee. Well no I didn't really; it was spelt out for me plainly and clearly by my parents - I was of no value to them, my currency had been devalued by them to £000,000. Not that my currency had ever been worth much any way. My Mum and Dad showed me they would stand by my baby brother no matter what he did. He was their son after all. I was a mere daughter - not to be relied on, not to be trusted and to be rejected without a second thought.
So the penny finally dropped. If I can be used, all well and good. If I have an opinion about a living sibling, then I know where the door is. If I think my Mum and Dad will stand by me because I feel wronged, no way Jose. It's not happening. Not in a million years.
So all the sacrifices I made, all the time I gave up, all the love and affection I gave - what for? Rejection in capital letters.
I was dispensable big time.
The last 12 months have been for me. They have been very tough. My health suffered, my mind suffered, my kids suffered, my husband suffered too. Coming to terms with rejection from your own parents and an only brother and a sister is not easy at the age of 48 years old.
I realised that if I had shut up and put up and done my duty like a good Indian woman I would not have been rejected. But it's too high a price to pay. For no recognition, no love or respect it's not worth it.
I'm a sad woman. Waiting for crumbs off the table. Some small piece of recognition, some small piece of aproval, some small piece of love or even a tiny crumb of being liked. Sad.
I tried very hard for recognition, love, regard, approval, affection for exacty 32 years with my Mum and Dad. I tried for all of those things for 29 years with my older sister. In 1977 I broke my Mother's, my Father's and my older sister's hearts. I was 16 years old. I wanted desperately to be forgiven and loved or liked and respected. So I gave love, respect and affection by the ton. But I never got what I wanted. I realised 5 years after my older sister died that although she made me feel loved, respected and showed me and my family a lot of affection she never ever really forgave me. That makes me feel sad beyond words.
My parents seemed to be getting over their hurt after about 10 years or so. Then for the next 10 years no matter how much my husband, my children or I did, it never seemed to be enough. There was minimal approval and minimal appreciation for what ever we did. I made sure all we ever did was give: give love, give time, give affection, give attention, give physical effort and give finacially too. It was never good enough.
The other brother's and sisters and son's-in-law were always better than us, even if they did bugger all consistently. I think it's a rule of life: be good, give, give, give; and you get a truck load of shit in return.
So it took me decades to learn, my family think I'm shit. I'm slow. I admit it. I was told I was thick almost everyday of my life from a very early age until I was at least 14 years old; classic self fulfilling prophecy. But finally five years after my older sister died in 2004, and all I had done for almost every day for 5 years was give, I fianlly woke up and smelt the coffee. Well no I didn't really; it was spelt out for me plainly and clearly by my parents - I was of no value to them, my currency had been devalued by them to £000,000. Not that my currency had ever been worth much any way. My Mum and Dad showed me they would stand by my baby brother no matter what he did. He was their son after all. I was a mere daughter - not to be relied on, not to be trusted and to be rejected without a second thought.
So the penny finally dropped. If I can be used, all well and good. If I have an opinion about a living sibling, then I know where the door is. If I think my Mum and Dad will stand by me because I feel wronged, no way Jose. It's not happening. Not in a million years.
So all the sacrifices I made, all the time I gave up, all the love and affection I gave - what for? Rejection in capital letters.
I was dispensable big time.
The last 12 months have been for me. They have been very tough. My health suffered, my mind suffered, my kids suffered, my husband suffered too. Coming to terms with rejection from your own parents and an only brother and a sister is not easy at the age of 48 years old.
I realised that if I had shut up and put up and done my duty like a good Indian woman I would not have been rejected. But it's too high a price to pay. For no recognition, no love or respect it's not worth it.
Sunday, 11 July 2010
Inquest.
It's my brother's Inquest on 21st July'10. It has been almost five years since my brother died in hospital on a psychiatric ward. My brother was also bi-polar for all of his adult life. He had had many episodes before he died and had always recoverd except for July'05. My brother died in Hillingdon hospital on 23rd July'05. My husband got the call at about 9am; he was told that my brother had died. It was 2 days after he was re-admitted; 2 days after the 21/07 bombers were caught.
On 21st July'05 my brother was taken back to the psych ward by my husband after going missing from the hospital. All the staff, nurses, doctors and ancillary staff were crowded round the TV watching the bombers being rounded up. My brother needed to be re-admitted but nobody could be bothered to do their job, they just wanted to watch the TV.
While my brother was waiting to be re-addmitted he was very agitated and upset; my husband was with him. I was in another part of the hospital; I couldn't face waiting for him to be addmitted, go throught the upset and heartache - I didn't have the stomache for it this time - I was feeling flakey. My brother begged my husband not to leave him there in the hospital, he was actually crying and begging my husband. My bother never ever cried. He told my husband that they would kill him if he was left in the hospital again; he meant the staff would kill him. We didn't believe him as he'd been in and out of hospital so many times before. We thought he was being paranoid and trying to get out of staying in hospital; he had always made it difficult for us. We didn't think anything of it. We were wrong. They did kill him. I truely believe that.
My brother was drugged up as soon as the formalities were over, when the staff tore themselves away, finally, from the TV to re-addmit him; they gave him an injection to dope him up. They should have stopped a drug called Depakote because they were giving him a massive dose of drugs to knock him out. My brother's consultant didn't tell the nurses to stop the Depakote. My brother was being given too many drugs.
I was phoning the hospital every 3 hours or so to find out how my brother was. I was told he was asleep every time I phoned. I didn't visit my bother the next day. He'd been in hospital 1 night. I would normally have gone to see him. My brother's social worker did see him that day; he was up and going to make a cup of tea apparently.
That evening around 6pm my brother was having problems breathing. A doctor was called from the main hospital. The doc checked my brother over. He said all was ok and if the staff were concerned they should call him again as he was on duty during the night. My brother went to bed that night and never woke up. He was 42 years old, he left 2 sons of 13 years old and 17 years old.
The next morning my brother didn't get up for his meds. When the meds had been given out the staff checked on my brother. He was on the floor of his bedroom, not breathing. The nurse who found him raised the alarm. Somebody gave him mouth to mouth resusitation. The crash team were called from the main hospital; they worked on my brother for 45 minutes. They shocked his heart God only knows how many times, injected his veins with drugs dozens of times and also stuck a needle into the side of his neck with drugs to bring him back. (Later I was shown a yellow plastic hazard waste bag, one third full of needles, syringes, tubes, dressings, plastic wrapping, ect.). Too late. He was gone.
During that 45 minutes none of us were called. My father should have been called as next of kin. My brother was divorced from his wife; his children were too young to be informed first. We should have been told that my brother was fighting for his life. When the crash team gave up hope of bringing my brother back, a nurse called my husband. My husband, in shock told me what had happened. For some reason I knew the news I was going to be told. We weren't used to getting calls early at the weekend. I knew something was wrong. It was obvious that the news was bad and it was about my brother.
We got out of the house as quickly as possible to go to the hospital. My brother-in-law was living a minute down the road from us, my husband and I decided to ask him to come with us to the hospital. I wish we hadn't, there was no need. What we didn't do was go to my Mum and Dad in West London, 20 minutes away and take my Mum with us to the hospital. Unfortunately Hillingdon hospital was nearer to me so we went straight there without thinking things through.
We got to the hospital, were taken into a small room and told that my brother had died, he'd been found on the floor not breathing. We were asked if we wanted to see him; we did want to see him. We were aksed to be as discreet and quiet as possible before going in to see my brother; the staff didn't want the other patients upset. My husband, my brother-in-law and I went in to see my brother. He was laid on the bed, covered with a blanket. He had a white sleeveless vest on. It was horrid to see him lying there dead. He looked asleep. I sat on the bed next to him, I cried. I touched his face and stroked his hair the way my Mum used to stroke his hair. I think somewhere in my head I knew that my Mum needed to be there and I was doing what she would have done. I felt so sad that he had been alone when he died. He had no one to tell him that they loved him. He may have been trying to get help. He may have had problems breathing. We would never know. Within a minute or two the ward manager who had brought us in to see my brother had tucked the blanket under my brother's feet and was holding on to my brother's feet and bouncing him up and down on the bed as if it were a ritual or custom. I wish I had told him to stop! It wasn't his brother, it wasn't my ritual or custom. But I didn't tell him to stop. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't think at all. I could see my brother lying in front of me dead. He would never get up again, he would never see his children again and my Mother would be devastated.
After a short time with my brother we went out to meet with my brother's consultant Dr. Hllade. He seemed relaxed and a little blase about my brother's death. He didn't seem worried, concerned or upset at all. That was unsettling and upsetting. We asked him questions about my brother. I don't know what I said or what he said to us. If I had had my wits about me I could probably have got a lot of useful information from that doctor. Unforunately I didn't have my wits or anything else useful about me.
I had already informed nisha about our brother's death. She was on her way to our parents home. I went home to Mum and Dad to tell them of the death of their son. My Mum opened the door. I was going to sit her down and tell her my brother had died; I didn't get the chance - as we all went into the living room, my brother-in-law told my Mum her son was dead, while she was still in the hallway. I couldn't believe what he had done. He had shown no respect, no humility and no humanity or love for a fellow human being. As soon as I realised what he had done I looked at him and made it be known, without words, exactly how dissapointed I was, not that it made a jot of difference to him. My Mum was devastated as I knew she would be. The apple of her eye, her favourite child, the son gifted to her by God, had died and left her bereft.
After that the boys had to be told. That was very difficult and sad. I can't imagine how they felt that day or in the years after their Father's death. It has been an awful ordeal for the boys. The younger one hasn't coped at all well after his Father's death. He has had very little support from the extended family on both sides. The older son has done better and seems to have come to terms with his loss although not without problems.
My brother's Inquest has been far too long coming. It will begin being heard on 21st July'10, the same day he was re-admitted to hospital 5 years ago. The inquest will close on 23rd July'10, the same day my brother died 5 years ago. Who ever thought or didn't think about this has some questions to answer as well as the inquest having questions to answer.
I don't think we will ever know what happened to my brother on that day 5 years ago. If the Inquest had been heard within a year or two, we may have got some where nearer to the truth.
On 21st July'05 my brother was taken back to the psych ward by my husband after going missing from the hospital. All the staff, nurses, doctors and ancillary staff were crowded round the TV watching the bombers being rounded up. My brother needed to be re-admitted but nobody could be bothered to do their job, they just wanted to watch the TV.
While my brother was waiting to be re-addmitted he was very agitated and upset; my husband was with him. I was in another part of the hospital; I couldn't face waiting for him to be addmitted, go throught the upset and heartache - I didn't have the stomache for it this time - I was feeling flakey. My brother begged my husband not to leave him there in the hospital, he was actually crying and begging my husband. My bother never ever cried. He told my husband that they would kill him if he was left in the hospital again; he meant the staff would kill him. We didn't believe him as he'd been in and out of hospital so many times before. We thought he was being paranoid and trying to get out of staying in hospital; he had always made it difficult for us. We didn't think anything of it. We were wrong. They did kill him. I truely believe that.
My brother was drugged up as soon as the formalities were over, when the staff tore themselves away, finally, from the TV to re-addmit him; they gave him an injection to dope him up. They should have stopped a drug called Depakote because they were giving him a massive dose of drugs to knock him out. My brother's consultant didn't tell the nurses to stop the Depakote. My brother was being given too many drugs.
I was phoning the hospital every 3 hours or so to find out how my brother was. I was told he was asleep every time I phoned. I didn't visit my bother the next day. He'd been in hospital 1 night. I would normally have gone to see him. My brother's social worker did see him that day; he was up and going to make a cup of tea apparently.
