I sit down to type them out and find that I’ve lost them. They used to fall from my brain to my fingertips effortlessly. I think they’re getting lost in there somewhere now. Maybe I’m crying them out? Maybe there is a backlog in around my heart somewhere and one day the dam will break and you’ll find yourself reading five posts in a day.

Who knows.

I know that I used to use my blog as a dumping ground, write it out and move on.

I want to write about how heavy my heart feels when I help Mum clean Nan’s house. How possessions of hers weigh heavily on my chest. I wish she’d been able to give more things away herself like she wanted to, rather than the sorting process we’ve got going on.

There are words in my head screaming to get out.

***

A few days after Nan died, I had a dream. We were sitting at Mum’s talking, as we used to do often.

Nan said ‘You need to come down and help me get things organised.’

‘Okay.’

‘The cupboards need sorting. You’ve got to be careful of all the lids though.’

Nan had a cupboard filled with all her plastic containers. Ever single bit of plastic she owned went in that cupboard. When I woke from the dream, I assumed that Nan saying ‘be careful of all the lids’ meant ‘for the love of god don’t lose my lids!’.

I was wrong.

When Mum and I sorted that cupboard? We found lids. And more lids. And then some more lids. Most of them without the accompaning containers.

I should have known. It wasn’t ‘be careful of all the lids so none get lost‘ it was actually ‘be careful you don’t drown in lids while you’re sitting on the floor sorting things.’

Thanks for the warning Nan.

‘Mmmmphghs. fuck.’

Stumble stumble stumble. I glance at my watch. Ugh.

‘Amy. It’s still dark. Do you want to go back to sleep for me please?’

‘No. Amy is awake. We go in the loungeroom and watch TV!’

‘Ugh. Move over. Mum will cuddle you. Brrrr, it’s cold. Here, snuggle down and close your eyes.’

I climb into bed with Amy and close my eyes.

‘Amy does not want to close her eyes. Amy is awake. Hi MUMMY!’

‘Hi Amy. Here, come and have a cuddle.’

‘Okay. Incy wincy spider…. You sing it Mum.’

‘Mummy doesn’t want to sing. Mummy wants to go back to sleep.’

Amy walks her fingers up my head.

‘MUM! MUM! There is a spider on your head. See?’

Her fingers walk back down my face.

‘Amy, it’s not time to get up yet. Snuggle down and go back to sleep.’

‘But Amy is not tired.’

‘Mummy is tired.’

‘Are you tired Mum? Are you tired? Mum, mummummumumummm, are you tired?’

‘Yes Amy, I am tired.’

‘You going back to sweep Mum?’

‘MMmmrpgh.’

‘MUM! Are you sweeping?’

‘Mmmmmm.’

‘Is okay Mummy, Amy will sing. Incy Wincy Spider climbed up a… Mummy, is your turn now.’

‘Amy?’

‘Yes? Oh NO. MUMMY LOOK! There is a cat on Amy’s drawers. Don worry Mum, Amy fix it.’

‘Amy, get back here, what are you – DON’T put the cat in the drawer!’

‘Is okay Mummy, Amy come snuggle now. Cat is fixed.’

‘Go and get the cat back out of the drawer. It’s very naughty to put the cat in the drawers!’

‘Amy not get the cat out. The cat is sweeping.’ [makes snoring noises]

‘The cat is not sleeping, go and get it out.’

‘Amy not want to. Cat is sweeping. Amy is sweeping.’ [Makes more fake snoring noises.]

‘BING! Amy is AWAKE! C’mon Mummy, les get UP!’

Oh my god.

‘Come on then. Let’s get up.’

‘YAY! YAY! YAY! Is Isaac awake?’

‘No, Isaac is sleeping.’

‘Don worry Mummy, Amy will wake Isaac up.’

‘No! Leave Isaac alone!’

‘Isaac! Is time to wake up!’

