Remembrance day, anxiety & the calming pill

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Today was rememberance day. A day to think of all our fallen hero’s & to mark 100 years since the end of the war. If it wasn’t already a sad enough day, it was made even more so by watching my mum struggle through the service because she was so anxious. Whilst we all stood, heads  lowered in a mark of respect, my mum is sitting on the church bench frantically rummaging around for a pill packet.

It was the minute silence, deathly quiet & I can see her trying her best not to make a noise but having the urgency to get to her medication. We didn’t have a drink so she dry swallowed it. I stood behind her & placed my hands on her shoulders. I could feel her shaking. Tears welled up & I tried to focus on the old veteran who was placing a wreath on the grass whilst trying not to lose his balance, the image made my tears even bigger.

We made it through the service. Whilst everyone around us seemed to only have past loved ones & memories of friends & relatives who fought on their minds, our mission was to get to the cafe next door to the church as fast as possible. My mum was pale, still so beautiful with her green/ hazel eyes, but pale & tired. We sat & had coffee waiting for the pill to work it’s calming magic.

All I want, is one day. One day, one event, one family outing where this bastard illness doesn’t ruin it. A day my mum can enjoy with no fear, no anxiety, only thoughts of the day ahead. It makes me angry. I look about & see families laughing & joking without a care in the world. Of course this isn’t always a fact. No one knows what goes on behind closed doors & all families have problems but maybe not so openly. Not in public where everyone can see her fear, see her illness. I don’t care what people think, I never have & I never will but people stare. They wonder. Today a small child was watching my mum, just curiously watching her from other side of the path. Kids are so intuitive, this little girl was staring because a lady was shaking, being comforted & it was interesting to her. There wasn’t much else to occupy her, it was boring listening to the long names of locals who lost their life to the war, she didn’t understand all of that & I get that but at the time, I felt like mouthing to the mother  “STOP YOUR KID FROM STARING”!! The mum noticed the child watching, she could have gently nudged her. I know my mum was very aware of being watched.

Wherever we go, whatever we do, it’s always there, it never goes. Almost 11 years. People say it must be so hard. Yes it is. Is is agonising, frustrating, sad, upsetting & I hate it. But it’s not my mum, it doesn’t define her, it just something she has.

 

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