That evening around 6pm my brother was having problems breathing. A doctor was called from the main hospital. The doc checked my brother over. He said all was ok and if the staff were concerned they should call him again as he was on duty during the night. My brother went to bed that night and never woke up. He was 42 years old, he left 2 sons of 13 years old and 17 years old.
The next morning my brother didn't get up for his meds. When the meds had been given out the staff checked on my brother. He was on the floor of his bedroom, not breathing. The nurse who found him raised the alarm. Somebody gave him mouth to mouth resusitation. The crash team were called from the main hospital; they worked on my brother for 45 minutes. They shocked his heart God only knows how many times, injected his veins with drugs dozens of times and also stuck a needle into the side of his neck with drugs to bring him back. (Later I was shown a yellow plastic hazard waste bag, one third full of needles, syringes, tubes, dressings, plastic wrapping, ect.). Too late. He was gone.
During that 45 minutes none of us were called. My father should have been called as next of kin. My brother was divorced from his wife; his children were too young to be informed first. We should have been told that my brother was fighting for his life. When the crash team gave up hope of bringing my brother back, a nurse called my husband. My husband, in shock told me what had happened. For some reason I knew the news I was going to be told. We weren't used to getting calls early at the weekend. I knew something was wrong. It was obvious that the news was bad and it was about my brother.
We got out of the house as quickly as possible to go to the hospital. My brother-in-law was living a minute down the road from us, my husband and I decided to ask him to come with us to the hospital. I wish we hadn't, there was no need. What we didn't do was go to my Mum and Dad in West London, 20 minutes away and take my Mum with us to the hospital. Unfortunately Hillingdon hospital was nearer to me so we went straight there without thinking things through.
We got to the hospital, were taken into a small room and told that my brother had died, he'd been found on the floor not breathing. We were asked if we wanted to see him; we did want to see him. We were aksed to be as discreet and quiet as possible before going in to see my brother; the staff didn't want the other patients upset. My husband, my brother-in-law and I went in to see my brother. He was laid on the bed, covered with a blanket. He had a white sleeveless vest on. It was horrid to see him lying there dead. He looked asleep. I sat on the bed next to him, I cried. I touched his face and stroked his hair the way my Mum used to stroke his hair. I think somewhere in my head I knew that my Mum needed to be there and I was doing what she would have done. I felt so sad that he had been alone when he died. He had no one to tell him that they loved him. He may have been trying to get help. He may have had problems breathing. We would never know. Within a minute or two the ward manager who had brought us in to see my brother had tucked the blanket under my brother's feet and was holding on to my brother's feet and bouncing him up and down on the bed as if it were a ritual or custom. I wish I had told him to stop! It wasn't his brother, it wasn't my ritual or custom. But I didn't tell him to stop. I couldn't do anything. I couldn't think at all. I could see my brother lying in front of me dead. He would never get up again, he would never see his children again and my Mother would be devastated.
After a short time with my brother we went out to meet with my brother's consultant Dr. Hllade. He seemed relaxed and a little blase about my brother's death. He didn't seem worried, concerned or upset at all. That was unsettling and upsetting. We asked him questions about my brother. I don't know what I said or what he said to us. If I had had my wits about me I could probably have got a lot of useful information from that doctor. Unforunately I didn't have my wits or anything else useful about me.
I had already informed nisha about our brother's death. She was on her way to our parents home. I went home to Mum and Dad to tell them of the death of their son. My Mum opened the door. I was going to sit her down and tell her my brother had died; I didn't get the chance - as we all went into the living room, my brother-in-law told my Mum her son was dead, while she was still in the hallway. I couldn't believe what he had done. He had shown no respect, no humility and no humanity or love for a fellow human being. As soon as I realised what he had done I looked at him and made it be known, without words, exactly how dissapointed I was, not that it made a jot of difference to him. My Mum was devastated as I knew she would be. The apple of her eye, her favourite child, the son gifted to her by God, had died and left her bereft.
After that the boys had to be told. That was very difficult and sad. I can't imagine how they felt that day or in the years after their Father's death. It has been an awful ordeal for the boys. The younger one hasn't coped at all well after his Father's death. He has had very little support from the extended family on both sides. The older son has done better and seems to have come to terms with his loss although not without problems.
My brother's Inquest has been far too long coming. It will begin being heard on 21st July'10, the same day he was re-admitted to hospital 5 years ago. The inquest will close on 23rd July'10, the same day my brother died 5 years ago. Who ever thought or didn't think about this has some questions to answer as well as the inquest having questions to answer.
I don't think we will ever know what happened to my brother on that day 5 years ago. If the Inquest had been heard within a year or two, we may have got some where nearer to the truth.
Monday, 5 July 2010
World Cup Final
It was the World cup final tonight - Spain versus Holland. I wasn't too fussed about watching it. I would normally sit down and watch the match with family at home.
Today when I got home from Sainsbury, it was hot in the house; I opened up the doors and windows and to my dismay the awful orphan was having a shin dig at his place. My first thought was - who let the dogs out?
There was a congratulations banner to one couple and a welcome home banner to another couple. The BBQ was on and there was general revelry going on in the back garden. I felt my heart sink. Luckily my husband was home soon after me. As I was more than a bit put out I had a late lunch and read the Sunday paper. At about 6 I decided it was time to water the garden. I went out, got the hose sorted and put the sprinkler on. I wanted to forget the sprinkler and just hose the awful orphan and his cronies down - at least it would have shut up their cackling.
I got my paper and settled down on my deck to watch the fun and games next door. Mostly I was hoping to make eye contact with anybody who would dare. I knew my face looked like thunder and I wasn't really getting very far reading the paper. The girls were trotting around in summer dresses and high heels including the awful orphan's girlfriend. I thought - bloody hell she's got it made, she's got a dream house (thanks to my husband and my son), no Mother-in-law no Father-in-law and one brother-in-law who is a walkover! Some people just get everything handed to them on a plate.
One of the cronies looked over and I gave him my scariest most angry look ever. Now if that didn't make him say something to the awful orphan nothing would. I was sure he would be wondering what he'd done to deserve that. Then it was the awful orphan's turn, he decided to make eye contact - idiot - so I gave him a dirty look to say the least; he gave as good as he got, shameless little git. I remembered to move the sprinkler every 30 minutes. After that the awful orphan was up and down the deck, in and out of the house. He decided I was too scary to look at again - wimp. My younger daughter phoned me. I told her what had gone on. I decided to stand up and walk around while I spoke to her. I was being very severe and watching all the idiots next door. The awful orphan found this amusing; he was wispering something to one of his cronies and they both looked at me and laughed. Small pleasures for small minded idiots. So I did my best to look pissed off and carried on walking, talking and watching the imbeciles. Finally I sat down and tried to be rational.
My husband and I went indoors, had dinner and watched some of the world cup final. I really couldn't be asked, my mind was on dumb ass next door, sadly. After that I carried on moving the sprinkler. I gave one more dirty look to a different male dog next door and tried to forget about the whole stinking lot of them.
I took the hose to the front of the house to water all the dying plants out there and had about 30 different conversations in my head, with one or other of the morons next door. Again sad but true. OMG! Meanwhile they were all playing a very roudy game of football in the garden next door. I hoped they would all come down the side of the awful orphan's house and I would have given them all a good soaking with the hose. Just what you need after a particularly hard game of football.
When I was being particularly mean in my head about the awful orphan, I felt as if I would black out. As soon as it happened the first time I stopped the mean, bad, dark thoughts. Then I did it again and was in blackout mode again. I tried another couple of times and it kept happening so I made an effort not to got to the dark side.
Finally I came back in the house. The match had been over long ago. Spain won by 1 goal to nil. They scored in the last few minutes of extra time. It was the first time they had ever won the world cup, bless their little cotton football socks.
Today when I got home from Sainsbury, it was hot in the house; I opened up the doors and windows and to my dismay the awful orphan was having a shin dig at his place. My first thought was - who let the dogs out?
There was a congratulations banner to one couple and a welcome home banner to another couple. The BBQ was on and there was general revelry going on in the back garden. I felt my heart sink. Luckily my husband was home soon after me. As I was more than a bit put out I had a late lunch and read the Sunday paper. At about 6 I decided it was time to water the garden. I went out, got the hose sorted and put the sprinkler on. I wanted to forget the sprinkler and just hose the awful orphan and his cronies down - at least it would have shut up their cackling.
I got my paper and settled down on my deck to watch the fun and games next door. Mostly I was hoping to make eye contact with anybody who would dare. I knew my face looked like thunder and I wasn't really getting very far reading the paper. The girls were trotting around in summer dresses and high heels including the awful orphan's girlfriend. I thought - bloody hell she's got it made, she's got a dream house (thanks to my husband and my son), no Mother-in-law no Father-in-law and one brother-in-law who is a walkover! Some people just get everything handed to them on a plate.
One of the cronies looked over and I gave him my scariest most angry look ever. Now if that didn't make him say something to the awful orphan nothing would. I was sure he would be wondering what he'd done to deserve that. Then it was the awful orphan's turn, he decided to make eye contact - idiot - so I gave him a dirty look to say the least; he gave as good as he got, shameless little git. I remembered to move the sprinkler every 30 minutes. After that the awful orphan was up and down the deck, in and out of the house. He decided I was too scary to look at again - wimp. My younger daughter phoned me. I told her what had gone on. I decided to stand up and walk around while I spoke to her. I was being very severe and watching all the idiots next door. The awful orphan found this amusing; he was wispering something to one of his cronies and they both looked at me and laughed. Small pleasures for small minded idiots. So I did my best to look pissed off and carried on walking, talking and watching the imbeciles. Finally I sat down and tried to be rational.
My husband and I went indoors, had dinner and watched some of the world cup final. I really couldn't be asked, my mind was on dumb ass next door, sadly. After that I carried on moving the sprinkler. I gave one more dirty look to a different male dog next door and tried to forget about the whole stinking lot of them.
I took the hose to the front of the house to water all the dying plants out there and had about 30 different conversations in my head, with one or other of the morons next door. Again sad but true. OMG! Meanwhile they were all playing a very roudy game of football in the garden next door. I hoped they would all come down the side of the awful orphan's house and I would have given them all a good soaking with the hose. Just what you need after a particularly hard game of football.
When I was being particularly mean in my head about the awful orphan, I felt as if I would black out. As soon as it happened the first time I stopped the mean, bad, dark thoughts. Then I did it again and was in blackout mode again. I tried another couple of times and it kept happening so I made an effort not to got to the dark side.
Finally I came back in the house. The match had been over long ago. Spain won by 1 goal to nil. They scored in the last few minutes of extra time. It was the first time they had ever won the world cup, bless their little cotton football socks.
Back from Coventry.
I was brought back from Coventry by my brother with a photo of his children on holiday at the seaside. It was a bittersweet surprise to me. I didn't even know they were on holiday. He'd sent me to Coventry as I had asked him to initiate some legal work on behalf of my Dad, that would be of benefit to my husband and me. Well he got into a strop over it; (he had the strop by text) and then sent me to Coventry again. I'm quite used to being sent to Coventry now, it happens so often.
I'm guessing the picture text of his kids was sent to nisha and it wasn't really his intention to send it to me, but he was on auto pilot and his finger just ran away with itself. Easily done. Once he hit the send button there was no getting the picture text back. Oh bugger!
So he brought me back from Coventry probably by default. I text him back, tried to sound cool, kind, calm and not too gushy in that order. He replied saying - cool.
I continued communication today after going to see my Mum. Told my brother I had done a couple of little jobs for my Mum and Dad. My bro replied. So maybe we are on again for the minute.
I'm guessing the picture text of his kids was sent to nisha and it wasn't really his intention to send it to me, but he was on auto pilot and his finger just ran away with itself. Easily done. Once he hit the send button there was no getting the picture text back. Oh bugger!
