Natasha Belle Manley and Oma, April 24, 2010. Two weeks old and perfect in every way.

Quintisential Willy

 

This is my Willy. He is a clown, a cuddle, clutzy, and very bright. He gets into trouble every day and must be constantly watched in the house. He is allowed outside on short adventures when I'm out too and he is remarkably cautious out there. Willy likes playing with people, cats, toys, mice and flies. He sleeps soundly when he sleeps but can wake up in a nano second ready for action. He brings joy and laughter into my house. He was a foundling, another delivered to my door by my HP and I'm happy for that.

My tipping point.

Another really nice day and I spent part of it out taking care of business: banking, shopping, and other irrelevancies needed to sustain life. Throughout the day I reflected on my preceding post and wondered if I hadn't been too hard on my Toronto friends. Was this really so much worse than previous visits? Perhaps the behaviour was no worse but Julie was worse and seeing that, I reacted more intensely.

Julie's memory is going as is her connection to the reality of today. It is getting harder to have a conversation with her and she gets confused a lot. It pains me to see it. Before too long her kids will begin notice that she is no longer fully present. Then the opportunity to really communicate will be gone. It is slipping away for me too. Though we have the past to connect us, we have very little shared present time. I'm frustrated by our conversations now because Julie is faking it more and more.

I want to shout at the family and cut through their complacency, "don't waste her time with your self centered nonsense. There isn't much of it left". But I think they see it and are afraid.

I had the hope of showing her the Equinox photos, discussing the art and sharing my impressions. It became clear that she really couldn't see the photos properly and didn't recognize the "Grief" sculpture series. She talked about the earlier sculptures but couldn't see the connection to the new series. After years of bemoaning the loss of the original series, she didn't register any recognition of the new sculptures. I was so sad. We two, who had shared a studio for years, exhibited together, and exchanged our values and ideas, have lost that ability now. Julie had a gift for analysis and practical criticism like no other and I miss it. I miss Julie.

So maybe my reaction was more intense because I have reached my tipping point. I have to rethink my expectations and accept the realities of the here and now.
That doesn't mean I have to accept Jerzy's abuse. Nor do I need to be present at the family circus. In future visits I must protect myself from disappointment and avoid stress. I can't come home sick and suffering from hives again.

Well, I'm back in the Petes after a really up and down weekend in Toronto. The weather was amazing. My arrival and first night started nicely but ended with me being yelled at for reasons I can't quite understand. That resulted in Jule apologising for her husband's behaviour and me going to bed early with a bad headache. Sunday morning I fled early to meet my cyber girls for brunch at Zoots.

I was so early, I drove around several blocks. walked up and down streets and took in the diversity that is the Dundas and Dufferin area. We brunched and had a wonderful time with the added bonus of being joined by Maya. I was invited back to Norah's place and saw her jewelry. I ended up buying a stunning silver pendant. So now we're even. My print adorns her wall and her pendant adorns my neck. How great is that?

Then back to Julie's for the Birthday celebrations. Her whole family came, the grown, married children with their little, lively grandchildren, and good friends. The meal was great but after eating, they have this ritual of letting the kids go berserk, encouraged by their parents, whereby balloons are punched and popped, the couch is jumped on, chasing and screaming ensues and we older folk can't hear each other for the noise. We are supposed to sit back and watch this with indulgent amusement, because after all we have nothing of interest to contribute anyway. We are all over seventy, have hearing issues, two survived strokes, one is just recovering from cancer surgery and collectively we retreated into ourselves to try to minimize the clamor and stave off exhaustion. I watched cushions tearing open, the couch sagging, books and toys being strewn all over the place and asked myself how Julie could stand this. She, who values calm and order so highly and who always encouraged creative play in her own children, was helpless to influence the scene being played out. It was like a violation How could her home, values and personal space have become so unimportant to her family? Is that what being handicapped does? Does being dependent mean you are no longer respected? Does her husband allow this din to recur as a form of retribution or has he just lost control? He did try to steer the kids into the basement to play but their doting parents brought the action beck into the living room for us all to "enjoy".

