Thursday, February 6

Crying games

Mum didn't have a good day yesterday. Dad brought her over for a visit, but she only managed the couch. She had a headache and has difficulty managing the pain. When I say that, over the day she took two panadol. One at 2 and one at 4. Just regular panadol - not forte or anything. Just the basic stuff. I say that because I will pop 2 panadol if I have a little twinge before it goes anywhere, or even sometimes, just in case! It obviously got worse, and she was visibly sick. The boys were upset by it and Dad managed to get her home, but of course we were all worried about her.
She is apparently doing better today, but again when you can't see, you don't really know. I went off to my pilates class to relieve some stress and just really to forget about it all. How wrong I was. The myotherapist who treats dad was there and up for a chat. I was telling her about it when my instructor came in. She wasn't really aware of the extent of her illness, because I don't need to talk about it all the time, but in explaining I was getting upset. Rather than moving on and letting me get under control and not cry, she was pushing me more into it (in a nice way).
What she was trying to do was getting me to move through it rather than continuing to suppress it. She put me down the back and encouraged me to cry. Giving me privacy and the occasional prod to keep letting it out. Also movements to help the energy move.
Much as it sounds hippy dippy, it actually worked. I am not cured if there is even such a thing, but it made me feel better. There was no one hugging me trying to console me. I was allowed to just be. The only problem was in opening those flood gates, I didn't know how to close them. I couldn't stop. I was all sooky at home and even at school and basketball training, people are asking for an update and I am bawling all over the place. Not from sadness, just because I can't stop. What was good it that it gave them, and me, the opportunity to talk about it. I'd rather people know and feel able to talk than tiptoeing around. One of my friends recently lost her mother, wrote me a lovely note with this poem:

Hapy little memories go flitting though my mind
All in my thoughts and memories I always seem to find
The picture of your face, Mother; the memory of your touch
And all teh other little things, I've come to treasure so much
You cannot go beyond my thoughts or leave my love behing
Because I keep you in my hear and forever on my mind.

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