Isaac cries, Nathan mumbles and I am UP! and AWAKE! with the kids at a godawful time. Is it too late to start today again?

Thank GOD. I was really really stressed this morning prior to the ultrasound. [So was Mum. So stressed in fact that she came to the appointment with me and played with Amy in the waiting room] The lump may or may not grow, I’ve just got to keep an eye on it and if it gets bigger, possibly think about removal.

So there. It’s always good to be told that you don’t have breast cancer.

***

I’ve been digging a garden. Sure it’s nearly killed me and somehow I’ve got a bruise that runs from the heel of my hand all the way to my elbow, but it feels good to look outside and see pretty dirt, just waiting for me to plant vegies in it.

So far, I’ve got peas, spinach, parsley, mint, kale and silverbeet planted. Also some mignonette lettuce and broad beans.

It looks good. Fresh. New.

Exactly what I need.

Dirt to centre myself and to cry into if need be.

My shoulder and lower back are complaining rather a lot at the extra 7kgs of badly distributed weight. Sigh. I feel old today.

Old and sad.

Sad and tired.

Nan was a huge part of my life. I catch myself thinking I’ll just ring Nan… and then, fuck. And then I cry.

***

When I rang Nathan that Wednesday morning to take me into the hospital, I stopped breathing properly. It was almost like hyperventilating, only not. I flew through a shower and getting the kids ready. Nathan walked in the door and we walked out of it 30 seconds later.

I didn’t breathe again until I hit that hospital room and Nan was still breathing. She looked awful, but that is part and parcel of cancer and steroids. She got quite distressed until David and I had hugged her. Apparently she’d spoken to Mum prior to her downhill slide and said that she needed to let Davey and I know that she knew we were there. She definitely managed that. I hugged her, laid my cheek against hers and told her I loved her.

We settled in to wait.

The waiting was the hardest part.

We took turns holding Nan’s hand and she had enough energy to occasionally give us a squeeze. Visitors came and went and still we sat. Talking, laughing, reminiscing, waiting.

Eventually Nan’s breathing got worse. She pulled her oxygen mask off and rolled onto her side. She opened her eyes and looked straight at her mother (Kath*) before closing her eyes again. Kath held one of Nan’s hands and I held Kath’s other hand and her shoulder. She gripped me like a drowning woman as her daughter started to slip away.

Mum said ‘You can go now Mum. You don’t have to stay here for us. We love you.’

I echoed ‘Yes. We love you Nan.’

Her breathing slowed and then stopped completely.

It was peaceful. She was done fighting.

At 2.10pm on the 24th of June ‘09, my grandmother died, surrounded by family.

*I’m calling her Kath for this blog post to prevent confusion. In real life, she is just Nan.

***

I can remember everything about that afternoon, even down to how the room smelled and how it felt to clean the room afterwards. We organised clothes and flowers, books and magazines and then we left the room and Nan behind.

***

I think those first few days were easier to deal with.

After the funeral, the hustle and bustle died down and the reality of Nan’s death set in. I can’t ring her. I can’t visit. I can’t do any of the things I used to do on a daily basis. Nan was such a part of my life; to have her gone leaves me with a gaping hole and a pervading sense of sad.

I can still smell her perfume on the clothing she gave me before she died. I wander around the house and suddenly, I can smell her.

And it hurts because it’s not her and eventually, the smell will fade no matter how I try and preserve it.

***

I threw the last of the flowers out yesterday. The lilies that had been in her room withered and died. An empty coffee jar sits on my counter with no flowers left to fill it.

***

It’s the middle of winter. It’s cold and icy and horrible outside. I yearn for warm days and blooming flowers and sunshine that warms my soul as well as my body. I know that spring will come in it’s own time. I know that eventually the keen knife edge of hurt will fade. I know this.

This hurt is a wound that will eventually heal, leaving me with just a scar and memories. Knowing that this will happen doesn’t make the days in the interim easier though.

