Tues., Nov.9,2004

... are the times like last night, when i was awakened by this ungodly retching coming from the bathroom, right next to my bedroom. lord, you'd think emil's lungs were coming up; if the entire house didn't hear it and awaken, i would be surprised.

i made sure he wasn't spewing blood or spiking a temperature. he was okay but in mid-bloort, so back to bed i went and left him to finish up. okay, i giggled some because it sounded so over-the-top and reminded me of my dad in his drinking days. that was at 3:30.

although emil cleaned up after himself, he didn't do a very good job of it. the sight caused me to gag too, so i had to leave it as it was and get out of the bathroom, hoping i could handle it better in the morning. talk about your useless procrastination. violent pukage was repeated at 4:40, and again at 5:30 and at 9 when i made him drink half a glass of gingerale. he had asked for a pail to keep by his bed, and that was fortunate because he didn't make it out of his room that last two times. poor little jigger.

gord had no problems dealing with this kind of stuff, and would just do it without a second thought. he could clean up barf like a trooper. too bad he won't be here till tomorrow evening.

Monday, Nov. 8, 2004
7:52 p.m.

Last night there was a television program about a businessman from Stettler, Alberta, who went down to Florida to participate in a firewalking workshop and learn to teach others how to do it. He was very enthusiastic and quite likeable and of course I wanted to see him succeed. And he did. I imagine half the good folks around Stettler think he’s a nutbar, but hey, a nutbar who can walk on fire is not someone to sneeze at.

In the course of the show there were several statements that jumped out at me. One was the comment that we work through fear by looking squarely at it, then put it in a box and set it aside so we can GO FOR what it is we want rather than allowing our fear to stop us from trying.

I have been thinking about this today, for two reasons.

One, Dad told me the other day that he isn’t hopeful that Mom will outlive her doctor’s prediction; he’s seen three friends diagnosed with kidney cancer and they died right on schedule. Dad believes things are only going to get worse from here on in.

I didn’t argue with him, because he may very well be right. He doesn’t want to be. I can’t accept the belief that Mom’s going to die soon and there’s not a damn thing to be done about it. It was a rough night after that little exchange; I was feeling a lot of anger about what Mom is going through, and intense sorrow. These emotions aren’t always on the surface these days, and that conversation must have stirred them up again.

How can I cope with this right now? In view of the TV show, I’m thinking it might be worth trying to put my fears and worries into a little mental box, set them aside, and GO FOR IT — put all my energy into believing that if anyone can have a remission, Mom can. It doesn’t mean I am in denial about what she is facing here. If I was in denial, I'd still be back on the farm in Saskatchewan. No; it just means I am putting my focus and attention on what I want, instead of what I don’t want. I doubt that adopting such an attitude is going to make any of it harder on me if the worst does happen. There is no such thing as being prepared for the death and dying of one’s mother, anyway. A huge chunk of my heart is coming out when she goes, whether I am expecting her death or not.

Two, my discomfort about making that tape Mom asked for. Karen presented me with an opportunity — someone she works for, whom I actually read tarot cards for recently, whose husband has a recording setup of some kind, knows a piano student, and so on and so forth. They would be willing to help me do this, Karen said, and I groaned. Shit. So hey, what is my big problem? What am I so afraid of? That my mother will have this tape of me warbling away and make everyone who comes to her house listen to it? Heh, yep, that’s just like her. But that's the least of my concerns. So anyway, I need to have a closer look at this fear, set it aside along with my dislike of my voice, and GO FOR IT — Mom likes the voice, that’s what matters here; I don’t have to listen to it. I may be embarrassed as hell both while singing and afterward if I hear the tape, but Mom will be happy. That’s what I need to focus on; it's the least I can do. It’s a real hurdle for me, too. I like to think I can get over myself long enough to do something nice for someone else, especially Mom, especially now, but I’m not so sure.