It made me think about a lot of things. Family history, relationships, buries feelings, emotions, feuds, difficulties, relatives getting old. You think that some people are indestructible and will last for ever. I definately put my Nan in that category.
My Mum is on the edge, it has been 10 weeks now full time, 24 hours A day on call, it is taxing. She has been magnificent, as has my eldest brother. Looks like his manic depression is paying off as he can sometimes sit with my Nan at irregular hours he normally keeps. Bonus.
So, it was my job to go down, fit into things, keep in the background, not be selfish and be there as a support and comfort to all.
I got to Brymoor Road at 5pm, after a quick hello to Nan, a cup of tea was placed in my hand by Mum, (took 4 minutes 28 seconds but hey who's counting). Then after a brief exchange of the journey (very smooth other than a bit if traffic at Bristol and a little wind (mine) at Brigend), a hug and kiss with Nan (Nothing of her but face was bright and blooming) - It was straight into the living room to flick on the TV to watch the FA Cup final, Liverpool v Chelsea.
Obviously i covered my bases not to look so selfish and to massage my guilt by saying, 'I don't have to have it on, i can go in the other room if you want and watch it', knowing full well that my 4 hour drive had earned me enough Cup final vouchers to have it on. I may struggle though if it goes to extra time and penalties as it clashes with the Voice. Nice as my Nan is at 97, no-one fucks with The Voice, so Liverpool are going to have to see this one off in 90 minutes.
I watched with my Brother (not a football fan) so he kept on saying comments such as 'nice goal and i like his orange boots', when Chelsea scored, and my Nan, who by her own admission admitted 'i never liked or understood football'.
Basically Liverpool for 60 minutes played like shit. It was painful. Like a long bank holiday traffic jam. So frustrating. I found myself wanting to scream obscenities at the screen, but obviously my Nan was dozing a little and that is not the done thing at 14 Brymoor Road.. Instead i asked my Nan, at 97 the oldest person i know and by those rules. the closest to God, to pray for liverpool to win.
I appreciate praying is not for selfish means, and even if it was world peace, cure starvation, wrong all rights, cure cancer, sort out Syria and land us a Euro Lottery Win would be pretty high on the agenda. However Liverpool were 2-0 down to those arrogant Chelsea wankers and i couldn't stand it.
Within 3 minutes of Nan praying Andy Carrol scored to make it 2-1. Fuck me there must be a god for him to score. Remarkable.
At this point i got carried away and ultra selfishly asked Nan to pray again for the equaliser and then a last minute winner. It didn't happen. They lost. I had asked Nan to over pray. I should have let it alone. Too controlling on my Nan praying for liverpool to win a football match. I learnt my lesson. Never again.
At 7.10pm to TV went over to BBC1 for the Voice, I was too disappointed. Not even that could shake me out of the fog. I had to go in the garden and smoke heavily to recover. Good job i hadn't displayed an ounce of selfishness in the 3 hours i had been in Brymoor Road, Commandeering the living room, the TV, shouting, asking Nan to pray for something she doesn't understand or care about and then vacating the house to pace on my own for 30 minutes in the garden.
Bet they're so pleased you came down Nick!
What followed then was a classic Saturday night in Brymoor Road, Llanelli. 4 generations of family, Nan, Mum, 2 brothers, sat watching The Voice, eating Roast chicken off trays and smiling at Sir Tom. Genuinely classic.
I was amazed at my Nan, the cancer has closed her oesophagus so she can barely eat. 3 meals a day are small toast and marmalade, soup and then either bread and jam, or apple crumble and custard/jelly and ice cream. For someone who loves her food, Independence and life, it must be incredibly difficult, though she doesn't moan, doesn't complain and mentally is still bright as a button. Remarkable.
After she went to bed at 9ish, i then proceeded to show my remarkable unselfishness's by having a pop at my Mum for being controlling over the milk. It wasn't in the fridge. She said it was. I looked and said it wasn't, then she went to look, It wasn't, it was in the kitchen, at which point i thought it would be a good idea, to tell someone who for 10 weeks has been on the beck and call of Nan, lacked sleep, a break and any kind of 'me' time and was basically physically and mentally on the edge of breaking pint, that she was controlling, needed to loosen up, let go of the reigns and step back a little.
Even writing that makes me cringe. It didn't go down too well, as you could imagine and i managed to make her cry, sending her off to bed early in a total fury and rage. 'Who the f*** are you to come here and criticise, especially as you have no idea how hard it is caring for someone all the time'. Fair point, i suppose, and at that stage i really shouldn't have replied, 'You're just being a martyr now'. I really had dug a hole now. Prick.
Bet they're Definately pleased you came down Nick.
I retreated to the living room to quietly watch Pappilon with the big brother with the sound ultra low, as Nan was asleep, and after considering leaving and driving back to London at midnight, i decided to sleep and make amends tomorrow. After all i couldn't have done any worse, save for come down with a black Muslim Tranny boyfriend and introduce it to my Nan. "Nan, this is my friend Mohamed, he's a pre op Transsexual from Syria".
End of Day
Oops...........................bad son
ReplyDelete