Looking at the whole dynamic, I realized that although nobody means to be thoughtless, they are so self-absorbed, and complacent that they can't even see what they are doing. That is a dysfunctional family, full of love but unable to really engage each other. There is a smugness in that family that borders on rudeness. Five seniors were present and not an iota of sensitivity was shown. Apparently, we were there as a cheering section for the kids, not to honour Julie's seventy-eight years. This passes for fun and everyone goes home satisfied that a good time was had by all. Julie was so exhausted that she slept away the last day of my visit and I departed from my best friend's home with such immense relief that the visit was over.

Maya got it right when she said that focusing on the their children allows the adult children to not see too deeply into the declining existence of their parents. No-one was allowed to hold a conversation with Julie, because of the noise and apparently that's ok. All those people symbolically celebrating Julie's Birthday, with very little interest in the needs of the celebrant. Noise creates confusion and a sense of isolation in the stroke survivor. No wonder Julie retreats into sleep.

I never got to say good-bye to Julie the next day because she was sleeping. I slipped away to visit Jane for lunch with spirits soaring. We had a grand lunch at her place and I was on the DVP heading home before three. I arrived back with a bad cold, a continuous headache and a killer soar throat, but thank God almighty, I'm home.

Footnote: I was so unwell, I had to cancel my physiotherapy and pottery class for the week. All I'm able to do is sleep and chill. Today the cold is much improved and the headache is almost gone. A day in the garden with my cat Willy and under the sunshine has done wonders. I really must give careful thought to protecting myself from future visits. I don't want to abandon my friend, but I can't really handle the stress those visits provoke. They are bad for my health.

Congratulations and hugs Tracy and Paul. Welcome to the world Natasha Belle!

Because I am the Oma!

I have enjoyed a most wonderful weekend because my "other daughter" Tracy came with Samantha. I'm not a naturally gushy person. I do not melt for babies and toddlers. In fact, I actively dislike some little children. Sometimes it's due to lack of exposure, or the chaos they create, or they are just brats. But there are some little people I really enjoy.

I have a special relationship with David and Jonathan Lee. These are two beautifully brought up little lads that I have lots of time for. Their parents Miles and Vicky are Born Again and I disagree with almost everything they embrace. Still, I have decided to overlook their views because their hearts are so big and there is so much love in that family.

I love Oscar, Tania and Diane's little guy. We just clicked right from the get go. He got my special love when I noticed the blatant favoritism being shown to his cousin Kai. Kia is Jerzy's genetic grandson, whereas Oscar is not. So Jerzy talks up Kai (and now Nicko)but not Oscar. My heart immediately went out to Oscar. I identify with the least favoured child because I was one in my mother's (the Balharrie) family. I know what it was like sensing the perpetual chill. Oscar needs all the love he can get now because his life will not be easy as he grows up. Having lesbian parents in an unforgiving world will require lots of inner strength and confidence from that sweet boy. He needs a firm foundation of love and I'm willing to contribute to it.

Samantha is Tracy's 2 1/2 year old. She is a going concern, very bright and very active and exhausting. But for all that, she is a lot of fun and oh so loving. Tracy has a few mothering habits that can drive one to drink, but with another child due in three weeks, she won't be able to keep it up. She discusses decisions with Sam and leaves herself open to argument and testing all the time. The child runs the mother and by a miracle the child is not a brat. She is tiring and demanding but very good-natured. On a couple of occasions I intervened very firmly, without debate and Samantha responded immediately, but she was not afraid of me. She was relieved to be stopped. Tracy is aware of this tendency to over explain and under discipline. She discussed it with me and I reminded her that she is the mother. Sometimes it is necessary to stop the child firmly. All the child needs to understand is that Mommy is the boss and no means no. That being said, Samantha is a darling child full of daring-do and curiosity. Willy is the cat version of Samantha. She only stops being active when she drops, eats and for story time. Interestingly, unlike most cats who would run and hide from Samantha, Willy saw a real playmate. He was right in the middle of it all the time.

I love Tracy dearly, and really enjoyed being Oma for 24 hours. Hearing Oma repeated so often was wonderful. I quickly got used to it and played my Oma role in the playground, at mealtimes, in the big chair with story books, pretend cleaning and at bedtime. Sam procrastinated at bed time to show me her pajamas, then she came back downstairs to show me her slippers and then I had to read before she finally went to bed. Like all grandparents, I was also pleased to see them go home.

