Death Becomes Him

Today my Taid (Welsh for Grandfather ) passed away.

The last time I saw my Taid was when he was in hospital, and that was a few months ago. I returned to Madrid thinking he’d be soon well again, and start behaving himself by taking his medications as he should have been, and taking care of himself as he should have been and so on. Yet, he refused to do so (stubborn until the very end). Consequently his health deteriorated fast, to the point where he was taken in and out of hospital, collapsing at home and so on.

My Nain (Welsh for Grandmother), his wife, died three years ago, and to be truthful my Taid never recovered from her death. He didn’t think she would die when she did, but she did wasting away in a hospital bed. After that, Taid was never the same person again. Then again who is after they lose someone they love?

When my Mum told me Taid had died I was sitting in my Spanish class, and it was a shock. I began to cry and promptly left the class to return home.

I called my parents. I spoke to my Dad first (my Taid was his Father), and true to my Dad’s style he was upbeat, his only concern was to enquire about me and what I’m up to. In contrast, and very normally, my Mum was emotional. She was worried about me because at the moment I’m alone in Madrid, upset and stuck with the knowledge I’m not there for them at this moment.

I asked if Taid had company when he died, and my Mum said he was alone; by the time everyone had been informed (it’s a big family), and everyone arrived at the hospital, my Taid had already passed. Not even a Nurse by his side. I think that upset me more, to know that he was alone when he did eventually pass, and that for days he had been unconscious and unaware of who was there or what was happening. Yes, he had suffered before his death, and wasted away in a similar fashion to that in which my Nain did. And, in many ways I am thankful I never had to see that happen to such a strong man, as those things stick with you and over-ride the real way a person should be remembered.

Though my Taid was expected to die, death in whatever form is never really OK, or explainable.

And now it is complicated.

My Taid was a stern man, he was no Angel. He was Irish Catholic, spoke Gaelic and had been brought up tough on a farm in Southern Ireland. Try and ask him what his life was like, and he would act as though the question had never been asked, he despised talking about the past, about the family he left behind at 15 because his own Father sold him off as labour to a neighbouring farmer.

He ran away at 15 from his tyrannical Father, but felt guilt for leaving his loving Mother behind. Taid went over to Wales, settled there, found work and then eventually met my Nain. They were married for an age and had eight children together.

The saddest story is that what my Taid endured growing up made him hard, and angry. Sadder still was that he then inflicted his own unresolved emotions and past on his own children. In short, allowing that cycle of Hell to perpetuate.

Luckily for me, my Dad married my Mum. She helped show my Dad what it was to be loved and to feel love, to see what a family should be, to realise that kids should be seen and heard, and that interaction, expressing emotion and being nurturing is normal and not a weakness.

In fact, my Dad has a great nature. He is the most placid person I know, the kindest and the fairest. He might not always say too much, but then he was brought up not to be a talker, as he is a man, but what he does say, does count and makes infinite sense.

In fact, I’d go so far as to say my Dad is the last of a generation who really are men.

So, for all my Taid did or could have done, he still made my Dad. My Taid, like my Dad is part of me and I am part of them and proud to be. I don’t judge my Taid’s actions, if I’d endured what he had growing up, who knows what person I’d have become.

Here’s to my Taid (Irish whiskey in hand); I love you, and although I don’t recall you ever telling me that you loved me, I always knew that you did. God bless.

Maggie And Me

One of the UK’s most controversial former Prime Ministers Margaret Thatcher passed away 8th April.

A recent UK television programme was discussing her life and contribution to politics, in this they questioned Gerry Adams Irish Sinn Féin politician. Mr Adams, funnily enough blamed old Maggie for the troubles Northern Ireland had experienced in the past.

Strange that; and there was me thinking that the IRA and Loyalist Paramilitaries were the cause of all that cowardly violence dished out to the innocent people residing in Northern Ireland, and those serving in the armed forces too!!

Well, guess history is definitely defined by the opinions of people, and if you are inclined to listen to Mr Adams, well, then he had no part to pay in the murders and bombing of Belfast, or those that took place in the UK either.

How quickly he forgets!!

Anyway, sad though it may be that the ‘Iron Lady’ has departed – her grip on the Government purse strings still lingers. UK tax payers are paying for her funeral, great!