So he brought me back from Coventry probably by default. I text him back, tried to sound cool, kind, calm and not too gushy in that order. He replied saying - cool.
I continued communication today after going to see my Mum. Told my brother I had done a couple of little jobs for my Mum and Dad. My bro replied. So maybe we are on again for the minute.
Anniversaries.
We had something to celebrate and be happy about! My younger daughter's 4th wedding anniversary on 2nd July and our 33rd wedding anniversary on 3rd July! Two reasons to be happy and have fun. My daughter, her husband, my son and his girlfriend, all went to Paris for a couple of nights to celebrate their anniversary. They had a wonderful time making the most of the short time they had over there. They met up with my husband's nephew while they were in Paris and spent a lovely evening with him.
My husband and I went to Brighton for the day - we took my Godson, who is 10 years old with us. We had a great day in Brighton. It was warm and sunny all day - perfect. we all had a fish and chips supper on the Pier; that was good. We had a walk around the town, a quick look in the shops before they closed. We had a fabulous day. When we got in the car to come home at about 9pm, the car was making loud noises. We drove for a mile and stopped the car just by the sea front. We called the RAC and told them that we were stranded in Brighton and the car was making very worrying noises. They came out after about an hour and a half and said the car couldn't be fixed; we would have to be towed home!! So another hour later and the tow truck arrived. We finally got home about 1am; very tired and fed up. Not a completely stress free day but most of the day was memorable for the right reasons!
My husband and I went to Brighton for the day - we took my Godson, who is 10 years old with us. We had a great day in Brighton. It was warm and sunny all day - perfect. we all had a fish and chips supper on the Pier; that was good. We had a walk around the town, a quick look in the shops before they closed. We had a fabulous day. When we got in the car to come home at about 9pm, the car was making loud noises. We drove for a mile and stopped the car just by the sea front. We called the RAC and told them that we were stranded in Brighton and the car was making very worrying noises. They came out after about an hour and a half and said the car couldn't be fixed; we would have to be towed home!! So another hour later and the tow truck arrived. We finally got home about 1am; very tired and fed up. Not a completely stress free day but most of the day was memorable for the right reasons!
Tuesday, 29 June 2010
Mum's home.
Mum was sent home from hospital on Thursday 24th June. I spoke to her the next day - she sounded frail and unwell. She was on her own for most of the day. My Dad goes to a day centre on Fridays and my nephew, who stayed for the first night that Mum was home, had left before lunch. I had to get to work, so I had to cut the conversation and leave Mum to get on with things for herself. I felt the usual guilt at not being able to go over and give her a hand to get her lunch and give her some company; she was feeling lonely and vunerable. I could tell that a mile off.
The final countdown.
The latest deadline from the bank is 9th July 2010. Could I be homeless in just a few days? What will happen? I don't know.
I do know that the bank wants us to have a mortgage in place by 9th July. Then they will let us split the plot of land that the 2 houses are built on (our house and the awful orphan's house); and the bank get their money back.
Well it's not so simple. We don't have a mortgage offer. I don't know if the awful orphan has a mortgage offer. So the plot won't be split. So the houses could be reposessed. Oh happy days!
I do know that the bank wants us to have a mortgage in place by 9th July. Then they will let us split the plot of land that the 2 houses are built on (our house and the awful orphan's house); and the bank get their money back.
Well it's not so simple. We don't have a mortgage offer. I don't know if the awful orphan has a mortgage offer. So the plot won't be split. So the houses could be reposessed. Oh happy days!
The day after Michael Jackson died.
The day after Michael Jackson died my sister died; 26th June 2009. That day my Mum went into hospital. I was told about my Mum by one of her carers. My brother was due to go on holiday with his girlfriend and his kids. I text him and told him Mum was in hospital. He said - what shall I do? I told him to go on holiday with his family. He was packed, his kids were excited about the holiday and it had been booked a while ago.
I called nisha about lunch time. By then I'd been with my Mum for about 3 hours in the hospital A&E . I asked nisha for some help with Mum and Dad. She told me she couldn't get to the hospital that day and that I would have to manage. I started to swear at her; she put the phone down on me. I was gutted. I wasn't expecting that. I didn't call her for a fight or for an argument. I sank quickly into depression. I told my Mum I was going home and would be back later.
I went home. I was deflated, depressed and had a thumping headache. I looked like death warmed up. I told my husband and my eldest daughter. They were obviously upset for me. My daughter went upstairs. After a short while she came back down; she said she had phoned nisha, she had given nisha a piece or her mind. My daughter told my husband and me what she had said. I felt a lot better because if I had been given the chance I would have liked to have done the job myself.
So I felt good - I felt as if, at least now nisha had a small idea of how much she had upset me. I get sick of my family walking all over me and getting away with it too. I don't put them right; I don't tell them they are out of order; I don't get a chance to say - you can't treat me like a piece of dog's dirt - because as soon as I start to say hang on a minute, they cut me off and they cut me out of their lives completely. That leaves me in limbo and it leaves me frustrated and festering.
I was so glad that I had come home to talk to my husband and my girl. I felt I could carry on with what I had to do. Go back to Mum in the hospital; go to Dad to give him dinner; go home for the night. Then carry on doing more of the same for about a week.
That was when I decided that nisha had died that day; the day after Michael Jackson had died. I decided to cut her out of my life forever. There was no reason for her to be any part of my life anymore. All she had done over the past 4 years was hurt me, use me and abuse me. It was time to say goodbye nisha, I don't need you any more.
It was the 1st anniversary of Michael Jackson's death on 25th June'10 and it was the 1st anniversary of nisha's death the day after.
I called nisha about lunch time. By then I'd been with my Mum for about 3 hours in the hospital A&E . I asked nisha for some help with Mum and Dad. She told me she couldn't get to the hospital that day and that I would have to manage. I started to swear at her; she put the phone down on me. I was gutted. I wasn't expecting that. I didn't call her for a fight or for an argument. I sank quickly into depression. I told my Mum I was going home and would be back later.
I went home. I was deflated, depressed and had a thumping headache. I looked like death warmed up. I told my husband and my eldest daughter. They were obviously upset for me. My daughter went upstairs. After a short while she came back down; she said she had phoned nisha, she had given nisha a piece or her mind. My daughter told my husband and me what she had said. I felt a lot better because if I had been given the chance I would have liked to have done the job myself.
So I felt good - I felt as if, at least now nisha had a small idea of how much she had upset me. I get sick of my family walking all over me and getting away with it too. I don't put them right; I don't tell them they are out of order; I don't get a chance to say - you can't treat me like a piece of dog's dirt - because as soon as I start to say hang on a minute, they cut me off and they cut me out of their lives completely. That leaves me in limbo and it leaves me frustrated and festering.
I was so glad that I had come home to talk to my husband and my girl. I felt I could carry on with what I had to do. Go back to Mum in the hospital; go to Dad to give him dinner; go home for the night. Then carry on doing more of the same for about a week.
That was when I decided that nisha had died that day; the day after Michael Jackson had died. I decided to cut her out of my life forever. There was no reason for her to be any part of my life anymore. All she had done over the past 4 years was hurt me, use me and abuse me. It was time to say goodbye nisha, I don't need you any more.
It was the 1st anniversary of Michael Jackson's death on 25th June'10 and it was the 1st anniversary of nisha's death the day after.
Tuesday, 22 June 2010
Mum.
I wanted to go to see Mum in hospital and Dad at home. I haven't been able to as I only have the energy to get to work for 5 hours and then go home. I feel bad about it and feel guilty over it but there's nothing I can do. I have to accept that I can't do everything that needs to be done. I have to let go; do what I can and leave what I can't. It's not so easy though.
Monday, 21 June 2010
IBS
I was diagnosed with irritable bowel syndrome on 16th June'10. Just what the doctor had predicted. Wonderful. Just what I needed. Not.
But what to do? Get on with it I suppose. The doc didn't offer me any drugs. I'm happy about that. I take enough drugs already. All prescription drugs by the way.
I decided to closely monitor the symptoms to see exactly how disruptive it is for me. To put it into context. See if I can cope; if I can manage it. I was advised by the doc to change my diet. He recomended white bread, white rice, cooked veg, and to avoid dairy. Mmmm....
So I have to do a bit of diary keeping a bit of research and a bit of monitoring.
Now maybe you can see what I mean when I say family ie. - siblings and parents = poor health for me. This is why I have to put myself first. I'm falling to bits physically and mentally. So it's going to be self presivation or self destruct. That's the bottom line - no pun intended :(
But what to do? Get on with it I suppose. The doc didn't offer me any drugs. I'm happy about that. I take enough drugs already. All prescription drugs by the way.
I decided to closely monitor the symptoms to see exactly how disruptive it is for me. To put it into context. See if I can cope; if I can manage it. I was advised by the doc to change my diet. He recomended white bread, white rice, cooked veg, and to avoid dairy. Mmmm....
So I have to do a bit of diary keeping a bit of research and a bit of monitoring.
Now maybe you can see what I mean when I say family ie. - siblings and parents = poor health for me. This is why I have to put myself first. I'm falling to bits physically and mentally. So it's going to be self presivation or self destruct. That's the bottom line - no pun intended :(
Thursday, 10 June 2010
Loving brother.
I went to Princess Grace Hospital in London today for a scan. My husband drove and we were there early morning. I had to have this horrid proceedure not just a common all garden scan. But hay ho.... I just got on with it. The scan was to rule out irritable bowel syndrome but it was highly likely that IBS would not be ruled out. Hay ho....
When I left the hospital I was quite depressed. I argued with my husband. I had such a lot on my mind. I was upset about the scan, I was upset that I had text my brother about the scan and he hadn't replied - so my husband (nearest and dearest) got it in the neck, as usual! Lovely!
I went to work after the test. Stupid thing to do. I stayed for a couple of hours with as much dignity as I could muster, then I threw the towel in and went home.
Awful horrid day.
When I left the hospital I was quite depressed. I argued with my husband. I had such a lot on my mind. I was upset about the scan, I was upset that I had text my brother about the scan and he hadn't replied - so my husband (nearest and dearest) got it in the neck, as usual! Lovely!
I went to work after the test. Stupid thing to do. I stayed for a couple of hours with as much dignity as I could muster, then I threw the towel in and went home.
Awful horrid day.
Mum.
Mum's back in hospital again. She was admitted early on Friday 4th June. She has fluid around the heart and in the lungs which makes breathing difficult. She has a lot of problems which complicate things. Kidney problems, liver problems, diabetes, arthritis, osteoporosis and the list goes on and on.
My brother has been looking after my Dad and my Mum during this time. He has enlisted the help of one of my nephews. Not the awful orphan or his brother though. I'm pretty sure that would be too much like hard work for my brother, so he won't even bother. My brother's been back and forward to and from Milton Keynes since Mum went into hospital.
A year ago I would have been helping out but not now; not for the last 11 months. I'll do the minimum now and put myself first; not my brother, not my Mum and not my Dad. Just me.
I went to see Mum on 14th June - she'd been in hospital for 10 days already. She was ok considering all her problems. She was sitting up. She talked to me for the best part of and hour. She didn't want her dinner, I persuaded her to have a tiny bit. Then she had a mango that I had cut up and taken in for her. Luckily my Dad had asked me to do that on his behalf. I wouldn't have thought of taking in any food for Mum.
Mum has a very poor appetite. She eats less and less. I don't think she wants to be here any more; don't think she wants to live. But she's not ready to give up 100% as she feels she has to look after my Dad. I think she fears that none of her surviving kids will look after Dad. This is not all guess work on my part; Mum has said as much to me in the past few months. Like any elderly infirm person who has children, she wants to be looked after and cared for. She finds it difficult to accept that what she wants and what she has are two very different things. But that's life.
