Memory

My memory sucks.  I need to get into the habit of writing shit down when I think of it, I get these really great or fun ideas, and and certain I'll remember.  Do I hell.  I had another song-lyric changing idea yesterday, can I remember now what song it was?  Pah.  My only possibly clue is I was listening to 90s radio, so well, pick a song from that decade... grrr. *slaps self in frustration*

Where It's At

I haven't yet been able to properly grieve for the fact that to all intents and purposes I've already lost my mum.  She's not the same lady I love so much, her body is a shell for a damaged brain.  I get glimpses of her now and then but in many ways that's even more heartbreaking.
The reason I'm not letting myself grieve for this yet is that I need to stay strong for her, to make sure that I make her as comfortable and as happy as possible for the all-too-brief time she has left.
There are other things I know are going to hit me over and over like a spring-loaded bullet train.  Any children I have will never meet her - they'll know of her, they'll know her through me and my siblings, especially I think through me and my baby bro - but they won't know her.  I won't have a mum there to support me with all the baby-pregnancy stuff.  It hurts me and it scares me shitless.
I won't have that person there who is proud of me, to cheer me on, to see me complete my degree studies or to see me acting, to see my plays performed or things I've directed; to share the moments when you just want your mum there.  My Dad's still around and God bless him, he is probably proud of me in his own way but doesn't know how to express it.
This isn't meant as a pity party.  It's just the stages I'm going through.  Grief that sticks in your throat like vomit when you aren't near a basin.  It ain't pretty.

When this is all done, I'll watch the episode of Buffy called The Body and cry my fucking heart out.

Pain and its methods

After the great, body-shaking, stomach-shattering grief of diagnosis, you kick into high gear.  I'm designated '4 of 5' - the second youngest sibling.  But I've kicked into high gear, organising the care rota (that my sister can't seem to stick to), kicking backsides to make sure the wreck of a house is shipshape, making a system for ensuring the four of us currently in this country pass on relevant information to each other to ensure the best care for mum.  

It wears you out, for sure.  It's a pain-numbing process, action over anger/fear/pain is an equation that will never quite add up. But it's the right thing to do.  Keep calm, carry on; fall apart later.

And yes, that is fine in theory.  I can hold myself together while my most important lady sees out her days in peace.  I can do it for her.  But understandably, the pain seeps out slowly somewhere, like a pus-filled wound.

I'm unable to think quite clearly.  I get angry.  I'm distracting myself with randomness, I'm avoiding the obvious addictions like alcohol (unlike, once again, my sister) and drugs, but cigarettes and sex are cravings that I can't quell.  I've become attention-seeking, and get irrationally upset when I don't get that attention.

Still, I think, overall, the bottle it up but drip-drip it out method is best; I'm lucky to have some wonderful supporters, who can spare me a few minutes each day to let me rant or moan, then move on to keeping positive.

But ultimately, I'm sat here waiting for the lady I love most in the world to leave me.  I don't want her to be in pain.  But the end of hers is only the flood barrier opening on mine.

Warrior

When this darkness takes your light,
Do not feel you’ve lost the fight.
Although you will have left us here,
To sleep forever, do not fear,
You’ll leave us with your greatest part,
Your loving, beloved, warrior’s heart.

I've been numb for weeks now.  Hearing that your mother has a terminal brain tumour and only has weeks to live is a shock, unsurprisingly.  You spend the first 24 hours or so screaming your tears, retching your guts out, passing out with the rawness of your heart.  Then you finally cry yourself to sleep.  You wake up, kick into high gear to make preparations for her to come home, so you don't have time to think anymore.
She comes home, and you are fine for a week or so.  Then you realise just how tired you all are, how hard it is to have to look after someone you love so deeply but who can't go the bathroom themselves and sometimes forgets who you are.  To see them in pain, to feel like they've become the child and you've become the parent.
You try to stay strong and calm because everyone else seems to not know what to do or is falling apart; you don't want to tell them that you don't know either and that you're falling apart in all sorts of little ways.  Your every instinct is telling you to just run away and hide and not come back.  You're angry and in pain and can understand why people turn to something - drugs, alcohol, religion - something, anything, strong enough to distract you from the pain.  From their pain.
Shit shit shit shit shit.