Friday, August 26, 2011
Grabbed by the past again.
I was wanting some more photos today - of birthday cards and flowers.
But we didn't get there.
I have idled this morning too much.
This afternoon I went to see Frieda - I am worried about her state of health. She has been to see a dermatologist about a scabby growth on her nose.
The diagnosis seems to have been pretty well instant - but Frieda doesn't know what she has got.
Poor Frieda - she couldn't understand why he asked so many questions. In particular she has no idea why he asked her about her sun bathing habits when she was young.
He outlined 2 courses of action.
She could go to Guildford every day for 2 weeks for treatment or she could have it removed, although it will leave a big scar.
She can't imagine what the teatment at Guildford would be and feels it would be too much for her - the journey and everything.
And I don't think she realises how big the scarring will be - because she feels she won't mind it at all.
She can't understand what all the fuss is about because it doesn't hurt. It has taken a lot of bullying from her daughter to get this process started.
Of course thoughts of Guildford and cancer take me back - to earlier times for both me and my mother.
Oh the past......it does keep a hold over us doesn't it?
I couldn't resist a quick look at some of the letters written by my parents, stored in a suitcase.
These go back to the war years of their courtship and marriage.
Some are extremely personal indeed.
Mostly I have been reading those written by my mother.
Mother died when I was 22 - so for at least half of my life to that point I had been the awkward adolescent; a time when relationships between mothers and daughters can be fragile.
I didn't know how to understand her - and she didn't really know how to relate to me. I can recall just little glimmers of being close.
Maybe if she had had the chance to live - like I have had, she might have reached a point when she felt much stronger, less vulnerable and more able to feel confident with others.
Her 1940s letters reveal deep love for my father and for me. This evening I feel close to her and feel I have a better understanding of who she was.
I wish we could have shared more - but life and time ran out for us.
But I think that this trip into their lives should be over. The amount written was phenomenal and the papers are in an extreme muddle.
I am glad to have dipped into their young world - but I have to let it go.
But reading the letters is addictive - just one more! Perhaps a few more before bed time.....and then back to the reality of my world and relationships.
But we didn't get there.
I have idled this morning too much.
This afternoon I went to see Frieda - I am worried about her state of health. She has been to see a dermatologist about a scabby growth on her nose.
The diagnosis seems to have been pretty well instant - but Frieda doesn't know what she has got.
Poor Frieda - she couldn't understand why he asked so many questions. In particular she has no idea why he asked her about her sun bathing habits when she was young.
He outlined 2 courses of action.
She could go to Guildford every day for 2 weeks for treatment or she could have it removed, although it will leave a big scar.
She can't imagine what the teatment at Guildford would be and feels it would be too much for her - the journey and everything.
And I don't think she realises how big the scarring will be - because she feels she won't mind it at all.
She can't understand what all the fuss is about because it doesn't hurt. It has taken a lot of bullying from her daughter to get this process started.
Of course thoughts of Guildford and cancer take me back - to earlier times for both me and my mother.
Oh the past......it does keep a hold over us doesn't it?
I couldn't resist a quick look at some of the letters written by my parents, stored in a suitcase.
These go back to the war years of their courtship and marriage.
Some are extremely personal indeed.
Mostly I have been reading those written by my mother.
Mother died when I was 22 - so for at least half of my life to that point I had been the awkward adolescent; a time when relationships between mothers and daughters can be fragile.
I didn't know how to understand her - and she didn't really know how to relate to me. I can recall just little glimmers of being close.
Maybe if she had had the chance to live - like I have had, she might have reached a point when she felt much stronger, less vulnerable and more able to feel confident with others.
Her 1940s letters reveal deep love for my father and for me. This evening I feel close to her and feel I have a better understanding of who she was.
I wish we could have shared more - but life and time ran out for us.
But I think that this trip into their lives should be over. The amount written was phenomenal and the papers are in an extreme muddle.
I am glad to have dipped into their young world - but I have to let it go.
But reading the letters is addictive - just one more! Perhaps a few more before bed time.....and then back to the reality of my world and relationships.