I felt bad that I took so long to visit Mum but I wasn't well enough to visit her. She was so poorly that I didn't think she was well enough to be in my company. That might sound like excuses but too bad if it does. I told mum I would be back in a week. My week is up and I didn't go to see Mum or Dad. Not good but that's how it is. I had to go to work today; I don't usually work on a Monday but there was a meeting I had to attend, so I went in. Then I had an appointment with my GP. By the time I had done all that I went home. In the past I would have made the extra effort to go to Mum and Dad then suffer for it later. End up not sleeping; then get up with a blinding headache then calling in sick to work then ending up with blocked sinus because of the stress. It's not worth it so I won't do it now. I come first at last.
With any luck Mum will be home soon. Hope so for Mum's sake.
My brother has been looking after my Dad and my Mum during this time. He has enlisted the help of one of my nephews. Not the awful orphan or his brother though. I'm pretty sure that would be too much like hard work for my brother, so he won't even bother. My brother's been back and forward to and from Milton Keynes since Mum went into hospital.
A year ago I would have been helping out but not now; not for the last 11 months. I'll do the minimum now and put myself first; not my brother, not my Mum and not my Dad. Just me.
I went to see Mum on 14th June - she'd been in hospital for 10 days already. She was ok considering all her problems. She was sitting up. She talked to me for the best part of and hour. She didn't want her dinner, I persuaded her to have a tiny bit. Then she had a mango that I had cut up and taken in for her. Luckily my Dad had asked me to do that on his behalf. I wouldn't have thought of taking in any food for Mum.
Mum has a very poor appetite. She eats less and less. I don't think she wants to be here any more; don't think she wants to live. But she's not ready to give up 100% as she feels she has to look after my Dad. I think she fears that none of her surviving kids will look after Dad. This is not all guess work on my part; Mum has said as much to me in the past few months. Like any elderly infirm person who has children, she wants to be looked after and cared for. She finds it difficult to accept that what she wants and what she has are two very different things. But that's life.
I felt bad that I took so long to visit Mum but I wasn't well enough to visit her. She was so poorly that I didn't think she was well enough to be in my company. That might sound like excuses but too bad if it does. I told mum I would be back in a week. My week is up and I didn't go to see Mum or Dad. Not good but that's how it is. I had to go to work today; I don't usually work on a Monday but there was a meeting I had to attend, so I went in. Then I had an appointment with my GP. By the time I had done all that I went home. In the past I would have made the extra effort to go to Mum and Dad then suffer for it later. End up not sleeping; then get up with a blinding headache then calling in sick to work then ending up with blocked sinus because of the stress. It's not worth it so I won't do it now. I come first at last.
With any luck Mum will be home soon. Hope so for Mum's sake.
Monday, 24 May 2010
Mercy!
I went back to the doctor today. I'm still depressed but at least I'm sleeping. The doc said I could either carry on with the sleeping tablets (that was his prefference) or increase my anti depressants. I decided to do both. I'm not coping well at all. The deadline the bank has set is looming. Friday is the last day we have to wrap this up or things will just get a lot worse. I know that on Friday the paperwork will not be signed; I'm tearful, anxious and very irritable. So it makes sense to cover all the bases.
For the first time in a long time I cried in front of the doctor today. I was quite distressed talking about my problems. Upsetting for my husband as well as for me. I realised how low I was feeling when I talked about the awful orphan to the doc. It all just poured out, all my emotions and hurt and tears. I wasn't expecting to be so emotional - it was like a wave, it just came over me; I couldn't stop myself.
I left the doctor in tears; I even spoke to the receptionist in tears. OMG. On the way home my husband tried to comfort me; he really wasn't expecting me to be so upset and be feeling so depressed. I've done quite a good job of putting on a brave front for the family.
After a couple of minutes of being in the car, I called my brother. I asked him to ask the awful orphan to sign the paperwork for the bank by Friday - I felt as if I was begging him but I didn't really care. I was desperate. I was in tears the whole time I was talking to him. I know it was upsetting for him too. I was off the phone in a minute or two. I haven't asked him for anything for over a year. I just said- please just ask him to sign. My brother said he would talk to the awful orphan and call me back. I told my brother he didn't need to call me back. Just ask for me, that's all.
For the first time in a long time I cried in front of the doctor today. I was quite distressed talking about my problems. Upsetting for my husband as well as for me. I realised how low I was feeling when I talked about the awful orphan to the doc. It all just poured out, all my emotions and hurt and tears. I wasn't expecting to be so emotional - it was like a wave, it just came over me; I couldn't stop myself.
I left the doctor in tears; I even spoke to the receptionist in tears. OMG. On the way home my husband tried to comfort me; he really wasn't expecting me to be so upset and be feeling so depressed. I've done quite a good job of putting on a brave front for the family.
After a couple of minutes of being in the car, I called my brother. I asked him to ask the awful orphan to sign the paperwork for the bank by Friday - I felt as if I was begging him but I didn't really care. I was desperate. I was in tears the whole time I was talking to him. I know it was upsetting for him too. I was off the phone in a minute or two. I haven't asked him for anything for over a year. I just said- please just ask him to sign. My brother said he would talk to the awful orphan and call me back. I told my brother he didn't need to call me back. Just ask for me, that's all.
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Nightmares!
Can't get away from the awful orphan. He's there morning noon and night. I dream about him and various other members of my family. I talk/fight in my sleep! My poor husband gets a scare every time I shout/swear in my sleep. Then he has the job of waking me to stop the fight. There's no escape!!!
Monday, 17 May 2010
Final deadline.
31st May 2010 the final deadline we have been given by the bank!! They want us to sign on the dotted line or pay a penalty of £10,000. The penalty applies to both parties; not just my husband but the awful orpahn too. So the bank wins. Kerching - £20,000 for not a lot of work. Well that's my opinion anyway. We were ready, signed, sealed and delivered to do the bank's bidding many months ago. However, the awful orphan is not. Do I think he will sign by friday 28th may? NO. That's the short answer.
So how do I feel? The short answer - crap! It's just gone on and on and on and on. It's been a pain in the backside. It's been exhausting. It's been hard work. It's been a big fat bastard of a time! Yes I know - too much bad language. But it's a big fat understatement compared to how I feel.
The awful orphan will not sign on the dotted line by Friday 28th May because for him £10,000 is no big deal; £20,000 is no big deal to him either. Why? Because the awful orphan wants to sell his house. He wants a buyer in place. He doesn't want to take out a mortgage that will bind him to the house for any period of time. He doesn't want to pay a large penalty for early redemption of the mortgage for no reason. Why? Because he doesn't want to live there. He's got a ready made house, (that my husband and my son buitl), hasn't and won't pay for it and wants rid of it. He wants to walk away with a cool half a million pounds in profit; yes that's right, PROFIT. he's not silly - just a bastard. Oops there I go again.
I wish he would sign. I wish he was out of my life. But that's not how life goes. He's going to be a big part of my life, he's going to continue making my life a misery. Making my life hell. He enjoys it and has been fot the past 18 months. EIGTEEN BLOODY MONTHS. It's a hobby for him, helps pass the time of day, as he doesn't have a life. Small pleasures for small minded people.
He should go out more. See people. Get a normal hobby - horse riding, sheep shearing, pig farming. Anything. The world is his oyster. He could paint, draw, write - possibly. There's so much to do. He could read, do voluntary work, visit people in hospital. So many ideas in just a tick.
But no. He would rather make his Massi's (maternal aunt)life miserable.
The same Massi who looked after him when he came home from hospital at 10 days old because his Mum was suffering from post natal depression. Her 2nd episode ever. The first was when she was 18 years old doing her A levels. So I stayed with my sister, his mum, to lookafter her first born child. I was 4 and a half months pregnant myself with my 3rd child. I left my daughters at home with their Dad and their Dadi Ma (Paternal Grandmother). I fed him his milk, I changed his nappies, I bathed him, all while being sick all day long from my pregnancy. I had all day sickness, not just morning sickness. Wonderful.
I stayed for a week. We slept on a couch - the awful orphan and me. It was a tight squeeze, the baby (awful orphan), me and my tummy. But there was no bedroom for us. My sister had lodgers at the time, so we had to have the couch. I put him on the inside so he couldn't fall off the couch and I didn't sleep all night, incase I squashed him and suffocated him. Lovely - for him. My daughters were 3 and 5 years old at the time I left them to look after the baby. The baby's father was working and didn't take time off work. There was an elderly aunt on hand for a day or so but she was no help. I had to do things for her too. Although I saw my daughters every day, I did make a huge sacrifice for my sister. I didn't think twice about it. When I went home I carried on helping almost every day for many weeks. Fortunalely my sister got better quite quickly; within about 8 weeks. She returned to teaching 3 months after the awful orphan was born. Wonder why?
The same Massi who looked after his Father, his brother and him when his Mum died for 20 months. That's right 20 MONTHS. Not 20 days or 20 weeks but 20 months, which is about 600 days. That's the best part of 2 years. OMG! Cooked for him, washed his dishes, paid for all their food and liquid sustenance - alcholic and non alcholic. How stupid was I?
The same Massi who looked after him and his baby brother for 3 months when his Father died. It would have been years but the awful orphan decided he was going to throw his dummy out of the pram at the ripe old age of 26. He started gently in November 2008, a mere 5 or 6 weeks after his Father's death. We let it go. Then at the end of December there was no trying to kid ourselves any more - he was being seriously abusive, disrespectful and downright rude. Even then me and my husband went over a couple of days after the first big fight with an olive branch - the same as I would have done if I had fallen out with one of my own children and we put it down to grief; he was an orphan after all. We offered our olive branch on 1st January 2009 but after that everything went from bad to worse to absolute hell.
The same Massi whose pocket he lived in since he was a baby. The same Massi who celebrated his birthday when his Mum wasn't around to do it. The same Massi who bought his baby brother's birthday cakes too because he couldn't be asked from the age of 21 to do it himself. The same Massi that gave him hot roti (chappatti) off the gridle just the way his own Mum used to. And they say blood is thicker than water. What a load of rot that is.
So how do I feel? The short answer - crap! It's just gone on and on and on and on. It's been a pain in the backside. It's been exhausting. It's been hard work. It's been a big fat bastard of a time! Yes I know - too much bad language. But it's a big fat understatement compared to how I feel.
The awful orphan will not sign on the dotted line by Friday 28th May because for him £10,000 is no big deal; £20,000 is no big deal to him either. Why? Because the awful orphan wants to sell his house. He wants a buyer in place. He doesn't want to take out a mortgage that will bind him to the house for any period of time. He doesn't want to pay a large penalty for early redemption of the mortgage for no reason. Why? Because he doesn't want to live there. He's got a ready made house, (that my husband and my son buitl), hasn't and won't pay for it and wants rid of it. He wants to walk away with a cool half a million pounds in profit; yes that's right, PROFIT. he's not silly - just a bastard. Oops there I go again.
I wish he would sign. I wish he was out of my life. But that's not how life goes. He's going to be a big part of my life, he's going to continue making my life a misery. Making my life hell. He enjoys it and has been fot the past 18 months. EIGTEEN BLOODY MONTHS. It's a hobby for him, helps pass the time of day, as he doesn't have a life. Small pleasures for small minded people.
He should go out more. See people. Get a normal hobby - horse riding, sheep shearing, pig farming. Anything. The world is his oyster. He could paint, draw, write - possibly. There's so much to do. He could read, do voluntary work, visit people in hospital. So many ideas in just a tick.
