Waiting for the call…

It really is true that everything can change in an instant. This time, 2 days ago, life was plodding on as normal. Now, I’m in bed, talking to you because I can’t sleep. I’m waiting on a call to tell me that my cousin has died. My cousin who 2 days ago was tucked up in bed next to the love of her life and her 6 month old daughter. My cousin whose 14 year old son is about to have his world crumble around him as he learns that his mum is dying. He lives on another island with his father, so he won’t make it in time to say goodbye to his mother. His life will never be the same again. Our lives will never be the same again.

Since finding out yesterday afternoon that my cousin was in an induced coma, on a ventilator, my mind has been awash with conflicting, disturbing thoughts. The similarities between what is happening to my cousin and what happened to my father 9 months ago have opened a wound that had barely begun to heal.

I’ve made the difficult decision not to visit her to say my goodbyes, and I feel like I’m letting everyone down. I just can’t walk into a room with the same situation going on. Triggers are everywhere in everyday life as it is, a hospital with the sound of the ventilator and the heart rate monitor would simply be too much. I get flashbacks when I hear clicking or a coffee vending machine. I rarely take taxis because they cause me to step back in time to our mode of transport in Spain to and from the hospital. Certain songs transport me to a whirlwind of anger and denial. Even the warmth of the sun on my face is enough to haunt me.

I feel so bad that I just want the phonecall to arrive. I’m wraught with guilt over wanting the news to come sooner. I know what the outcome is going to be, so I’d rather just get the news and start dealing with it. I’m trying to avoid the fear I have about attending another funeral. I’ve distanced myself so completely emotionally from the situation that I’m worried I will seem cold if I don’t cry around family members.

This morning it seemed like there would be a better outcome, but I didn’t dare to believe it. I made that mistake once with dad and it made the process worse. Getting devastating news, then being given hope just makes the sudden conclusion of life that much harder to handle. I chose not to have hope. What’s worse, I found myself thinking that it wasn’t fair. If she survived, when my dad didn’t, it just didn’t seem fair. Then we got bad news, followed by worse news. Now I’m lay here wondering that, maybe if I had believed there was hope and not been so selfish about the fairness of it all, we might have had a better ending this time around.

My mum and brother are a mess as its taken them right back to dad. They are crying and grieving dad all over again. I’ve done what I always do. I’ve shut down. I know from experience what to expect in the coming weeks. I’m going to be the strong one, the shoulder to cry on, the practical, straight thinker who holds everyone together. Then just as I feel like I’ve got everyone through the initial heartbreak to a place where they can look after each other, I’ll retreat into my isolated world and all that pent up emotion will come flooding out. It will only happen when I let it and I’m not about to do that while I’m needed. No one else seems capable of being the protector, so I do it. What’s ironic is that out of everyone in my family, I’m the only one who has a mental health problem. I’m the only one who self harms or has been suicidal. I put on a damned good facade and fool the people I’m closest to into thinking I’m some superwoman who has all her shit together. I don’t mean to do it, it’s not a conscious effort. It’s an inbuilt instinct when people are hurting and I start feeling emotion, I shut down and step up. I am what people need me to be at any given time. It makes me happy that I can be there for people, I’m dependable and caring.

I wish I had a Violet in my life to protect me. I had a Violet once, she was my best friend, but she left suddenly too. I was only a child and she was hidden from me when she became unwell. I managed to say my goodbyes but by that time she wasn’t really alive anymore. Maybe if my family had spoken openly about illness and death, I wouldn’t shut down so much?

I’ve spoken a lot about me so far, and it’s not even about me. It’s about her children, her partner, her parents. It’s about those who saw her more often than me. I don’t really deserve to grieve her death. Dad’s death is the grief I’m feeling. I’m allowed to grieve for him. I just don’t have the time. People need me and depend on me to be there for them. So for now, I’ll put my own grief on the back burner and fill the void in my heart with something else.

I love you cousin, 43 is not an age to die.  6 months and 14 years is not the age to lose a parent. This world is cruel, life is uncertain, we’re all just puppets in some sick fucks game. I know dad will look after you up there. Don’t worry, I’ll look after the troops down here. We were a formidable team, me and dad. Now we can lead together from both sides of life. Give dad a big bear hug from me and ask him how he’s doing now in himself, he will understand the joke…

Wake me up when it’s all over…. Or don’t…. – Violet x