Aug 22, 2014

The Cavalry

Now I've got to be careful what I say, right, because she's sat not three feet away from me, and obviously she can't overhear what I type - or can she - but you know some random percentage of communication is non-verabl and who knows what she might pick up on as she's sat there ostensibly reading a book...

Dearest Mother rode in on her white charger bright and early on Friday morning. We picked her up, bickering our way around the car park - why can't they call the ground floor the bloody ground floor - with Nicole left trying to find a parking space while I hobbled off to arrivals to find her waiting there after an early landing, a breeze through the newly automated passport control and two cups of coffee, or so she claimed.

We got saddled up pretty quickly and the first order of our day was obviously coffee so we went up the Elixir place around the corner and gots us some Eggs Benedicts and coffees to try and drag body and soul into the same general neighbourhood.

Lyra was making herself known to the clientele as we ate and no damage was done until the last minute when she decided to pick up a little, well medium-sized cafetiere, and with Nicole trying hard to relieve her of it, she thought it best to throw it across the room, discovering another valuable life lesson, to wit: glass rarely bounces.

So after that expensive little breakfast, we repaired back to the homestead a tout vitesse for unpacking.

Now, notwithstanding that Mum is sitting next to me, I am going to riff a little bit about the psychology of all this wounding, incapacity, fatigue, needing help lark, because it isn't easy, and in later times I may wish to remember how I felt about it all.

It probably won't come as news to anybody to learn that I haven't always been the most grateful or gracious of patients, either to Nicole before Mother flew in, or to Mother once she had landed like the, um, shining Angel of Salvation she has proved to be.

Because even though she's flown half way around the world in order to help, and we (I) will always be grateful for that, she is still a symbol of my utter vulnerability, in a complicated way - you know, it's not that I wish she wasn't here, I would just rather that she were here under happier circumstances.

And I recognise also that it is difficult for her to fit in, and being a solo flyer for so long makes it hard to just slot into a role within the team/family when we're all running around like very tired, very annoyed, very sore headless chickens.

So there has been butting of horns and raised voices, and some difficulty in negotiating what help is need and when, but we will get there I am sure, and I am getting better all the time, I hope.

Anyway she is here and I am glad of that. Maybe I can train her to drive without scaring the bejeezus out of me before her work is done.

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