But no. He would rather make his Massi's (maternal aunt)life miserable.
The same Massi who looked after him when he came home from hospital at 10 days old because his Mum was suffering from post natal depression. Her 2nd episode ever. The first was when she was 18 years old doing her A levels. So I stayed with my sister, his mum, to lookafter her first born child. I was 4 and a half months pregnant myself with my 3rd child. I left my daughters at home with their Dad and their Dadi Ma (Paternal Grandmother). I fed him his milk, I changed his nappies, I bathed him, all while being sick all day long from my pregnancy. I had all day sickness, not just morning sickness. Wonderful.
I stayed for a week. We slept on a couch - the awful orphan and me. It was a tight squeeze, the baby (awful orphan), me and my tummy. But there was no bedroom for us. My sister had lodgers at the time, so we had to have the couch. I put him on the inside so he couldn't fall off the couch and I didn't sleep all night, incase I squashed him and suffocated him. Lovely - for him. My daughters were 3 and 5 years old at the time I left them to look after the baby. The baby's father was working and didn't take time off work. There was an elderly aunt on hand for a day or so but she was no help. I had to do things for her too. Although I saw my daughters every day, I did make a huge sacrifice for my sister. I didn't think twice about it. When I went home I carried on helping almost every day for many weeks. Fortunalely my sister got better quite quickly; within about 8 weeks. She returned to teaching 3 months after the awful orphan was born. Wonder why?
The same Massi who looked after his Father, his brother and him when his Mum died for 20 months. That's right 20 MONTHS. Not 20 days or 20 weeks but 20 months, which is about 600 days. That's the best part of 2 years. OMG! Cooked for him, washed his dishes, paid for all their food and liquid sustenance - alcholic and non alcholic. How stupid was I?
The same Massi who looked after him and his baby brother for 3 months when his Father died. It would have been years but the awful orphan decided he was going to throw his dummy out of the pram at the ripe old age of 26. He started gently in November 2008, a mere 5 or 6 weeks after his Father's death. We let it go. Then at the end of December there was no trying to kid ourselves any more - he was being seriously abusive, disrespectful and downright rude. Even then me and my husband went over a couple of days after the first big fight with an olive branch - the same as I would have done if I had fallen out with one of my own children and we put it down to grief; he was an orphan after all. We offered our olive branch on 1st January 2009 but after that everything went from bad to worse to absolute hell.
The same Massi whose pocket he lived in since he was a baby. The same Massi who celebrated his birthday when his Mum wasn't around to do it. The same Massi who bought his baby brother's birthday cakes too because he couldn't be asked from the age of 21 to do it himself. The same Massi that gave him hot roti (chappatti) off the gridle just the way his own Mum used to. And they say blood is thicker than water. What a load of rot that is.
Tuesday, 20 April 2010
Long time no blog.
Hello. It's me again. Been away ages. Have to get back in the saddle; it's been too long! I've been feeling depressed and it's gone on for months now. Not very productive but something I'm not getting a handle on. I'm not being proactive, not doing things for me; not doing anything I enjoy. If I do plan something I cancel at the last minute for something mundane that I think has to be done.
I haven't felt like blogging; didn't see the point. Had nothing to say. Haven't been feeling anything really except for very low. Depressed. Haven't enjoyed anything that I've done with the family. Just been feeling flat.
The situation with the awful orphan has been getting me down. There's a stalemate. No movement, nothing going on. Deadlines come and go. The bank keeps extending them because the awful orphan comes up with some sob story and the bank fall for it. They extend the deadline again. That leaves us in limbo with the threat of losing our home hanging over us all the time. The awful orphan's not bothered. He invested nothing in these houses; no time, no effort, no love, no money, nothing. For him it's easy come, easy go.
I've been to see my GP a couple of times over the last month. He said I need sleep and gave me sleeping tablets. I told him I've been there, done that, the drugs don't work. He said I should have the sleeping tablets, get some sleep and then we'll sort out the depression. As I had no other clever ideas, in the end I agreed. I took the tablets. I went back to doc after couple of weeks, told him I wasn't impressed with the sleeping tablets. He said I could double the dose, he said the tablets hadn't done a bad job considering. So off I went with more sleeping tablets, to get some more sleep! I go back to see the doc next week. Wonder if he has a tablet to make my real problems go away.
Everyday when I leave my house for work I curse and abuse the awful orphan. I look over my fence and if his car is there, off I go into the sewer. If the younger brother's car is there he gets some of the same. Not clever, not helping me, not productive but true. A negative use of my time and energy - I know; but does it make one iota of difference? No. Am I a grown up? Yes. Can I behave like a rational, sensible, positive human being? No. I don't claim to be a Saint. It's the same routine when I get home - I drive past their house, if the cars are there off I go back into the cess pit. It's all said in my head but it's still nasty. Just because I'm not shouting these insults and curses from the roof top doesn't make me feel better about myself. I'm not proud of myself. It usually starts when I'm in the shower, first thing in the morning; same senario every day, every week, every month, for over a year now. OMG! God help me.
It's been a horrid year so far. Recently it's been worse. I haven't been to see my parents for weeks now. I don't have the energy or motivation; or I just feel ill. I've called my mum. I've offloaded on her a couple of times. At least she listens. At least I'm not so resentful towards her now; she even sympathises with me! WOW. That doesn't happen easily.
My mum's having a horrid time too. Mum used to have 5 kids and 3 son-in-laws and 2 daughter-in-laws. Now she has 3 kids, 2 son-in-laws and 1 daughter-in-law. Two of her kids died in their 40's. Then a son-in-law died at the age of 59. Number 1 daughter-in-law doesn't visit; she divorced my brother before he died. So Mum's down from 10 "kids" and 10 grandchildren, buzzing around her every other day, to 7 "kids" and 10 grandchildren. The "kids that are left don't give a toss about my Mum and Dad. The grandchildren did what they could while the family was a family but now maybe they don't give a toss either.
Obviously I'm one of the "kids". I used to give a toss. I used to do a lot for my parents. I used to give up my 2 days off from work for my Mum and Dad. They had lost their first born, a daughter who was only 46 when she died; she had left two sons who were 21 years and 14 years old. I loved my parents and I felt bad for them. I took them to the doctor, to the dentist, to the hospital, to the cinema, shopping. I did all the things I felt would improve their quality of life. Then my brother died 14 months later. I carried on doing what I was already doing. My surviving brother also helped out. He came down from Milton Keynes to west London, every Friday or Saturday and did chores for my Mum and Dad. At this point nisha also got involved; she was supposed to share the weekend duty with my brother but most weekends my brother ended up doing it. nisha's input was minimal. It was frustrating for my brother but more so for me. I was making big sacrifices, my health was poor and nisha was crying off that she was too sick to help us out. What a load of bull. nisha's diabetic, she has been since she was about 10 or 11. All she does is moan about it; she wants sympathy the whole time. It's always boo hoo with her. My older sister who died at 46 years old, was dying of rampant stomach cancer. I never heard her moan about her illness. She was in such awful pain in the last 2 months or more before she died; in those 2 months she didn't make a fuss. She didn't want sympathy. So maybe she was a stronger person than nisha? I don't think so; she was afflicted with bipolar depression from the age of 18 years. She had many episodes and a few admissions to hospital for her bipolar. She had postnatal episodes after both of her boys. She was also the main breadwinner in the family. So she didn't have it easy.
nisha picks and chooses what she wants to do. Go on a demonstration in the freezing cold - yes! Go out drinking - yes! Go out clubbing - yes! Go to a party - yes! Go out to dinner - yes! Go out to sunday lunch at a friend's - yes! Visit her sick father-in-law - yes! Visit her sick parents - no. If it's fun nisha will be the first one there. If there's alcohol she's there; if there's food too, that's a bonus. If dinner needs to be made - she's off sick. If there are dishes to wash - forget it. Laundry to do - do it yourself. Hoovering to do - no way. She calls the non fun stuff "seva"; that means - service, (litertally) in Panjabi. nisha says I'm very good at seva. She was being facaecious when she said it, but I'm not bothered.
I did make a hot dinner for my kids each day, with fresh meat and veg. I did wash the dishes for my kids. I did wash my kids clothes. I did keep the house clean. Seva for my family - no problem. And it was no problem to do seva for my Mum, Dad and my brother for over 5 years. I was trying to cope with bipolar depression; I had been through thyroid cancer; I was struggling to get into work for 20 hours a week but I did it. Meanwhile the sickly nisha was working full time, in a highly paid post for a local London council. Then I got tired, fed up and pissed off. I was being dumped on big time. My kids, although all adults, were being neglected. My husband was a second class citizen. So I finally woke up and smelt the coffee; ages after my kids had tried to show me that what I was doing would kill me if I carried on. They had tried for a long, long time, but they failed. So, I stopped doing the seva for Mum, Dad and my brother. I started looking after myself. I was in the thick of my troubles with the awful orphan so if I had carried on the way I was - I would either be dead or in a psychiatric hospital. Yes, nisha would have been pleased but it wasn't to be; I was to live another day to do more seva. Yee haa!
I haven't felt like blogging; didn't see the point. Had nothing to say. Haven't been feeling anything really except for very low. Depressed. Haven't enjoyed anything that I've done with the family. Just been feeling flat.
The situation with the awful orphan has been getting me down. There's a stalemate. No movement, nothing going on. Deadlines come and go. The bank keeps extending them because the awful orphan comes up with some sob story and the bank fall for it. They extend the deadline again. That leaves us in limbo with the threat of losing our home hanging over us all the time. The awful orphan's not bothered. He invested nothing in these houses; no time, no effort, no love, no money, nothing. For him it's easy come, easy go.
I've been to see my GP a couple of times over the last month. He said I need sleep and gave me sleeping tablets. I told him I've been there, done that, the drugs don't work. He said I should have the sleeping tablets, get some sleep and then we'll sort out the depression. As I had no other clever ideas, in the end I agreed. I took the tablets. I went back to doc after couple of weeks, told him I wasn't impressed with the sleeping tablets. He said I could double the dose, he said the tablets hadn't done a bad job considering. So off I went with more sleeping tablets, to get some more sleep! I go back to see the doc next week. Wonder if he has a tablet to make my real problems go away.
Everyday when I leave my house for work I curse and abuse the awful orphan. I look over my fence and if his car is there, off I go into the sewer. If the younger brother's car is there he gets some of the same. Not clever, not helping me, not productive but true. A negative use of my time and energy - I know; but does it make one iota of difference? No. Am I a grown up? Yes. Can I behave like a rational, sensible, positive human being? No. I don't claim to be a Saint. It's the same routine when I get home - I drive past their house, if the cars are there off I go back into the cess pit. It's all said in my head but it's still nasty. Just because I'm not shouting these insults and curses from the roof top doesn't make me feel better about myself. I'm not proud of myself. It usually starts when I'm in the shower, first thing in the morning; same senario every day, every week, every month, for over a year now. OMG! God help me.
It's been a horrid year so far. Recently it's been worse. I haven't been to see my parents for weeks now. I don't have the energy or motivation; or I just feel ill. I've called my mum. I've offloaded on her a couple of times. At least she listens. At least I'm not so resentful towards her now; she even sympathises with me! WOW. That doesn't happen easily.
My mum's having a horrid time too. Mum used to have 5 kids and 3 son-in-laws and 2 daughter-in-laws. Now she has 3 kids, 2 son-in-laws and 1 daughter-in-law. Two of her kids died in their 40's. Then a son-in-law died at the age of 59. Number 1 daughter-in-law doesn't visit; she divorced my brother before he died. So Mum's down from 10 "kids" and 10 grandchildren, buzzing around her every other day, to 7 "kids" and 10 grandchildren. The "kids that are left don't give a toss about my Mum and Dad. The grandchildren did what they could while the family was a family but now maybe they don't give a toss either.