***

I’m a writer and I won’t appologise for ripping open my soul and leaving it here on my blog for you to read, even though I feel like I should be appologising for my lack of humour.

I hope that you can hold my hand and walk through this with me as I process it. That said, if you find it hard to comment, or can’t make the words come out right, don’t feel you have to comment profoundly. Simply knowing you’re reading still is enough.

Well I have a confession.

I didn’t throw it out.

Instead, I sterilised it and threw it into the back of a new, mouse free cupboard. [Actually, I left it in the bathroom cabinet and had to quickly hide it when my brother came to stay, lest he find it hidden under the facewashers. There are some things you don't need to know about your sister. It ended up in amongst the linen.]

So, when Bendy Girl suggested using a vibe on the muscle spasm that was keeping my shoulder subluxed last night, I was thankful I had it still. Somehow, I don’t think my little bullet vibe would have had the guts to buzz my shoulder into submission.

I rifled through the linen, swearing as I went and returned victorious with my toy in hand. A heat pack, some massage and a heck of a lot of chocolate later and…

… my shoulder was still out.

So I swapped vibes, went about muscle relaxation the other way and fell asleep. Unfortunately, the sleeping didn’t last too long, as Isaac has a bad virus and spent the night wailing about the injustices of life.

My shoulder was mostly back in place this morning and I’d had a grand total of 4 (non consecutive) hours sleep.

But man, sometimes I’m pleased I’m a hoarder.

Mum forwarded a copy of the Eulogy to me. It was a first draft put together by my uncle. It was good, but it needed editing and polishing. So, I rang Mum, we talked and then I rewrote parts of the Eulogy and tied it all together into a cohesive speech before sending it back to Mum.

Just a heads up for anyone else who may or may not be involved in organising a funeral. Rewriting a eulogy on the morning of the funeral? Yeah, I don’t recommend it.

I was so stressed that my uncle would be upset with me for rewriting parts of it, but I pulled myself up, tucked myself in and figured that of course he wouldn’t be annoyed, it was only a first draft after all and it was too long and missing chunks and it was better now.

Right?

Eventually we were all ready and packed into the car.

Turn the key. Click click click goes the car.

Nothing.

Again, turn the key. Click click ffffft.

Nothing.

Fucking fuck of a fucking car. Fuck.

Dressed to the nines, we were standing in our very soggy front yard with a dead battery. FINE. We’ll just change the battery from the other car. Nathan jumped into the other car and checked to see if that one would start. Click click whirrrrr fffft.

Two cars. Two dead batteries. What are the odds? Dear universe. I know that you can fuck things up if you choose to, but really, don’t we have enough going on? FortheloveofGOD.

A phone call later, Mum and Dad were on the way to help get our stupid fuck of a fucking car started.

I have never been so stressed in my life. We quickly rearranged Amy’s care arrangements, knowing that no way in hell we had enough time to get her out to his parents AND back to the funeral.

Mum arrived and after enough swear words to make a sailor blush, our car was started and running.

I had the shakes, I felt nauseous and I was more than ready to be done with this day.

We got to the funeral uneventfully. Just as the car died. In the car park.

Oh my fucking god.

But we’d made it and everything could be sorted later. My stress levels were through the roof (have I mentioned I was a little stressed?) as I got Isaac out of the car and into his pram to walk in.

I flicked my head back, drew in a deep breathe and walked through the glass doors. My uncle saw me, looked at me and then immediately looked away. I didn’t notice really, I was too busy looking for Mum. I was about to fall apart.

I found Mum and started swearing about the car. Nothing better than a minor emergency to take your mind off the big things.

I was keeping my shit together fine, until I saw two of my parent’s friends walk through the front doors. Two men, dressed in jeans and a leather jacket. Two men, who weren’t there for any other reason than to say goodbye to Nan and provide support for US.

I burst into tears I was that pleased to see them.