So, I was wondering – where is my invite, as a tax payer??!!! Oh, and also, could the tax payer of the UK see fit to also foot the bill for my lavish funeral, when I need it, of course.

      

A Ray Of Light

Being back here in the UK again so soon, feels weird. I must admit I’m not feeling 100% my usual ‘on top of the world’, and am struggling to maintain a smile and the facade of happiness.

Everything lately has seemingly taken an effect on me, like a delayed reaction. I was angry, and now I have had time to think I just feel sad. I can’t fully explain everything , all the emotions, they feel like a weight attached to my heart. I feel I need to sigh a lot, which means I have unresolved malarkey milling about inside, waiting to be set free – usually with a good cry.

Crying, is easier said than done. I am now in my parents house; time alone to ruminate is not really the easiest thing to procure! Also, I feel quite foolish, no one has died, so why do I feel so emotional and down??

I know a few bad things have occurred, and between them and other things (which are no doubt unresolved), the tension inside has been mounting for a while. I have allowed the bad feelings to lingering within me for too long a time.

So, feeling weird, and with the unnecessary little altercation over a pear (yes, over a piece of fruit), I left my parent’s house to walk. I needed to walk the emotions off, to give myself some space in the fresh air. I myself needed time away from anyone or anything just to think, to free my mind.

Although it was raining heavily I didn’t care, I let my feet take me in the direction they wanted to go. I found myself heading towards the graveyard, where my Grandmother (my Dad’s Mum) and my Grandfather (my Mum’s Dad) is buried.

Sounds morbid maybe, but I needed to be there. I hardly ever visit their graves, why, well I don’t believe they are actually there. I feel their essence left when they passed away, but sometimes being where they lie can be a focal point, a place to be at peace and think.

To cut a long story short my Grandfather or Tid as I called him from a baby, was like a second Father to me. I was close to him and my Nanna (who is currently ill in hospital). I couldn’t and still can’t really visit his grave without feeling emotional. Today, with everything mounting was no exception. I cried, and couldn’t stop myself. Although I was chiding myself for being foolish, for visiting ‘him’ with my shit when he, wherever he is, doesn’t need it, made me feel like an idiot.

I mean, it could be worse; I could be lying there where he is, instead I am alive and nothing is as bad as being dead.

So, I sat and thought and cried.

Then I noticed, from no-where a funeral procession was approaching me. This has never happened before. The exact spot I was sitting the funeral was making its way towards – taking up both walkways. I was a little shocked, and being dressed in black anyway I thought; ‘oh my goodness, I’m crying and in black, they’ll think I’m one of the relatives’!

I got up and left, and in that moment I felt relieved, a weight had been lifted. I laughed to myself at the irony – the coincidence. Moments before I saw the procession arrive I had said ‘Could be worse I could be dead’, and then there was the proof, walking towards me!

As I laughed and walked away the sun came out, the rain stopped and I just knew someone, somewhere was saying; ‘see, don’t be foolish, things will get better’.  I felt it was some sort of ‘sign’, some sort of comfort.

A weird comfort, but it worked.

 

I felt as though someone had heard me, and was trying to comfort me as best they could.

I don’t know what any of you will think reading this, perhaps that I have gone crazy. Yet, for me, it was the ‘sign’ I needed.

Back At It

So, after leaving Madrid for the UK and worrying myself sick over the flight, and all the messing about that is associated with flying in this time of paranoia. I am once again returned to Madrid; my week away gone all too quickly.

Getting myself back into the routine of life here in Madrid is proving a little difficult, although I know I have only in theory really been back a few hours.

What is making the settling back down harder is the fact that this time I stayed at my parent’s house. I am a person who is used to and likes time alone, but I didn’t get much of this back in the UK. So, now I have become accustomed to having people that love me around me more frequently, and I am used to talking about things with them throughout the day.  Plus, I have become a little too reliant (and enjoyed) my families home cooking – so I feel I was spoilt whilst there.

Yet, it isn’t just that.

My Grandmother (Nanna) was taken into hospital the second day I was back. She had fallen and broken her hip and thigh bones. I was immediately struck with shock and worry. I knew that if she had to undergo an operation she might not survive it. My Nanna is 81 in April, and she has never before had an operation (nor general aesthetic).

Yet, regardless of this my Nanna came through a lengthy op to wake and discover she had titanium extras in place of her broken bones. Relief, well, yes, I felt over the moon all was well. My Nanna and I are very close, and I love her dearly.

