In an unusual turn of events, this is a wee serious Sunday night post, so don’t read it if you’re feeling a bit Sundaynighty and gloomy.
I read the article in the link above. I read stuff like that all the time and think – yep – I really need to be more in the moment and take the time to enjoy stuff instead of thinking about the next thing. I’m always in a hurry, usually unnecessarily. The world’ll keep spinning if I don’t, for example, tackle the Clusterfuck of Life Admin. I saw a beautiful rainbow the other day and the first thing I did was grab my phone to take a picture. What a tit! Why can’t I just look at the rainbow and enjoy it? When my pal Jane and I undertook a Wild West adventure we were leaving Zion Canyon in a bus and I looked to the left and a beautiful full moon was hovering right above a lovely sandstone peak, like something from a movie. I jumped up shouting “MOON! MOOOOOON!” like a madwummin, much to the surprise of our fellow travellers. I spent so much time scrabbling for my phone and camera, the perfect positioning of moon and peak was lost before I’d properly enjoyed the bloody thing and committed it properly to memory.
Talking of memory, my ma has dementia. She’s currently in hospital after breaking a hip. If I can be horribly and cruelly honest, she’s not much fun to be around any more, and doesn’t communicate much. She no longer knows who I am. When I (grudgingly) visit, I clockwatch. I look out of the window and wonder how much time needs to elapse before it’s acceptable to slither away again. I mentally plan what I’m having for my tea.
But…on Friday, during my reluctant visit, she did something so sad and poignant I haven’t been able to tell anybody about it properly. I’m going to write it now. Gulp.
I was absentmindedly swinging my legs on her hospital bed, staring out of the window as per usual, wondering what to have for my tea, when I felt her hand on my cheek. I flinched a bit when she touched me, and turned round to look at her. Her hand moved to my hair and she stroked it. We just looked at each other and my face crumpled. I let her stroke my hair and watch my face crumple until the moment passed. I cried all the way home but I’m glad I just sat there and let her stroke my hair.
She would never have wanted this to happen to her, and I hope to fuck if dementia ever happens to me that one of my kids will do the right thing and not have to suffer soul destroying visits, guilt and sadness. As the young folk say – #YOLO. Do what makes you happy before it’s too late, and enjoy just looking at the rainbows and full moons.
Don’t feel sorry for me, by the way. I don’t deserve it, and it’s not the point of this post. I just wanted to make a point. Right, back to talking about tits and Tucker…