Obviously I'm one of the "kids". I used to give a toss. I used to do a lot for my parents. I used to give up my 2 days off from work for my Mum and Dad. They had lost their first born, a daughter who was only 46 when she died; she had left two sons who were 21 years and 14 years old. I loved my parents and I felt bad for them. I took them to the doctor, to the dentist, to the hospital, to the cinema, shopping. I did all the things I felt would improve their quality of life. Then my brother died 14 months later. I carried on doing what I was already doing. My surviving brother also helped out. He came down from Milton Keynes to west London, every Friday or Saturday and did chores for my Mum and Dad. At this point nisha also got involved; she was supposed to share the weekend duty with my brother but most weekends my brother ended up doing it. nisha's input was minimal. It was frustrating for my brother but more so for me. I was making big sacrifices, my health was poor and nisha was crying off that she was too sick to help us out. What a load of bull. nisha's diabetic, she has been since she was about 10 or 11. All she does is moan about it; she wants sympathy the whole time. It's always boo hoo with her. My older sister who died at 46 years old, was dying of rampant stomach cancer. I never heard her moan about her illness. She was in such awful pain in the last 2 months or more before she died; in those 2 months she didn't make a fuss. She didn't want sympathy. So maybe she was a stronger person than nisha? I don't think so; she was afflicted with bipolar depression from the age of 18 years. She had many episodes and a few admissions to hospital for her bipolar. She had postnatal episodes after both of her boys. She was also the main breadwinner in the family. So she didn't have it easy.
nisha picks and chooses what she wants to do. Go on a demonstration in the freezing cold - yes! Go out drinking - yes! Go out clubbing - yes! Go to a party - yes! Go out to dinner - yes! Go out to sunday lunch at a friend's - yes! Visit her sick father-in-law - yes! Visit her sick parents - no. If it's fun nisha will be the first one there. If there's alcohol she's there; if there's food too, that's a bonus. If dinner needs to be made - she's off sick. If there are dishes to wash - forget it. Laundry to do - do it yourself. Hoovering to do - no way. She calls the non fun stuff "seva"; that means - service, (litertally) in Panjabi. nisha says I'm very good at seva. She was being facaecious when she said it, but I'm not bothered.
I did make a hot dinner for my kids each day, with fresh meat and veg. I did wash the dishes for my kids. I did wash my kids clothes. I did keep the house clean. Seva for my family - no problem. And it was no problem to do seva for my Mum, Dad and my brother for over 5 years. I was trying to cope with bipolar depression; I had been through thyroid cancer; I was struggling to get into work for 20 hours a week but I did it. Meanwhile the sickly nisha was working full time, in a highly paid post for a local London council. Then I got tired, fed up and pissed off. I was being dumped on big time. My kids, although all adults, were being neglected. My husband was a second class citizen. So I finally woke up and smelt the coffee; ages after my kids had tried to show me that what I was doing would kill me if I carried on. They had tried for a long, long time, but they failed. So, I stopped doing the seva for Mum, Dad and my brother. I started looking after myself. I was in the thick of my troubles with the awful orphan so if I had carried on the way I was - I would either be dead or in a psychiatric hospital. Yes, nisha would have been pleased but it wasn't to be; I was to live another day to do more seva. Yee haa!
Thursday, 28 January 2010
Back to hospital again.
My mum was addmitted into hospital again this week. She has gall stones, her liver and kidneys don't function well and she's diabetic too. My brother text me to let me know about my mum on Monday morning. My brother came to West London to my parents home to see my mum in the hospital and to stay with my dad. I went to see my mum in hospital and saw my dad and brother too.
My dad was ok but he does feel insecure when my mum goes into hospital. I hadn't seen my brother since Christmas eve and hadn't spoken to him properly since June. I was going to avoid talking about the awful orphan and nisha; I didn't want to ruin the time I would spend with my brother after such a long time. It came as a surprise when my brother brought up the awful orphan and his brother. But I didn't shy away from the chosen topic as I had a lot on my chest. So when my brother asked how I was coping with my neighbours I told him. I asked how my nephews were coping with being my neighbours. He told me the awful orphan was ok and handling it well. The younger brother was not doing as well as he's more emotional and isn't able to cut off from his feelings so easily. This news came as no surprise to me. My brother told me my nephews had moved in next door to me to avoid capital gains tax. Again, not news to me, I had worked that one out. Something my brother didn't tell me was that my nephews have gone to India for a week to see their father's family, including their Grandparents. My brother knew this but he chose not to tell me.
Then came the cherry on the cake - my brother told me nisha has been made redundant. I knew this had been in the pipeline for sometime. So good news. Result. I told my brother I would be having a party to celebrate. Facecious - I know.
All in all I was happy with the way things had gone with my brother. There was no shouting, no screaming and minimal swearing. I had been lighthearted and happy to be with my brother but something went wrong somewhere.
I had been to see my mum in hospital on Monday after seeing my dad and my brother. Mum was ok considering all her problems. She was pleased to see me, she was chatting away and I did a couple of litle jobs for her. On Tuesday my brother let me know how my mum was doing. On Wednesday I hadn't heard from my brother so I sent him a text to ask how mum was. He replied saying he didn't know how mum was, he was at work and he told me which ward my mum was in. OK. What happened? What did I miss? My brother ususally lets me know when he's going back home to Milton Keynes and he usually tells me who is staying with our dad. Well not this time.
It's over 24 hours later and I haven't heard from him. I was trying to be cool and I text him back saying - ok, ta. But I didn't expect him to be so tight lipped. So again I've been sent to Coventry and I don't know why. I was hoping it wouldn't bother me; I thought I had become stronger over the last 6 months and better able to handle things. Wrong. I didn't sleep last night. I got to work at 3pm. OMG! And only managed to work 4 hours. So maybe not so much improvement.
Family. Joy oh joy!
My dad was ok but he does feel insecure when my mum goes into hospital. I hadn't seen my brother since Christmas eve and hadn't spoken to him properly since June. I was going to avoid talking about the awful orphan and nisha; I didn't want to ruin the time I would spend with my brother after such a long time. It came as a surprise when my brother brought up the awful orphan and his brother. But I didn't shy away from the chosen topic as I had a lot on my chest. So when my brother asked how I was coping with my neighbours I told him. I asked how my nephews were coping with being my neighbours. He told me the awful orphan was ok and handling it well. The younger brother was not doing as well as he's more emotional and isn't able to cut off from his feelings so easily. This news came as no surprise to me. My brother told me my nephews had moved in next door to me to avoid capital gains tax. Again, not news to me, I had worked that one out. Something my brother didn't tell me was that my nephews have gone to India for a week to see their father's family, including their Grandparents. My brother knew this but he chose not to tell me.
Then came the cherry on the cake - my brother told me nisha has been made redundant. I knew this had been in the pipeline for sometime. So good news. Result. I told my brother I would be having a party to celebrate. Facecious - I know.
All in all I was happy with the way things had gone with my brother. There was no shouting, no screaming and minimal swearing. I had been lighthearted and happy to be with my brother but something went wrong somewhere.
I had been to see my mum in hospital on Monday after seeing my dad and my brother. Mum was ok considering all her problems. She was pleased to see me, she was chatting away and I did a couple of litle jobs for her. On Tuesday my brother let me know how my mum was doing. On Wednesday I hadn't heard from my brother so I sent him a text to ask how mum was. He replied saying he didn't know how mum was, he was at work and he told me which ward my mum was in. OK. What happened? What did I miss? My brother ususally lets me know when he's going back home to Milton Keynes and he usually tells me who is staying with our dad. Well not this time.
It's over 24 hours later and I haven't heard from him. I was trying to be cool and I text him back saying - ok, ta. But I didn't expect him to be so tight lipped. So again I've been sent to Coventry and I don't know why. I was hoping it wouldn't bother me; I thought I had become stronger over the last 6 months and better able to handle things. Wrong. I didn't sleep last night. I got to work at 3pm. OMG! And only managed to work 4 hours. So maybe not so much improvement.
Family. Joy oh joy!
Friday, 1 January 2010
Happy New Year?
Another New Year. What will this year bring? Hopefully good health, peace and happiness. Not like last year. This time last year I went over to the awful orphan's house with an olive branch. We'd had a fight a couple of days earlier, so being the gown up I decided to go over with my husband, taking a home made sweet dish as a peace offering. Well it was a good effort but apparently not good enough. We got a chilly reception - the weather outside was warmer. The nephews had a friend over and the awful orphan's girlfriend was there too. We managed to sqeeze a hello out of the brothers but trying to get a Happy New Year just wasn't going to happen.
We sat down. The awful orphan offered us drinks. We both declined. The little brother had a bigger problem with both of us than the agrieved brother; he wasn't talking at all. After about 5 minutes I went in the kitchen to put the sweet dish into a dish of theirs so I could take my dish back home. I couldn't get a word out of the girlfriend - don't know what her problem was. Frosty the snowman would have been friendlier. But hay ho! I got my dishes and sat down for another couple of minutes. I asked my husband if we could go. Girlfriend was making dinner - there was enough to feed the 5,000, but we didn't get an invite to stay. We wouldn't have stayed but it would have been polite to be asked; that's what Panjabis do, unless they're tight or they have no manners.
So off we poddled, down the road back to our warm loving family to report on any progress.
So that was 1st Jan '09. Not a great start. Tried but apparently not hard enough.
What will this year bring? 1st Jan '10? I hope it will be better than last year. God willing the awful orphan will come to his senses and we can have some peace and quiet and get on with our lives. Lets see what this year brings.
We sat down. The awful orphan offered us drinks. We both declined. The little brother had a bigger problem with both of us than the agrieved brother; he wasn't talking at all. After about 5 minutes I went in the kitchen to put the sweet dish into a dish of theirs so I could take my dish back home. I couldn't get a word out of the girlfriend - don't know what her problem was. Frosty the snowman would have been friendlier. But hay ho! I got my dishes and sat down for another couple of minutes. I asked my husband if we could go. Girlfriend was making dinner - there was enough to feed the 5,000, but we didn't get an invite to stay. We wouldn't have stayed but it would have been polite to be asked; that's what Panjabis do, unless they're tight or they have no manners.
So off we poddled, down the road back to our warm loving family to report on any progress.
So that was 1st Jan '09. Not a great start. Tried but apparently not hard enough.
What will this year bring? 1st Jan '10? I hope it will be better than last year. God willing the awful orphan will come to his senses and we can have some peace and quiet and get on with our lives. Lets see what this year brings.
Tuesday, 29 December 2009
Annus Horribilus.
29th December 2008. The first day of my Annus Horribilus. A year ago I had a nasty fight with the awful orphan. On my way downstairs to my kitchen, I heard my son arguing with the awful orphan. My husband was there trying to calm them down; he wasn't having much luck. I was confident I would be able to calm them down. I failed miserably. The awful orphan managed to wind me up big time. In my defence he is the master of winding up people. He could win a gold medal by a mile if it was an olympic sport; no contest. So we had words. At one point I told him he used to upset his mum the way he was upsetting me. His mum had passed away in May 2004. I knew it was a low blow and I said as much. So he came back with, "we all know what you did to my mother". An equally low blow if not more so. He was talking about things that had happened in 1977 - over 6 years before he was born. Ancient history.
I would have had some respect for him if he had ever bought up the subject while his mother had been alive. He'd had 21 years to speak up. Or if he had spoken up while his father was alive. He'd had 27 years to by the time his father died. So I was livid to say the least.