The service was lovely and I cried the entire way through it. All the work put in and it pulled together perfectly. I made it there on time and Isaac was good throughout. You can’t ask for anything more, can you.

And if a certain family member of mine refused to acknowledge my presence there, merely exchanging polite words when I initiated conversation, well then. That’s not my issue. That’s his.

****

In other things:

I asked and I received. I had my big girl panties all ready, but it turns out I didn’t need them. Not really.

Go on, go and read it.

And… I had my breast checked by a GP today. Definitely a lump there and it feels mobile so that is a good thing. In most cases, mobile lumps are benign cysts. I’m not terribly positive that it does move though and I’m the one feeling it at every available opportunity. HOWEVER. We’ll just not think of that. I am off for an ultrasound of it (’it’ sounds weird. I almost feel I should name it) next Thursday. I’m much less worried now that I’ve seen the doctor and we’ve got things in motion for checks and stuff.

Right.

So, even though we’re spending today in a funeral home, surrounded by lots of family we may or may not get along with, I’m wishing you a happy birthday. I do love you. Even when you pulled all the clothes out of my dresser when you were a toddler. Even when I dressed you in girls clothes and makeup when you were five and you wouldn’t let me photograph you. Even when you kept interrupting me and my boyfriend on Mum’s say so.

Even then.

Nan’s funeral is in a few hours and I’m desperately stressed. I’m going to miss her more than I can articulate.

Lyn Rossendell – 11.04.1945 – 24.06.09

Goodbye again Nan. You know I love you. I’ll never stop missing you.

You know that bit?

(Yeah, other mothers of small children out there, I’ve got you singing it now, haven’t I?)

Yes. Mine is ‘Just keep smiling. Just keep giggling. Just keep smiling, giggling, smiling.’

Not always appropriate, but it works. So I’m smiling.

[My broken hot water? Is now fixed. So is the leaking. The destroyed bathroom floor, not so much. However, an Insurance Assessor will be up and fingers crossed, insurance should cover the cost of replacing the floor.]

‘How are you doing?’

‘Oh, okay. You know. We’re coping.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

An Alternate Universe:

‘How are you doing?’

‘Let me see. The plumber spent almost 8 hours here yesterday and I still have a leak, although I do have a pretty shiny new hot water system now. The leak is so bad you could throw buckets of water at my bathroom floor and it would be drier than it is now. He was meant to come back this morning and finish the job, but guess what? We haven’t seen him. Instead, we’ve taken a bunch of his equipment hostage and he can’t have it back until we’re all dried out. First rule of Tradies. Don’t leave your gear behind. Ha.

I originally thought this plumbing issue was going to cost around $1000. Now? I’m doubling the price in my head. I’m also practising pulling money out of my arse, because god knows that’s the only way it will get paid for. Anyone want to put an ad on my sidebar? I’ll do it cheap.

I spent most of today cooking a cake, only to reach dinnertime and realise, I had no fucking idea where the day went and no idea what to cook for dinner. Good thing Amy likes pasta.

My wrist has dislocated a fuckload of times today. It’s even floppier than before and that’s saying something. Unfortunately, it’s my right hand (I’m right handed, obviously). No hand jobs for Nathan. Also no blow jobs because my jaw dislocates when I sneeze and Nathan really doesn’t need me to start screaming and seizing up when he’s in a rather vulnerable position.

I think I’m feeding a small possum in my sleep. At least, it looks like I have been. Chewed nipples, scratches. Surely my son isn’t doing that?

And have I mentioned I have a lovely little lump in my breast? And I am a TAD STRESSED?

I keep stopping to laugh at everything and crack jokes, because DUDE, you can’t make this shit up.

Oh look! Something shiny…

Wait, what were you saying?’

‘I said, how are you doing?’

‘Oh yeah. Okay. You know.’

‘Oh. Okay.’

