Monthly Archives: May 2020


I have always treasured and fiercely defended my alone time. Revelled in the luxury of it.

But this is the first time i have been truly alone, without friends and neighbours and colleagues dropping in, for work or fun, shared meals or walks, been without meetings and greetings every day or two.

First time alone without my partner – in the bush, on the lighthouse, never really alone. Pissed off, driven crazy sometimes, yes, but for sure not alone. Folks, if you have people living with you, you are not isolated. Give up that guff.

It is also the longest time i have been unable to see my love in the care home. I know some day i will never see him again, but that will be goodbye. Closure, at least, no matter how hard and bitter. Over, at least on the physical level.

And maybe at that time i can go out and about again. In fact, i will,  no matter the covid situation, because it will not matter anymore.

But now, while my friends gather and share, I remain clostered, trying to make it feel like a mission instead of madness. Waiting, because i fear not being allowed in to see him if I am careless. We have no idea what the rules will be when this cruel separation is over, but i feel the only thing i can do is guard myself, to guard him and all the others.

Meanwhile, and all this while, the world has gone on its merry way.

i do not see my friend who only sees her family … or my friend who is very careful but travels to see her family, or my friend who distances from her family but visits many others every week. Or my family here who have their own hard and busy lives. Etc etc etc

Now with summer we might be able to do the 6 feet thing, although my hearing and instincts are to be closer to people. An ape at heart, as we all are.

And now it is Mother’s Day. I have no children and my mother and father are dead, my brother and sister far away. The family i have here are my love’s family.

When i was very very poor – like can’t afford a dozen eggs because of the rent poor – Christmas was the hard time, to see all the people with big packages and bags containing stuff I could not imagine.

Now for the very first time, Mother’s Day is making me, a lucky and i think loved, well housed  senior feel poor again. And very alone.




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The Window Visit

As I feared, the Window Visit was a disaster, at least for me. He will not remember.

After resisting for weeks, and a soul-rattling conversation with one of my sisters in sorrow, I gave in to the temptation.

I was told he was up and about and I thought, what if i never see him again? Just as i have been driven since the unrecognised pneumonia episode last July: “Better go check” so i did.

It was a little creepy scouting along the building, but the lawn area of the big dementia window,  no longer mouldy or cracked (victory!), held bird feeders and nesting boxes i think, and sparkly windmills. Cheerful. It looked like someone cared.

So I knocked on.the window and a lovely care aide brought My Man over. After some cueing, he saw me, and i swear i saw him say “what are you doing there?”

Of course even if he could hear me no answer would make sense, so I just waved and blew kisses and held out my hand toward him.

Slowly he reached out to try to hold it, over and over. The glass of course was in the way, and he reached down and then upwards… seeking.

My heart shattered, again. Who knew there were so many pieces to break in a broken heart?

Soon he went wondering off, to try to give his afternoon muffin to another lady,  said the care aide.

At some point we must learn to distinguish between health care and torture.





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