However, I am left wondering how well the after-care will be now. I am not there to witness this. I told her before I left her on Sunday that if I hear of any problems I will not hesitate to return back to the UK, and ensure any wrong doing is rectified, and any mistreatment is punished. After writing previously about the shocking NHS standards, I am under no illusion that they are perfect. How these people are able to treat or mistreat older people in their care is grotesque.

I also wonder if now my Nanna will actually receive more ‘professional’ help about the house, or even be entitled to some welfare benefits. Currently she gets nothing at all, she survives on her pension, which after scrimping and saving towards for over 40 years, has become a meagre amount. My Nanna still pays her way and even is taxed on her pension, after working all her life, she still has nothing for free. It infuriates me, when there are others who receive more in benefits than she does in pension, and they do have plenty for nothing.

This idea that the elderly are rolling around in money they all stuff under their mattresses is ridiculous. Yet, even if they are ‘well off’ at least they have worked for it – a generation of people who had to work for it, otherwise they’d receive nothing.  They didn’t expect anything to be handed to them on a platter, and the world didn’t owe them a living like most of today’s generation believes. These people strived and struggled to have security in their later years (a good pension), and yet many of these people aren’t even receiving that little luxury.

The other thing I had been questioning was myself.

A friend of mine was happy enough to lay the guilt trip on me, during these initial few days of extreme worry. She believes herself to be ‘Mother Teresa’. Her Father was dying and she felt compelled to ‘care’ for him, though she has children and a husband. I say ‘care’, but in theory he passed away, which they knew he would, before any real care could transpire. The care that involves 24/7 support didn’t come to fruition; the washing, dressing, lifting the person, toileting the person, housework, shopping, preparation of meals, feeding them, dealing with he household bills and so on and so on.

My friends ‘care’ of her Father consisted of taking her Dad out for day trips, sitting and talking to him, reminiscing and offering comfort, having a drink with him, putting his affairs in order and that was that.

I wonder how she would have felt in an alternate situation whereby she had to suspended her life with her family to really care for her Dad?

I know I am no martyr to the cause; I am inherently selfish. I knew when it all came down I couldn’t say I would sacrifice myself and life to care for my Nanna. Am I brave or stupid to even acknowledge such limitations; who can tell.

I have always thought professional care would be the better option, as they are supposed to know what they are doing. I don’t mean I would abandon anyone to their fate in the hands of strangers, but I couldn’t be as proficient as trained carers would be. I wouldn’t know where to begin.

My life too is no longer in the UK, so that alone poses a major barrier. I couldn’t say goodbye to my ties here, and return to care for my Nanna. Not that she expects that of me; she wants me to live my life and is happy for me. Yet, see what doubts are implanted from a few unthoughtful words from a friend.

I doubted myself, and still do – what am I worth if I can’t give back to a person I love? I feel like a shitty human being, but this isn’t helping. I mean having these thoughts during a time when all I needed to think about was whether my Nanna would actually live through the operation and trauma, it just added distress.

Why did my friend think it was OK to upset the apple cart even more, with her few words of ‘wisdom’ on the matter of caring for a relative?

What was she thinking?

A friend who thought I shouldn’t return to my life in Madrid. A friend willing to add insult to injury, and stress to an already stressful situation. A friend who judged me when I needed her, who threw back in my face all my impartial support of her through her Father’s illness and ensuing death.

All because I wouldn’t bow to her ‘ideal’ of what a person, a relative should do.

So now I am back in Madrid with threads left in the UK, which aren’t tied up into neat pretty bows.

I suppose I shall have to find a way to square all this, or face feeling a juxtaposition with everything I have here.

 

Get It Right, It Is NHS Bribery.

REALLY?! What a contradiction the constitution peddles.

Another NHS scandal hit the news recently, this time at a Mid Staffordshire hospital; it was reported that 1,200 patients died as a cause of neglect in care.

For me this report of the negligence the NHS are responsible for is a tip of an iceberg.

This recent confirmation of patient deaths is shocking and deplorable, but what makes the whole sordid business worse by miles, is the fact that the families of these unlawfully killed, were silenced by the NHS for so long.

These families claims were ignored, although they were known to be true by the hospital in question. These families have been battling for too long a time to bring all of this disgusting mess out into the light for everyone to know about. These families have had no recompense, no apology and no explanation – that is the most disgusting thing about all of this.

