Since Tony went into the home I’ve been going to bed early quite often. Before, I’d go to bed about 10-10.30 but often I’m tucked up with the iPad, magazine, writing paper and a pen by 8.30. I’m not sleeping well though, waking in the night, probably out of habit from years of caregiving.
I’ve said to a couple of people today that I need to just stay up, no matter how I feel or how cold it is, and get back to my usual routine. Hopefully doing more and being properly tired will help me sleep better.
But you know what? I’m not ready for this to be normal. There’s a new normal ahead of me, but that’s not here yet either. I’m going to cut myself some slack and slide off to bed if I want to. The day will come when my old routine feels ok again, but today isn’t that day.
I’ve been reading some pieces on Twitter about politics, TERFs, the harm the Catholic Church has done over many decades / centuries, and the ocean being on fire in Mexico.
I love Twitter; it’s a great professional network that I value. It’s also the place where I get most of my personal support. I’m much less honest on FB, for a number of reasons.
But sweet baby cheezus there are some asshats out there. I worked with a woman once who I felt, if you fell face first in a puddle, would put her foot on your neck to make sure you drowned. Turns out, she’s not a one-off.
It amazes me how little compassion and empathy is out there. It’s incredibly sad. A lot of the time I speak up against the shit opinions, especially around disability and the transgender community. Sometimes I let it go because I don’t have the energy. I think if we can speak up, we should, otherwise the haters win.
I said earlier this week I was making changes because life felt shitty. I’m now coming home from work, closing up the house and putting the heater on in my office, getting changed, leaving a light on – then going to see Tony. That way I don’t come home to a totally cold, dark house.
Today I used some FlyBuys points to get a small slow cooker. I can prep containers of meat, veg and sauce at the weekend. On a weekday morning throw one in the slow cooker as I leave for work and when I get home from visiting Tony there’ll be hot food ready for me. It’ll still make two or three night’s food, but that suits me fine.
Tonight I took some photos up to put on Tony’s wall, at his request. They made him tearful, but that’s ok. Marlow, the home’s cat, came in through his ranch slider and let Tony pick her up. She’s a Ragdoll but not very cuddly!
Tony and I moved in with Mum in 1998 when she got very sick. We were live-in carers for 14 years, until she moved to the rest home 6 months before she died. It was incredibly hard work some of the time, but a huge privilege few daughters get these days.
During that time I also personal care PoA for my aunt, who had dementia and needed a rest home apartment then secure unit, and finally hospital level care. Again, a lot of work. But Aunt J and I were close, and I was glad to look after her.
Within a year of Mum dying Tony had to retire due to ill health. By the time he retired he’d already had two or three surgeries. For the last year or two he’s been less and less able; the last 6 or 8 months have been pretty awful.
I’ve worked through all those years, and done my art. But suddenly I have, maybe not more time, but different time. My days are structured differently because I’m not juggling work, art and caregiving. Now it’s work, art and visiting Tony. By 7.30 at the latest I’ve seen Tony, had dinner, and the evening is mine.
At the moment I’m going to bed early quite often. It’s cold, but I’m also resting and recuperating – my own emergency surgery is less than 3 months ago.
I’ve spent most of the last 23 years listening for movement in the night, ready to get up and help Mum, then Tony. Since late last year I’ve been used to sleeping in 2 or 3 hour stretches, often only 6 hours a night. I’m learning to sleep through the night, although at the moment I’m often awake at 5 because I’m not used to so much uninterrupted sleep.
My work and art are important to me, but they’re not ME. It’s time for me to concentrate a bit more on me – on looking after myself, and on figuring out what the coming years look like. I didn’t expect to be living alone at 56, with a husband in the rest home, but it is what it is. I’m determined to make the most of it, whatever that light look like. T
he photos below are all of me, but none of them are me … that’s still a work I’m progress…
I’ve been talking with my friend Penny tonight and, as often happens, the art chat circled back to the roots of our addictive natures, which for both of us led to morbid obesity. We also talked about symbolism in our art.
Penny asked why the Patea freezing works and cool stores appear and reappear in my art, even when I’m seemingly concentrating on the Hokitika Gorge colours. It’s an interesting question.
When I was sitting on Alan’s lounge floor in Hokitika contemplating the series of abstract mixed media pieces I was working on I suddenly realised I’d been loosely drawing the shape of the cool stores.
I’m Patea born and bred and, at 56, have only lived away from here for a few years. I left at 18 and came back at 27. This is home. Growing up, the Freezing Works were central to our lives – Dad’s grocery business depended on them in some ways, friend’s parents worked there, friends expected to work there as generations before them had.
The freezing works dominated the landscape as we drove into town from the south – a symbol of home in the same way the maunga is. The freezing works is long gone, demolished after a fire. The cool stores remain, long-abandoned and heavily graffitied.
My addictive nature has its roots in pain essentially, according to Dr Gabor Máte in his book “In the realm of hungry ghosts; close encounters with addiction” and more recently the movie “The wisdom of trauma”. I’ve talked about some, but not all, of that pain before so let’s put that aside.
For me the freezing works and cool stores symbolise home – not just my town or the family home – but Mum, Dad and my sister. They stand for love and safety or, to put it into an addiction/pain context, those buildings represent anti-pain. No wonder my mind pulls fragments of them out all the time…
Cath Sheard Art 