I know what had happened, my sister knew what had happened. She was dead, so if I was going to rake up old ground, she couldn't defend herself. So that wasn't right. Even if her husband had been alive I could have grabbed the awful orphan by the ear, dragged him accross the road to his father's house and asked him to sort his son out. I would have been willing to go over old ground in his father's presence, because his father had a pretty good idea of what I had suppossedly done to my sister.
So I asked him to enlighten me as to what I had supposedly done to his mother. I was goading him. I was angry, hurt, frustrated and some. I was ready for a fight. The gloves were off. I was saying - come on give it your best shot, lets see what you've got because I'm going to knock you out with what I have for you.
But luckily the awful orphan left my house with more shouting and abuse being directed at him and he gave as good as he got. I'm glad he went, as things would have got out of hand otherwise.
As the day went on I felt more and more depressed. It was all sinking in. The things that had been said; why had they been said; what would be the repercussions? I felt very sad and angry and hurt. I wanted to go over the road to the awful orphan and squeeze the life out of him. I wanted him to be sorry for what he had said to me. As the hours ticked by I got worse and worse. I spoke to my husband about it; I shouted a lot rather than spoke. I was trying to work out what had happened and why. It was a horrible, awful day.
The night was worse. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't read. All I could do was hear the things that had been said in my kitchen earlier in the day. The words and images going round and round in my head constantly. I wanted to go over to the awful orphan's house, bash the door down and give him a piece of my mind. I didn't do that, it was the middle of the night. I did write him a text message. It said "You disgraced your Mother and Father earlier. You broke my heart. I hope it was worth it." It was 1.20am. I still have the text on my phone a year later to the day. I never sent the text.
I got up some time the next day. I hadn't slept even 5 minutes during the whole night. I felt rotten, listless, jetlagged and depressed. I couldn't understand why he would come out with these accusations that were nothing to do with him. What was he harbouring towards me all this time? All the years he had known me. Everything I had done for him. Maybe he had had these feelings all his life. Maybe I didn't know him at all. I had so many questions going round and round in my head. He had been treated like my own son by me; better than my own son. I had done things for him that I hadn't done for my own children. Had he been laughing at me all the time? Using me all these years? Making me think he loved and respected me. Maybe.
It's a year later to the day. I'm still affected by what happened that day. Nothing has ever been spoken of it again, by either of us. Nothing has been resolved. It's been left to fester. It's 1.05am and I'm writing about that horrid day. It seems as if it were yesterday. I hope the awful orphan reads this one day so he can understand what he did to me. This is the first time I have documented it all. This is my story, my history.
I would have had some respect for him if he had ever bought up the subject while his mother had been alive. He'd had 21 years to speak up. Or if he had spoken up while his father was alive. He'd had 27 years to by the time his father died. So I was livid to say the least.
I know what had happened, my sister knew what had happened. She was dead, so if I was going to rake up old ground, she couldn't defend herself. So that wasn't right. Even if her husband had been alive I could have grabbed the awful orphan by the ear, dragged him accross the road to his father's house and asked him to sort his son out. I would have been willing to go over old ground in his father's presence, because his father had a pretty good idea of what I had suppossedly done to my sister.
So I asked him to enlighten me as to what I had supposedly done to his mother. I was goading him. I was angry, hurt, frustrated and some. I was ready for a fight. The gloves were off. I was saying - come on give it your best shot, lets see what you've got because I'm going to knock you out with what I have for you.
But luckily the awful orphan left my house with more shouting and abuse being directed at him and he gave as good as he got. I'm glad he went, as things would have got out of hand otherwise.
As the day went on I felt more and more depressed. It was all sinking in. The things that had been said; why had they been said; what would be the repercussions? I felt very sad and angry and hurt. I wanted to go over the road to the awful orphan and squeeze the life out of him. I wanted him to be sorry for what he had said to me. As the hours ticked by I got worse and worse. I spoke to my husband about it; I shouted a lot rather than spoke. I was trying to work out what had happened and why. It was a horrible, awful day.
The night was worse. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't read. All I could do was hear the things that had been said in my kitchen earlier in the day. The words and images going round and round in my head constantly. I wanted to go over to the awful orphan's house, bash the door down and give him a piece of my mind. I didn't do that, it was the middle of the night. I did write him a text message. It said "You disgraced your Mother and Father earlier. You broke my heart. I hope it was worth it." It was 1.20am. I still have the text on my phone a year later to the day. I never sent the text.
I got up some time the next day. I hadn't slept even 5 minutes during the whole night. I felt rotten, listless, jetlagged and depressed. I couldn't understand why he would come out with these accusations that were nothing to do with him. What was he harbouring towards me all this time? All the years he had known me. Everything I had done for him. Maybe he had had these feelings all his life. Maybe I didn't know him at all. I had so many questions going round and round in my head. He had been treated like my own son by me; better than my own son. I had done things for him that I hadn't done for my own children. Had he been laughing at me all the time? Using me all these years? Making me think he loved and respected me. Maybe.
It's a year later to the day. I'm still affected by what happened that day. Nothing has ever been spoken of it again, by either of us. Nothing has been resolved. It's been left to fester. It's 1.05am and I'm writing about that horrid day. It seems as if it were yesterday. I hope the awful orphan reads this one day so he can understand what he did to me. This is the first time I have documented it all. This is my story, my history.
Friday, 18 December 2009
More texts!
More drama. More texts. More family feuding. Lovely. Just what the doctor ordered. Because of my clash with my sister nisha yesterday, my younger daughter decided she was going to text nisha as well. My daughter told nisha that if I wanted to talk to my father's solicitor then that was up to me. She also told nisha not to contact me again and to delete all of our numbers from her phone. My older daughter came home and decided to join into the fray. She text nisha and told her that while nisha's brother had been alive, nisha hadn't given him the time of day and reminded her that she had been nasty to his face and behind his back. Oooohh, low blow. nisha replied; she said we all needed anger management and all the abusive texts she had received had been passed to the police. I would have told her to stop wasting police time but I thought I'd better put a stop to this latest spat, so I desisted.
Well isn't she a card! I was the only one who sent abusive texts so I don't know what she's going on about. Neither of the girls sent her abusive texts. And then telling us we all need anger management. Well I agree I do need anger management, but my girls, no way Jose. nisha could do with some anger management too and so could my baby brother and my Father. So anger is a problem; it's all down to my genes I'm afraid.
I hope she didn't pass the texts to the police. It would be bad if I wasted police time but it's much worse for nisha to waste police time. She calls the police - pigs. She was a paid up member of the Militant wing of the Labour party. She hated the police. She was always going on marches and demonstrations. She was overtly anti establishment. Kind of ironic really. Complaining to the police about the text messages I sent her and calling them pigs in the same breath. Bloody hypocrite.
Well isn't she a card! I was the only one who sent abusive texts so I don't know what she's going on about. Neither of the girls sent her abusive texts. And then telling us we all need anger management. Well I agree I do need anger management, but my girls, no way Jose. nisha could do with some anger management too and so could my baby brother and my Father. So anger is a problem; it's all down to my genes I'm afraid.
I hope she didn't pass the texts to the police. It would be bad if I wasted police time but it's much worse for nisha to waste police time. She calls the police - pigs. She was a paid up member of the Militant wing of the Labour party. She hated the police. She was always going on marches and demonstrations. She was overtly anti establishment. Kind of ironic really. Complaining to the police about the text messages I sent her and calling them pigs in the same breath. Bloody hypocrite.
Thursday, 17 December 2009
Fight by text.
More drama, all in a day's work. My sister nisha who hasn't spoken to me for years, got a call from my Father's solicitor. He was complaining about me. How I had phoned him and been rude and abusive to him. Oh didums. Tattle tale. I hadn't been rude or abusive by any stretch of the imagination, but still - didums. So nisha decided to tell me off by text. I was not to contact poor solicitor any more. I was alienating him. I was jeopardising my Brother's Inquest.
What a bloody family I have. I wasn't rude. I asked some pertinent questions; and what? Why would the fact, that the solicitor doesn't like me, jeopardise the case? Surely he's a proffessional. Surely he can tell a head case whe he comes across one. He shouldn't be so bloody sensitive. Jeopadise the case? What's he going to do? Postpone it again? And what? It's not like he pulled his finger out and got the job done so far, is it! Have we really got anything else to loose? Bloody looser.
What did I say to my sister, I hear you ask. Well I was very unlady like, I told her to f*** off; and to f*** the solicitor too, by text. Bloody cry baby.
She said I belonged on the Jeremy Kyle show. I don't know what she's going on about but I learnt to swear from my Dad. We had swearing in our home on a daily basis; and on the weekends there were bonus swear words for special occaisions. So I replied by text and told her she belonged in a coffin.
Is my sister nisha a lady? Is nisha a saint? Is the pope married? NO! I had to put up with some very, very blue language from her last year; 6 days after the awful orphan's Father had died - 10th October 2008. She hadn't spoken to me for months and months. All I wanted was a relationship with her. My older sister had died four and a half years before. nisha was the only sister I had left in the world. We had been close most of our lives. I was practically begging her for a relationship. All I wanted, was to see her once a month to catch up with each other. Not too much to ask for.
We still hadn't had my brother in law's funeral. It was a very warm day. I asked nisha to come for a walk with me. We went to a local park. We were gone for about 3 hours. For at least 2 hours I had to listen to her swear at my husband, my daughters and my son. The swearing was coming out of her mouth, her eyes, her ears, her nose. Did I walk away and tell her I wasn't going to listen to her foul mouth? No. I heard her out. I was willing to do anything for some semblence of a relationship. I was even willing to listen to her hate, her poison and her vitriol, no matter how much it hurt me. I was willing to listen to her tell me how she wished my husband was dead, instead of my brother in law. Would I have said the same thing to her that day? No way. Would I say it to her today? No. Why? Because I wish it was her who was dead. I hate my sister. She may as well be dead as far as I'm concerned. I have no problem with people who preach. But at least practice what you preach. Bloody hypocite sister. Does my sister nisha swear when she's angry or hurt or pissed off? You bet she does, like a trooper, always and without fail. She needs to get off her high horse and come back to the real world.
Bastard solicitor.
Had a conversation with my Father's solicitor today. It's been a while, months since we've spoken. I wonder if he's missed me.
My Father has a solicitor to deal with the Inquest into my Brother's untimely death in a psychiatric ward in hospital. My Brother died on 23rd July 2005. Because he had been sectioned and died in hospital, there had to be an Inquest into his death. Unfortunately the Inquest has still not been heard.
This fact makes me angry and very upset. There is no point having an Inquest at this late stage. Vital witnesses will not be available to appear at the Inquest. Some will have left the country; they can't be made to come back for the Inquest. Some will have moved on and may not be able to be traced after such a long period of time. I strongly believe that the way my Brother died will never come to light. I feel this is grossly unfair and unjust. If an Inquest has to be heard, it should be heard within a reasonable time frame. It should be a legal requirement that the Inquest is heard within a year. Families have a right to be treated with dignity and respect. Families have a right to justice. Public money is being spent; there should be a purpose for this money to be spent. It should be credible. It should make sense and not be a charade. Common sense should prevail above all else.
All I did today was voice these same concerns to my Father's solicitor. I was accused of being rude and abusive by the solicitor. Why? I asked him, what had I said that was rude or abusive. No reply. I was at work when I spoke to the solicitor. My colleagus were listening to the conversation; they heard everything I said. I didn't shout, I didn't call him names. I have witnesses. He threatened to put the phone down on me. He threatened to call my sister nisha - that had me shaking in my boots. I was genuinely terrified, NOT. What a wuss. He needed a good slap. That would have sorted him out.
