Tonight I drink Baileys and I have a tin of sweetened condensed milk open in front of me. There is a spoon in the tin. The cat wants to try some, but that is the cat's perogative - he wants to sample everything I eat - just has he has to get in the shower cubicle after I have finished showering to check things out.
He's the one bright part of what's ended up being a rather awful evening.
See, one of my favourite people is over in South Australia, in a hospital, in the process of dying.
He's a long term family friend. To me, he's been a father figure for most of my life. I've known him all of my days. He's my mother's best friend's husband. I've called him Uncle since I started to talk. Even though I've got a perfectly wonderful step-father, I still consider this man my other Dad. (My father passed away over twenty years ago).
I spoke to my Mum yesterday, she told me that things were going downhill for him. Things were happening. He lives down near my parents. They've been part of the same social circle for decades. Two years ago, he started to extricate himself from the large circle of friends my folks socialise in. The Beefsteak and Burgundy Club, which is something my parents and their friends live for, he gave up his membership. His behaviour was becoming somewhat erratic. But my folks kept the door open to him. With nearly sixty years of friendship under their belt, it's what you do.
After a call from his son on Saturday, the folks dropped in on him. What they found left them in shock. He's a shell of the person once was. Frail, sallow and grey. He invited them in. He struggled to find coffee mugs in his own kitchen. His memory, which had been failing him for years, had settled into deep confusion. He asked when his wife was coming home. She died ten years ago. He asked for the number of his parents. Similarly, they've been gone for years. Mum sounded a little rattled. She's like me. It's that sense of being totally unable to help. Yesterday, they were saying it was probably a bladder infection sending him a bit potty.
After getting off the phone to Mum, I made contact with his daughter who lives in the Mallee. Sent a note of support, gave my phone number, told her whatever she needed, I was there to help. I used the name my family call me in the text. It felt strange to use that name. She said she's pass on my regards when he's a bit more lucid.
I remembered a conversation we had a few years ago.
"When are you going to stop calling me Uncle?"
"When you stop calling me Dory."
The stalemate remains.
Earlier tonight, Mum called again. This is a rare occurence. I talk to my mother once a week whether I need to or not. She left a message. Call when you can, she said.
It appears in the last 24 hours, things have changed. My uncle's son got him to the doctor. They sent him to the local hospital. Tests were run. Scans were run. He's riddled with cancer. There's nothing that can be done. He's not in any apparent pain, thank goodness, and his spirits are fine, even if he is confused. He will be an exemplary patient - he's one of the best-mannered men I've ever known.
But in this Corona-crazy world, I have no way of getting back to South Australia to say goodbye. Unless something dramatic changes, I doubt I'll be able to go back for his funeral whenever that may be (and okay, he's not dead yet). Besides, they only allow ten people at a funeral, and there is no hugging, no comfort. I believe if I do make my way over there, I'd be stuck in quarantine for 14 days. I can't do that to my family, let alone myself (and my cat).
But there's more to this. Okay, I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. I can't go out with friends to distract myself. You can't get a hug. There are no planes to take you home. You can't get to say goodbye.
This coronavirus shite has got very real for me.
But mostly I'm just sad. Somebody who I've loved for all of my years is coming to the end of their life. He won't be there to argue politics over the Christmas table or sit with under my parents' willow trees with a glass of wine putting the world to right. I've lost my alternative bed when I want to escape my parents (I've been taking advantage of this for nearly forty years). I will miss his unconditional love. He could always see over my lefty - greenie - feminista ways.
Somebody who I've always seen as a father figure is ending his days.
I don't know how you mourn in these strange times.
I'm not sure what I dislike the most.
Today's song: Brought to you by the 30 Day Song Challenge
Day 10: A song that makes you sad.
He's the one bright part of what's ended up being a rather awful evening.
See, one of my favourite people is over in South Australia, in a hospital, in the process of dying.
He's a long term family friend. To me, he's been a father figure for most of my life. I've known him all of my days. He's my mother's best friend's husband. I've called him Uncle since I started to talk. Even though I've got a perfectly wonderful step-father, I still consider this man my other Dad. (My father passed away over twenty years ago).
I spoke to my Mum yesterday, she told me that things were going downhill for him. Things were happening. He lives down near my parents. They've been part of the same social circle for decades. Two years ago, he started to extricate himself from the large circle of friends my folks socialise in. The Beefsteak and Burgundy Club, which is something my parents and their friends live for, he gave up his membership. His behaviour was becoming somewhat erratic. But my folks kept the door open to him. With nearly sixty years of friendship under their belt, it's what you do.
After a call from his son on Saturday, the folks dropped in on him. What they found left them in shock. He's a shell of the person once was. Frail, sallow and grey. He invited them in. He struggled to find coffee mugs in his own kitchen. His memory, which had been failing him for years, had settled into deep confusion. He asked when his wife was coming home. She died ten years ago. He asked for the number of his parents. Similarly, they've been gone for years. Mum sounded a little rattled. She's like me. It's that sense of being totally unable to help. Yesterday, they were saying it was probably a bladder infection sending him a bit potty.
After getting off the phone to Mum, I made contact with his daughter who lives in the Mallee. Sent a note of support, gave my phone number, told her whatever she needed, I was there to help. I used the name my family call me in the text. It felt strange to use that name. She said she's pass on my regards when he's a bit more lucid.
I remembered a conversation we had a few years ago.
"When are you going to stop calling me Uncle?"
"When you stop calling me Dory."
The stalemate remains.
Earlier tonight, Mum called again. This is a rare occurence. I talk to my mother once a week whether I need to or not. She left a message. Call when you can, she said.
It appears in the last 24 hours, things have changed. My uncle's son got him to the doctor. They sent him to the local hospital. Tests were run. Scans were run. He's riddled with cancer. There's nothing that can be done. He's not in any apparent pain, thank goodness, and his spirits are fine, even if he is confused. He will be an exemplary patient - he's one of the best-mannered men I've ever known.
But in this Corona-crazy world, I have no way of getting back to South Australia to say goodbye. Unless something dramatic changes, I doubt I'll be able to go back for his funeral whenever that may be (and okay, he's not dead yet). Besides, they only allow ten people at a funeral, and there is no hugging, no comfort. I believe if I do make my way over there, I'd be stuck in quarantine for 14 days. I can't do that to my family, let alone myself (and my cat).
But there's more to this. Okay, I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. I can't go out with friends to distract myself. You can't get a hug. There are no planes to take you home. You can't get to say goodbye.
This coronavirus shite has got very real for me.
But mostly I'm just sad. Somebody who I've loved for all of my years is coming to the end of their life. He won't be there to argue politics over the Christmas table or sit with under my parents' willow trees with a glass of wine putting the world to right. I've lost my alternative bed when I want to escape my parents (I've been taking advantage of this for nearly forty years). I will miss his unconditional love. He could always see over my lefty - greenie - feminista ways.
Somebody who I've always seen as a father figure is ending his days.
I don't know how you mourn in these strange times.
I'm not sure what I dislike the most.
Today's song: Brought to you by the 30 Day Song Challenge
Day 10: A song that makes you sad.
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