We went to the exhibition yesterday and Tracy loved the sculpture. She also liked the black and white graphics. Paul had reminded her that they are on a tight budget but nevertheless she wanted to buy the "Brooklyn Rain" or the "Cat-tails" to take home. Since they are prints, I suggested she wait till we get home to discuss it. I didn't want the gallery to know she was interested because I intended to give her both prints as a gift for the new baby. She was stunned and very, very pleased. Why is it that the young people with no money are prepared to buy art, when my older friends with lots of money are afraid of committing to an art purchase? Lots of positive feed back but no sales won't pay my exhibition expenses.

Samantha went home with a very fluffy stuffed bunny for Easter. The bunny took Tracy and my fancy because it had the face of a Tomcat with big ears. Sam took it to bed last night. The great thing about having a child around, is that it permits us to be kids again too.

"Beware the Ides of March"

I think the time has come to revisit the Ides of March in my days of yore. I have just celebrated my 70th Birthday with a big party and an exhibition that Maya named Equinox. It is a powerful testimonial to life - a wonderful way for me to mark the Ides of March. I was not always able to do so. I used to hide away and celebrate my birthday in isolation and before I got sober, 35 years ago, I spent March 15 drunk. I just wanted it to go away.

My mother died at age 50, on March 15, my 22nd Birthday. Instead of going out to dinner with her, I went to identify her in the morgue. She was driving into Montreal from the family home in Pointe Claire to meet me and Alfie for a birthday dinner. Apparently she suffered a heart attack on the road, and being the excellent driver she was, she signaled, pulled onto the shoulder, stopped and slumped over the wheel. A driver behind her saw this and pulled off to check on her. She was dead.

Meanwhile, I was dressing and getting ready for her arrival at our apartment. Alfie and I were still in the early stages of being married. Mom was coming in to dine and spend the night. We had begun to really get along at last after many years of friction and I was enjoying her finally.

It was getting late and my Mom didn't arrive, nor did Alfie. I was all dressed up and getting agitated. It was not like my mother to be late, and what was Alfie's excuse? He worked at the university two blocks away. It was a short walk home.

That evening it was a very long walk for Alfie around and around the block. The police had called him at work and it fell to him to come home to tell me that my mother was dead. He couldn't face it. I had just begun to recover from my father's sudden death 22 months earlier.

Eventually, he had to come home and he had to tell me. The entire building could hear my anguished screams. I couldn't take it in, it was too unthinkable. Later, when I was making the identification, it sunk in. My mother was gone. I was alone. I had no parents left, no siblings and no history. Nobody was left to remember when I was small, what my first words were, how I hugged my cat, or that I loved donkey rides. I was well and truly an orphan on my 22 Birthday.

We think of an orphan as a child left alone to face the world without parents to protect it, but everyone is somebody's child and faces the loss of parents with difficulty. At the time of that loss, everyone is an orphan. There was an added dimension to all this because after my mother's death, I was also completely abandoned by my mother's family, her brothers and their families. Following the Wake the Ottawa relatives sighed with relief in the knowledge that I was married. They said things like "it's so lucky that your married" or "your husband will take care of you now". Which, when translated into reality-speak meant "thank God you're not our problem". They left with the standard, "if there's anything we can do, call us" and I never heard from them again till 20 years later when one intrepid cousin set out to find me. My mother's older brother Watson came to Montreal weekly to teach at McGill University and never once called to see if his 22 year old niece was ok. The saddest part of this sorry tale, is that I never saw anything wrong with this treatment, so convinced was I that I had no value in their eyes.

So there it is. My Ides of March was something grim for a long, long time. How can a daughter celebrate her birthday when it was the anniversary date of her mother's death? Both parents gone and worthless me still alive. The survivor guilt was huge. "Beware the Ides of March" really applied to me.

What took me from that dark place to a public celebration of my 70th Birthday? In a word, Maya. When she was born, I became her mother and stopped being my Mom's daughter. The pendulum had swung from pessimism to optimism. I was no longer looking back. A child forces one to look forward. How could I hang on to my guilt and still light the way for my daughter? I had sobered up before I became pregnant and had begun to see life as a gift. My parents hadn't raised me to cower in shadows. They were fighters who believed in making a difference and with Maya's arrival, I realized I too had a chance to do my best.

My parents died young (50 and 52) and I believed I would too. Once I outlived them,I began to realize that maybe I had better make other plans for my life, do some good for people, help my corner of the world, and respect my abilities and talents. Who knows how long I have left and what my health will be? But I'll take what comes one day at a time.