He spoke to me as if I were a 5 year old. He twisted everything I said. I felt as if he was a prosecuting solicitor and I was being prosecuted. And then to top it all he was going running to nisha. Oh my God. Bastard solicitor!
Wednesday, 16 December 2009
All quiet on the Western Front.
No more drama, no more scenes, no more dramatics, I'm pleased to say. All quiet on the Western Front....
Sunday, 6 December 2009
Tesco Fiasco.
Oh My God! I don't believe it. This afternoon my daughter and her boyfriend were in Tesco, minding their own business, doing the grocery shopping - buying food for a Sunday supper, when my nephew (the awful orphan's younger brother), popped up under my daughter's nose and asked how she was. She didn't want to talk to him so she tried to ignore him; carried on her conversation and walked away. Did he get the message? No. He came running after her to find out why she didn't want to talk to him. By this time my daughter was getting angry; she walked away again. Did he get the message? No. He ran after her again, down the cheese aisle; this time he wanted to know what her problem was. Why didn't she want to talk to him? So she gave him a loud, angry answer in the middle of Tesco. There was shouting and swearing - there was a big scene.
She told him his brother had treated her Father and her family in an appalling manner. She said there was no way she was going to give him the time of day or talk to him or sort out any differences with him, because he hadn't been in touch for 8 months. He was shocked at her attitude. Why? I cannot understand why. He said, I have no father you stupid woman. So the awful orphan's brother feels he has a God given right to be rude and disrespectful just because he has no father. I disagree. My daughter also told him that his brother was taking her Father to court over £22,000 - he had no answer to that. I suppose the way she shouted it out in the middle of Tesco, on a busy Sunday afternoon made it sound a bit bloody petty.
From today's encounter it seems as if there is little or no communication between the 2 brothers. It seems as if the younger one is following the older one blindly. Not asking any questions; for example: Why don't my cousins speak to me any more? Why don't my aunt and uncle see me or speak to me anymore? How can 6 people in one family change so much? Are you sure it's not you they have a problem with? Are you sure I haven't done anything wrong? Are you telling me everything? Are you telling me anything? The younger orphan is 20 years old - he's not a baby. He's a man. He needs to ask questions. He needs to know what is going on.
Or is he being protected? If so. What is he being protected from?
The worst thing about today is that the awful orphan hasn't been able to gauge, in the last 12 months, what impact all this is having on his younger brother. He hasn't given one thought to how his brother will feel living next door to 4 members of his extended family, that he used to be very close to. How will he cope if he approaches them one by one and none of them want to speak to him or sort things out with him? The awful orphan is too selfish to think about the only surviving member of his immediate family. Too selfish to care for him, to nurture him, to love him, to put him first.
The awful orphan and his brother moved in next door to us this evening. It's one of the worst decisions he's made - ever. Did he have an alternative? Yes, of course he did. There's always a way where there's a will. But he took the easy way out for himself and the hard way out for his brother. That's love for you. Blood brothers indeed.
Saturday, 5 December 2009
Three come along together!
No sighting for a week then 2 in the same day. Typical. Just like buses. You wait ages for one then 3 come along all together. Just my luck! I thought when the awful orpan had gone away today that I would get at least a weeks respite. No such luck. He was back in just a few short hours. So no time for my heart to grow fonder.
Two of my kids were home when the nephews landed for the second time today. I'm glad I wasn't home alone. I don't mean to make a big deal about it; it's not as if I feel scared or worried for my safety. But it is weird. The house next door has been empty for 10 months and I got used to it being that way. Now when I see my nephews through my kitchen window, in their own kitchen, it makes me feel weird for want of a better word. It's unsettling. It makes my heart sink. I haven't spoken to either of them since April. That's a long time. I used to speak to them almost every day and I used to see them about 4 or 5 times a week. So it's a big difference - to go from being very close to being estranged from each other.
It will take me some time to get used to having them next door. I hope I don't get wound up and react. I have desisted for the last 8 months from going over to their home and giving them both a piece of my mind and some. I pass very close by their home on my way to work 4 times a week. But I made a decision each day to stay away no matter how upset, angry or frustrated I was. Because I didn't want things to get out of control, out of hand. I want to carry on in the same way but it will be a lot harder now that they are living right under my nose.
Over the past year I have had countless conversations in my head with the awful orphan and his brother as well as the rest of my family. A lot of resentment and bitterness has built up. I hold the awful orphan reponsible for my very poor health this year and for the terrible stress he has caused me and my family. So there's reason enough for me to kick off!
Latest sighting.
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I have news of an appearance from the awful orphan. When I thought he had dissapeared into a black hole never to be seen again, he popped up again. He was over at the house next door this afternoon. He had a guy come to fit a TV ariel - let the poor guy sit there waiting for him to turn up. Well the awful orphan is very important, so why not? They were at the house for about an hour and then they dissapeared again.
I wonder how long until the next sighting. The longer the better. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. Maybe it will make me fornder of him if he doesn't turn up for another 6 months. Wishful thinking I think.
I wish I had 3 wishes. I'd wish for world peace, I'd wish to eradicate hunger and I'd wish never to see the awful orphan again. There's never a Genie around when you need one!
Sunday, 29 November 2009
Neighbours From Hell
The awful orphan began moving in next door to me three day ago, at the weekend. I knew it would happen soon but it was a shock when it did happen. I didn't see him or his brother at all; my kids did see them. They were all alone, just the 2 of them; no mates or family to help them out. It rained all weekend while they were moving in. Maybe God was as sad as I was. Now there's been no sight or sound of them since Sunday night. A mystery. Where did they go? Have they been abducted by aliens? Could I be that lucky? Don't want to jinx my luck, so I'm going to zip it now!
What will I do when they do get here? Shall I go out in the garden and pick a fight ASAP? Shall I be cool calm and collected? Dignity personified. Or shall I pretend they don't exist? Pretend the house is still empty.
Am I going to be the neighbour from hell? Or are they going to be neighours from hell? Shall I go over and introduce myself - take over an apple pie? They might think I've poisoned it. Or shall I be cool and aloof and give them the cold shoulder? Decisions, decisions! So much to think about. So much to do.
Well I hope I'm ready for when they do get here. Better get the war paint on.
Reconciliation.
I called my mum back after our argument in 24 hours. I didn't say I was sorry because I wasn't. I was sorry for upsetting her and my Dad though. We had a civil conversation. That was my way of saying sorry. She was telling me she has no appetite. I told her she needs to eat often, she's lost too much weight. She's malnurished. After she'd discussed a couple of problems I told her I didn't call her to fight with her the day before. I hadn't planned to fight; it just happened. I fight with her about things that have nothing to do with her but indirectly they do.
I told her I needed her to tell her Grandsons that they are wrong. She needs to tell them right from wrong. I said she should have told the awful orphan, that I could not do the things he's accusing me of. I'm not that kind of person, I'm like his Mother. I told her she should have told them, don't treat my daughter like that - you have no right to do that. I wanted her to stand up for me. I wanted her to put some sense into their heads. That's not too much to ask for. I wanted her to remind them of how much my kids, my husband and I had helped them out when their Mum had died in May 2004. How we had got them thru the tough times. How we had lived as one family for 20 months after they had lost their Mum. I wanted her to remind them that we were the ones who gave them our time, our love, our affection. We were the ones who made the most effort to look after them when their Mum died. We gave their Father invaluable support and love.
I wanted my Mum to stand up for me as I had tried, my husband and my children had tried with no success. I needed my parents as elders, to stand up for their daughter who had gone beyond the call of duty when their eldest daughter had died; who had looked after the boys who were left without a Mother at the ages of 14 and 21; who had given love and support to the Son-in-law left without the love of his wife. I needed my parents to endorse what my family and I had done and to be clear about what is right and what is wrong. They didn't do that for me.
I had stood by my parents through their tough times; had given them my support in every way. Why couldn't they do that for me?
Mum and I managed to have a decent conversation at least. I'm glad about that. She understood what I was saying and realised how hurt I felt. That's a start. Another positive to add to my list.
Thursday, 26 November 2009
Fight with Mother.
I phoned my Mum today, I haven't spoken to her for about a week. She said she wasn't very well. She always says that - she never says she's ok or a bit better; she's always not well. I asked how my Dad was. She told me his Parkinsons is bad. Then I asked if my brother had been over to see her. She told me he had been over the day before. She said he wasn't doing too good. She thinks he's struggling to get into work and lookafter his kids and lookafter Mum and Dad. Tell me about it. I know what that's like. I've done it. I don't have small children but I do have poor health.
I feel bad for my brother. Will I go running to help him out? Not any more. I've done it for the past 5 years and more. There's no thanks in it, no prizes, no warm fuzzy feeling, nothing. My parents aren't the loving affectionate type. Not with any of us and not with their Grandchildren either. My Mum told me that I was loved by my Dad and her more than any of the others today. That's strange because it went right by me. I don't remember being told I was loved. Remember being told I was thick as 2 short planks - does that count? Remember being fed the same food day after day - chappatti with anchor butter and sugar or a variation of the ingredients - is that being loved? I wasn't told I was loved and I wasn't hugged or kissed; I wasn't shown any affection. I was told I ate too much and that I was fat. I was told I was lazy. My mum didn't dress us up unless we were going to the cinema as a family or if we were going to my paternal aunt's home. I didn't feel loved. I did feel terrified of my Dad. Everyday when he came home from work we all felt terrified. When we heard his motorbike at night we all used to run and hide under the dining table as if it were an air raid shelter.
My mum told me it was my duty to help my brother out being his older sister. Duty is a burden I've carried whether I was the older one or not; it didn't really make much difference. Because I was the type to get stuck in. To do what needed to be done. I wasn't all talk and no action. So everyone let me get on with it all. They probably thought - she loves it, let her get on with it. It became a habit, me doing it all and them letting me do it.
I asked my Mum if my sister nisha was helping our brother. I asked if it was her duty to help her younger brother with his responsibilities. Take some of the burden. I did this because over the last five and a half years she hasn't done much. My mum said she didn't want to talk about nisha. That's nisha off the hook then. Lucky her. I asked my mum if nisha was dead. Because that's the only excuse she would have for doing nothing for my brother.
My mum told me I shouldn't treat my nephews the way I am. What does she want me to do? Does she want me to take a lot of abuse and disrespect? Because that's what I've had for the past 12 months. It's up to me how much I let myself in for. If I let them, I'd get abuse every day. I won't let that happen. So I protect myself from them. I keep away from them. I don't phone or email or text or visit. If I did we would get into a slanging match. I get wound up, angry, frustrated, I shout and scream and swear and the situation gets out of control. Better to stay away.
My Mum told me I should have sent my neice a birthday card at least. She said it's wrong to involve the children. She's right. How do I get my brother to understand that he's hurt me, my husband and all my kids? I'm told it's wrong to hurt my niece. Is he told it's wrong to hurt his neices and his nephew? Yes my kids are grown up but they still needed their uncle, their Mama. They needed his support and love and attention. They needed to be heard too. Or did he think - they are the golden children, they have everything, they have 2 parents, they lack nothing, they don't need me to say what's right or wrong, they don't need my endorsement? Who knows. Not me.
My Mum said lots of things that hurt me. I didn't articulate my feelings to her. Instead I shouted and screamed. My Mum was getting upset, I could hear my Dad in the backgroung he was shouting. He obviously wasn't on my side. I don't blame him. It's not easy having a 49 year old daughter on the end of the phone upsetting your wife. He couldn't hear me so it could only be distressing.
As soon as I put the phone down I felt awful. I felt guilty for having put my Mother through all that hurt. I didn't think about myself. Didn't think that I had only told the truth and told her how I felt. That came later, slowly. For the next 24 hours I thought about calling my Mum back to say sorry countless times.
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