today has been 'one of those days' so far.my son left on time for school- through the window because I couldn't find the door key to unlock it. he returned 15 minutes later having discovered at the station that he'd no money on his oyster card. at 8 30 we left for school for my daughter-waiting also on a phone-call from her dad who was going to phone the doctor's at 8 45 to make an appointment for her impetigo.
I parked in a legitimate place and then got a call from her dad with a doctors appointment. so we got back in the car to leave her school and take my son- now very late - to school. an oncoming bus facing me was stuck in the road. cars were piling up on my left waiting for the bus to pass so they could drive through the road. it became apparent that it was my car blocking the bus. so with an audience of proud walkers-to-school, and general onlookers, i was made to take the punishment for daring to drive to school and reverse- with a bus man holding up the traffic, backwards onto a mini roundabout. red faced, i sped away from the scene cursing man in general.
next scene- i have written son a note to explain yet another lateness to what seem like very drone like unempathetic individual teachers.. we are driving him to school- tank empty- pull into garage, fill up the car- a bit, chipping into rent money, go inside do small shop for daughter's breakfast (further chipping into the rent)- fuit and some bits for supper later (not much enthusiasm for cooking or shopping). I go to pay. my card is declined. it dawns on me after a second try that i have the wrong bank card- this one is my old bank card- i know where the right one is. it is in the jacket i left on the sofa and chose at the last minute this morning, as i started the engine, not to go back and get as we set off on this darned journey, but i search my chaotic bag anyway in the hope i put my card back in it's proper place as my husband and old ladies always remind me to. i search for my card under the scrutiny of the fastly-becoming -unsympathetic checkout lady's patient unmoving watch and a teem of po face lady faces queuing behind me tapping their watches with unsmiling faces. i want to make a public announcement that my sister has died and i can't be blamed for this, that i am a veritable walking mess and so low i need to be scraped off the floor, and then i find myself saying to the now present manager standing , arms by sides, next to check out lady: sorry my sister has died and i am all over the place and i left my proper card in my jacket which is at home. i want to sit down and talk to her with a cup of tea and plenty of sympathy right there at the check out. i want to talk about my sister and how painful and unfair this all is. she relaxes slightly and her eyes soften a bit. -sorry sister i am not using your name in vain but this is just what you've done to me since you've gone, i am a mess i can't be normal without you in the world. after being told the police may be called if i don't return soon to settle the cost, i leave my driver's licence and take my increasingly miserable son to school where he looks forward to a day of classes he dislikes, like P E, with boys who are repeatedly chosen to pick teams; never pick him; swear at him and become aggressive and demeaning if he misses a shot, and a teacher who talks in street slang.
all the time the sun beats down on this spring morning as i drive through forest hill to dulwich and back again to new cross to the doctors, and it beats down through the filthy car windows into my face and it beats down into my head and keeps telling me that my sister is gone.my dream from last night patterrs through my mind; the one which goes back in time to an old flat i used to live in and in which we carry our dead sister around for days until she opens her eyes and tells me to get on with what ever it is we are doing. but sometimes in my dream her lifeless body won't be carried around and collapses. my other sister cuddles and kisses her and her eyes open, we are not even shocked but in my dream i cry in case this is why we should never bury our loved ones, what if she wakes up in the grave i scream to my other sister...and a dream where my grandpa with alzhimers has a horse made of metal and he falls off it and cosies up to me in a foggy place and demands i take him on an exciting journey. i have nowhere to take him, he is old and also mixed with his young man self. he leaps on his horse to show off and then falls off. he is dependent on me and yet i am not capable of being depended on in my dream.
back in my car i wear my sisters black hat pulled over my hair and forehead and i stare sullenly through the window at oncoming traffic and all the faces that i see seem to be distorted into mean grimaces and unsmiling expressions.
i have never felt more kind to people than now; and any sensitivity in shops for example, works well on me. the need for human empathy and compassion over the smallest thing- like what's in stock-or a smile from the till girl, can make or break my emotional make up.
i spy a mean mum of a kid who has always resisted friendship with my son and excluded him from conversations and who runs away like a baby if my son ever comes near or waves his hand past his nose and such like things and i see nothing but a mean whippet ahead of me, a face of unsmiling eyes and witchy intent with organic trousers on and a black ominous cape. i used to say hello, now i mostly see straight through her. i used to vaguely care about her organic vegetarian anti american open dislike of first my son- for threatening her son years ago, following yet another provocative comment from her little but very fasty child,and then her open disdain for me- and total blanking to us- friendly- both.
now i see the error of my ways, of my concern for these insignificant small things.
at home the washing plunders on, the piles of filthy plates pile higher and wait precariously for a burst of sane enthusiasm which may see them washed up and put away. my daughter spits out the vile tasting medicine form the doctors that should destroy the impetigo if she completes the entire course, and my tiny son chews felt tip pens and cries with a cold.
i write on here to try and expel it all.
and i wonder if these dreadful days will end.
my comfort has gone.
'we must let them go'- a kind lady i know and who has heard of my loss and hugs me hard on the way home says.
'we must try not to be forever sad, we must send our love to them' she says- her sister in law died recently too. she does know of the thing we speak of.
it makes sense in another person's mind, but it is no good, i can't let her go. how can i let her go?
both of my at home children are asleep and it is nearly time to return to the garage with their money for the petrol i took but could not pay for. the sun still blares through he window onto the dirty kitchen floor and onto the table strewn with clutter and things and the birds tweet incessantly outside.
soon this silence this time alone just typing out this all must come to an end. i must wake them both up, tired and groggy and miserable with waking, and carry them to the car and go to get my son.
who knows what the day will still bring and whether my mind will stop aching and my heart stop thumping with this sadness.
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