Sheila's Magic continues...
For the previous episode click here.
My sister Mandy.
Mandy's funeral was on 12th February 2011. See my post about her antic's.
Following the reception we retired to Premier Inn Castleford, for the night. My son Chris and my mum, Little Betty, sat together for breakfast. He had a rash on his chest and showed it to Nanan, the name we all call her. Nanan made him promise to go to the hospital the next day, a Saturday.
We all said our goodbyes and we, my ex wife Kerry and I, returned to our home in Dartmouth for the first time in months. I had a long bath, way too much alcohol and fell into a deep and dark sleep; knowing Mandy's death had yet to impact! As ever, I had been Mr organise, making stuff happen and keeping busy. No alcohol for almost 5 months.
I planned long walks along the rugged coastline. We talked about walking the South West Coast path and finding a way to rekindle our faltering marriage. The need to process, scream, shout and let it all hang out, never felt stronger.
I woke about 1100, bloody sore head and remembered it was Sunday, Valentines day. Shower, coffee and down ninety seven steps into town. Somerfield supermarket for a card, flowers and a bottle of bubbly.
Climbing ninety seven steps for the second time, I had left my wallet at home, was not fun.
I hid the flowers in the kitchen, made a drink and headed upstairs to bed. I had turned my mobile off as wanted no interruptions for days. The house phone rang and kept ringing. Fuck, please go away. I picked up the phone, really quite angry:
'Dad' was all Emily said. My world fell apart. Chris had 'Germ Cell Cancer', in his chest. Testicular cancer in his chest? Yes!
My son Chris was admitted to hospital on Monday morning, Charring Cross, London. Given a beaker, a dodgy porn mag, sent to a cubical and told to sing 'Bread of Heaven'. How it did it, I will never know.
Hospital five days, Chemo in and out twice a day. Seven days at home needing daily vitamin injections and back to Charring Cross for five more days. Overcrowded ward, screaming patiants and the rest. My ex wife, Kerry, is now an Acupuncturist. She says the inspiration came from injecting her son. Funny how the Universe works.
Six weeks later transferred to Hammersmith hospital. Rib-cage cut open down middle, greatly shrunken tumour removed, bit of heart and lungs, and big steel staples to put it all back together again.
We had stayed in Dartmouth for two days, it was another three months before we returned.
Chris is now happily married with two amazing Children of his own making.
When we finally arrived home in Dartmouth my marriage imploded.
Last night, after Sheila's anger, she started climbing over me to get out of bed. She needed a wee and we made it to the commode, by the bed. Done, she sat on the side of the bed and put her hand out for water and pills.
We then sat holding hands for what seemed like an eternity. Sheila and I have often talked about Mandy. She would have loved her.
As we sat, my tears started uncontrollably. Sheila squeezed my hand.
At last, I can truly process the death of my sister, Amanda Jane Rose [Lambert] aged 49.
Sheila's magic never ends.
She is sleeping today.
However..
I woke about 1100 for a pee, ambled , wobbled, very sober but still dehydrated from warm room, all windows battened, storm raging. Along the stone floor, fire still in but only just. Long dribbles (waiting for a scan) and kettle on. House so warm, naked is good.
I shuffle to the lounge, my Achilles and prostate combined got me a new shiny Blue Badge last week.
I'm hallucinating!!!
The Buddha on the window ledge [cant spell cill] has exponentially grown into a life size one. Oh fuck, I stand bolt upright, in all my naked power.
Cornelia Fey, is sat meditating. She also conducted our wedding ceremony.
I sobbed, put some clothes on, then processed (dippy hippy speak for cry and shit) all over her for ages.
She saw my post at 0400 and was here for 0900. Om Cornelia Frey. x
My sister Mandy.
Mandy's funeral was on 12th February 2011. See my post about her antic's.
Following the reception we retired to Premier Inn Castleford, for the night. My son Chris and my mum, Little Betty, sat together for breakfast. He had a rash on his chest and showed it to Nanan, the name we all call her. Nanan made him promise to go to the hospital the next day, a Saturday.
We all said our goodbyes and we, my ex wife Kerry and I, returned to our home in Dartmouth for the first time in months. I had a long bath, way too much alcohol and fell into a deep and dark sleep; knowing Mandy's death had yet to impact! As ever, I had been Mr organise, making stuff happen and keeping busy. No alcohol for almost 5 months.
I planned long walks along the rugged coastline. We talked about walking the South West Coast path and finding a way to rekindle our faltering marriage. The need to process, scream, shout and let it all hang out, never felt stronger.
I woke about 1100, bloody sore head and remembered it was Sunday, Valentines day. Shower, coffee and down ninety seven steps into town. Somerfield supermarket for a card, flowers and a bottle of bubbly.
Climbing ninety seven steps for the second time, I had left my wallet at home, was not fun.
I hid the flowers in the kitchen, made a drink and headed upstairs to bed. I had turned my mobile off as wanted no interruptions for days. The house phone rang and kept ringing. Fuck, please go away. I picked up the phone, really quite angry:
'Dad' was all Emily said. My world fell apart. Chris had 'Germ Cell Cancer', in his chest. Testicular cancer in his chest? Yes!
My son Chris was admitted to hospital on Monday morning, Charring Cross, London. Given a beaker, a dodgy porn mag, sent to a cubical and told to sing 'Bread of Heaven'. How it did it, I will never know.
Hospital five days, Chemo in and out twice a day. Seven days at home needing daily vitamin injections and back to Charring Cross for five more days. Overcrowded ward, screaming patiants and the rest. My ex wife, Kerry, is now an Acupuncturist. She says the inspiration came from injecting her son. Funny how the Universe works.
Six weeks later transferred to Hammersmith hospital. Rib-cage cut open down middle, greatly shrunken tumour removed, bit of heart and lungs, and big steel staples to put it all back together again.
We had stayed in Dartmouth for two days, it was another three months before we returned.
Chris is now happily married with two amazing Children of his own making.
When we finally arrived home in Dartmouth my marriage imploded.
Last night, after Sheila's anger, she started climbing over me to get out of bed. She needed a wee and we made it to the commode, by the bed. Done, she sat on the side of the bed and put her hand out for water and pills.
We then sat holding hands for what seemed like an eternity. Sheila and I have often talked about Mandy. She would have loved her.
As we sat, my tears started uncontrollably. Sheila squeezed my hand.
At last, I can truly process the death of my sister, Amanda Jane Rose [Lambert] aged 49.
Sheila's magic never ends.
She is sleeping today.
However..
I woke about 1100 for a pee, ambled , wobbled, very sober but still dehydrated from warm room, all windows battened, storm raging. Along the stone floor, fire still in but only just. Long dribbles (waiting for a scan) and kettle on. House so warm, naked is good.
I shuffle to the lounge, my Achilles and prostate combined got me a new shiny Blue Badge last week.
I'm hallucinating!!!
The Buddha on the window ledge [cant spell cill] has exponentially grown into a life size one. Oh fuck, I stand bolt upright, in all my naked power.
Cornelia Fey, is sat meditating. She also conducted our wedding ceremony.
I sobbed, put some clothes on, then processed (dippy hippy speak for cry and shit) all over her for ages.
She saw my post at 0400 and was here for 0900. Om Cornelia Frey. x
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