This morning, I was sitting in the lounge room feeding Isaac. I hear a Chscshhhhh sound (say it out loud, it sounds better) and then the pump started to run. I dumped the baby and raced to the bathroom thinking please for the love of god don’t let that be what I think that is… fuck it. It was indeed what I feared.

The hot water cylinder had burst right at the bottom and hot water was rushing into the bathroom and the laundry pile. (Washing machine is in the bathroom. Please, don’t ask.)

Dodging the hot puddle, I quickly switched off the water pump at the power point as in the moment, I couldn’t remember how the fuck to turn off the water to the cylinder. I’ll be buggered if I was going to let all our precious water flow out through a hole in the cylinder.

Screeching for Nathan and swearing at the top of my lungs, I dumped some dirty towels in front of the cylinder and then stood back to swear some more. A very sleepy Nathan answered, obviously he couldn’t hear the get the fuck here now urgency in my voice.

‘What?!’

‘I NEED YOU! HERE!’

Stumble stumble grrrr groan mumble.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘The fucking fuck of a hot fucking water cylinder burst.’

‘Oh. Fuck.’

Then, as Nathan used his working brain to turn off the water to the cylinder, I rang my Daddy. As you do. And then, all swearing aside, I rang a plumber.

‘My hot water cylinder burst, can you send someone?’

‘Uhm. We can have someone there for you first thing tomorrow morning.’

After a few hesitations (I wanted them there, RIGHT NOW. I wanted them to be able to teleport and magically fix the fucking hot water) I agreed and he started to ask me questions.

‘Is there room around the hot water cylinder to work?’

‘Uhm. Yes? I think so. Some things would need to be moved [like the sink and the laundry and maybe that cabinet...] but it’s nothing major and he could have easy access.’

‘Okay. Now, what is the plumbing that leads to the cylinder like?’

‘Uhm. Shoddy. Very very shoddy.’

Shoddy is not the word for it. I’d use fucked, but I’ve probably used my swear quota for the day.

‘We bought the house last year and the plumbing is shit. You’ll love it.’

‘Oh. [laughs] Okay then. Right. Now how big is the cylinder?’

‘It’s big? I don’t know! It’s been a bad week. It’s a big one. Big.’

‘But is it 160 litres? Or 240?’

I consulted with Nathan.

‘Partner says it’s 240. I just need it fixed. I have kids…’

Wooooooooooeeeeeee.

‘Right. Now where is the address?’

‘Address is [not given to the Internet]‘

‘Oh. You know we charge travelling time, right?’

‘Yeah. I figured. Tell your boys to drive fast.’

‘Okay. Someone will be with you tomorrow.’

Click.

So. No hot water for me until it’s fixed. The floor underneath the cylinder is now fucked completely and even soggier than it was.

On the upside, while I’m going to be shelling out $1000+ for a plumber and a new cylinder, it’s likely that insurance will cover the cost of replacing the bathroom floor. If I jump through their hoops with one eye closed and my hands tied behind my back while chanting Iamagoodgoodcustomer over and over again.

And then I got my shit together, swore some more and headed down to the Funeral Home with Mum and David. My week has just been fucking awesome.

Nan died yesterday. I still feel numb and unreal and just a little fake. I was in a brain fog this morning, right up until our little mini disaster. I tell you what, there is nothing like a mini crisis to make you start thinking again.

Aside from the actual moment when she died, I haven’t cried yet. I don’t really feel like I need to yet. No doubt my tears are in the post and I will go on being fine up until the moment I am not fine. And when I’m suddenly not fine, I will be very very not fine all at once.

I haven’t actually cried in a long time now.

Oh and you know what makes things even more awesome? I found a lump in my breast a few days ago. A lump that isn’t normal for me. A lump that hasn’t gone away with feeding and massage. A REAL lump. A doctors appointment will be made, just as soon as I get through Nan’s funeral.

***

For anyone that knows us in real life, you can email me for details of her funeral. I’ve got everything right here [taps] in my pretty little head. OR, you can see the details in the paper tomorrow.