This lack of responsibility, lack of consequence that the NHS has, an immunity almost, IS SINISTER. They do as they see fit, and patients and their families have to to just put up and accept this nonsense which the NHS insist in calling ‘care’.

In fact it has been discovered that 105 NHS Foundation Trusts in 2010/11 actually spent a total £2.5 million on gagging clauses. Prohibiting the staff from speaking out, ‘whistle blowing’,  upon the villainous conduct going unpunished in the hospitals. This is not to mention the actual number of gagging clauses in place in the above Mid Staffordshire hospital which total a staggering £14.7 million!!!!!!!!!!!!

Remember this is tax payers money!!!!!

Imagine the staff and resources being scrimped upon to keep all these staff members quiet????!!!!

In reality then, these aren’t gagging clauses, THEY ARE BRIBERY !!! Lets call it as we see it please, bribery, plain and simple! Stop beating around the bush and admit it – you are a bunch of cheating, lying , murdering thieves – criminals! All being hidden nicely behind the curtain of immunity that the NHS provides you!!

DISGUSTING!

Read below link for more info:
http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/healthnews/9887260/NHS-spent-15m-gagging-whistleblowers.html

Suicidal Star

Mindy McCready tried to commit suicide FOUR TIMES in seven years before she ultimately took her own life.

• McCready shot herself at her home in Heber Springs, Arkansas, on Sunday
• Singer was released from rehab last week after spending just two days at in-patient facility
• Doctor found her clean of drugs and alcohol and ‘mentally stable’
• Sex tape of her will not be released (why would it be – surely there is some respect for the dead)
• A shadow was cast over country star after the recent death of live-in boyfriend David Wilson

What went so wrong that Mindy felt she had call the curtain on her life of fame and fortune??

Is this another gun tragedy? 

Why was there no real intervention before such a devastating act could take place?

Is it a case of another star merely seeking attention? Or, was Mindy crying out for help and being ignored? Perhaps, the signs of what she felt were well concealed?

She was a person first and a mother too, and now her children are left behind to wonder why.

No-one is exempt from Depression or even suicide, this proves that clearly enough. It also proves that regardless of money and status, real help is not always available.

If the support networks had been there, would Mindy have lived? Learned to cope?

Are there any real answers for things like this that occur in life? Maybe not.

However, any life lost is truly sad.  

Read more on this topic:  http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2282243/Mindy-McCready-tried-commit-suicide-FOUR-TIMES-ultimately-took-life.html#ixzz2LXpsRKPM

Death Is Not The End

Nothing can prepare you for hearing those words, of realising that too soon you have to face up to such a harsh truth. Its knowledge that once gained alters everything else from that moment on. It is like the moment freezes, and suddenly normal body functions, such as breathing, become laboured as though the weight of this awful thing is physically, as well as emotionally bearing down on you.

A friend of mine has recently gone through the trauma of the death of her Father. When the news that his illness had taken a turn for the worse and had become life threatening, she was actually with me.

I felt futile; what can anyone say or do to relieve such sorrow and the empty hollowness that such events bring; nothing, no one can make it all better and take that from you. No words fit such a dramatic and profound event, it is beyond such things.

Such events change us I heard, and not just mentally and emotionally but actually physically too. For two years after a death those who are left behind have to also endure a physical change to their bodies as a result of loss and grief. I think this change never heals, how can it? You are not, nor ever will be the same person before that person died.

‘They’ do say a lot of things about death, like if we all experience things the same way. I am aware that grief moves in a process, and it does; after time this process should be completed and the individual remaining should be free of the feeling of loss and sadness (so ‘they’ say). For me that has never been the case.

My friend’s loss resonated with me; in that poignant and raw moment, that to be honest was fairly surreal for me, my own experiences of losing a loved one was quickly revived. I realised I was uncomfortable with the whole thing. I wasn’t able to deal with or cope with the unresolved feelings in myself, that were brought forth by my friend’s own heart breaking news.

My lingering grief remains extremely difficult to discuss, and for me the emotions and sadness are like raw and exposed nerves, which to this day cause me great distress. Even typing this, and thinking about what I want to say here, is more overwhelming than I thought it would be. I can feel the emotion sitting like a mound in my chest; it feels heavy and tight, I feel stressed and dizzy, afraid and upset. It’s almost like shock.

I am obviously not detached from the death of my loved ones, especially one in particular.

What prompted me to want to write this entry was something that happened a few nights ago. I have been thinking about this, although trying not to. It has been a while since I dreamt of the person I lost, but this dream was more vivid than ever I recall. They were back, standing in their house surrounded by other family members. I recall being immediately eager to see them. I pushed through a couple of people to get to this person, and we hugged each other tightly. I told the person I’d missed them so much, and feared I’d never see them again. This person said they knew that, but that they were with me, and had been watching me and were proud of me.

It was my final dream before waking. I got up and sat on the sofa and cried.

I haven’t told anyone else about this, the reason I write it here is that it is anonymous, and no one knows me, nor will anyone in my life have to know that right now, I am crying typing these words. I am obviously still affected by a death that occurred over 10 years ago. This is something I cannot resolve for myself, I haven’t the power to make it OK for myself.

The person I still mourn was special to me, that person shaped my life and is part of who I am. If I am selfish for wishing they were still here to talk to, ask advice of, hear their opinions, debate politics with or just laugh with, then I am and I don’t think that is a flaw. I don’t want them not to rest wherever they are, they deserve to be free of their body and to be happy in a good place; but I still miss them.

This death was an unexpected event. People used to say, ‘Oh, that is a good thing no suffering’; well let me tell you it wasn’t a good death for those of us who loved that person. That was just un-thoughtful and infuriating to hear. It was like they made light of the trauma and loss, as though we should have been grateful.

There were no goodbyes for us, no time to put things in order, hear the last words, and give one final kiss. No way of understanding, coming to terms with anything. How could it have been that one moment this person was alive, and the next gone forever, where no one could follow them. I couldn’t understand the difference in those moments, like a light had been switched off. Why that person had be extinguished in such an extreme manner, with all the evidence left behind that they had merely just stepped out, and would return at any given moment. It was cruel.

I couldn’t get that straight for years; that severed separation without warning left a deep wound. I kept asking the questions, wanting all the medical reasons and I hated everything and everyone for it being as it was. It was like unfinished business. I felt cheated, lied to and deceived, guilty too. In those moments I would have gladly shared my own life with that person so they could have lived on. I begged for that and prayed for it. Death couldn’t be the end.

What made it worse was the fact there had been this over bearing feeling of doom. A lingering and awful feeling that wouldn’t leave. I felt something terrible was going to happen, something I couldn’t change. In fact I felt it on that very morning of that person’s death, and ignored it. I didn’t go and see that person as something inside my self urged me to. I thought I was just being melodramatic, but after gaining a call when I was nearly 70 miles away that day to return home, I knew immediately it was going to be the worst news that greeted my return.

People don’t have to believe what I felt, but I know what I felt, and those around me know too, because they were there every time I told them something bad was going to happen. I felt that it was going to be something horrendous, so bad, it would make me cry hysterically.

I felt guilt, if only I had said and done something as a reaction to this feeling. Maybe I could have intervened and changed what happened. I felt I had let them and myself down. I felt I was a terrible person; by ignoring my bad feeling, I had just let the person die.

Writing this now was something I thought I’d never do, as I even avoid talking about it, because as I have mentioned already it is painful and distressing. I don’t like how it makes me feel still, sick, all through my system. Yet, it is there and somewhere I feel I have to let it go.

I can cope with most things life throws at me, but this is one thing I still cannot cope with and feel it still. This has created a great concern in me; that those I love will end up the same, and I won’t be there to see them, to comfort them to tell them I love them. That they will leave me the same way, without goodbye. I am frightened of that, not of my own death, but anyone else’s. Even admitting that scares me, it’s like tempting fate by exposing that weakness publicly, that something terrible will happen.

I’d like to know if anyone else feels like I do. I’d like to know I’m normal, and that amongst all these faceless bloggers I am somehow not alone in these emotions. Maybe this is my post where I truly write for personal therapy. I don’t want sympathy or to pull the ‘hard luck’ story, I don’t feel hard done by. I just suppose I want to gain an understanding of why I feel this way still, to gain comfort from knowing of others who have felt or do feel like me. Maybe I just needed to admit what damage grief has done, even after the years have ticked by the pain still can endure, and affect us who are left behind who just don’t understand why.

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