As good as it gets!

It’s very easy to blame your future on your past. In truth, it’s how we cope with the life we are dealt and in which way we wish to view it. In some ways, it has been far easier for me being the ‘Strong one’. I would always be the person busily rushing around and getting on with practicalities and quite often, leaving the hurt to be dealt with after, when I had time. I am most definitely no saint and I, like any mother of small children, often has the patience of a turnip! My dealing with the death of my parents however was much easier for me because I didn’t also have to contend with ‘The big Black Shadow’.

Being an outsider to Depression is incredibly hard. In it’s very nature, it remains a fog with no particular shape: cannot be defined or described and if that’s how it is for the sufferer, what bloody hope does any loved one have in dealing with it equally. The only clarity I profess to know is that it has none. There are no questions that you can ask and worst of all, there is absolutely nothing you can do to make it dissipate. I know what you’re thinking, ‘How does she know?’, and you would be right, I am not a first person sufferer but, I bet that my description would be equally as inadequate and informative as my Brother’s. And I have still suffered from it. Once (or twice), it has tried to steal my Brother from me and we have been fighting a tug of war with ‘The Big Black Shadow’ really ever since my Mum died.

My Brother, dressed as toothpaste, if that doesn’t make you smile, nothing will.

He came into the world unusually and that is really how he has continued to live within it. When my Mum found out she was pregnant, it was a bit of a shock. This is the most amazing tit bit of information that a picked on little sister could ever obtain and believe me, I used it many times. The fact that he wasn’t planned… In other words, I reminded him he was an accident. Particularly the time that we were due to all go out to the theatre and he tripped me up, most cleverly ensuring that my chin hit the coffee table on my way down. I was wearing my Minnie Mouse glasses at the time. They never broke. That really would have been the last straw! Stunning blue plastic they were, with Minnie Mouse appendages on the side. I also had them in red. Anyway, we never got to the theatre, we went to the hospital instead and he was disgraced for days. I utterly loved it 🙂 He always managed to bring it back however. Like the time I gently placed our Volvo in car cigarette lighter on his finger when he was being particularly annoying. Burning flesh really is a rather stinky matter!

Anyway, the stinky finger story has made me digress. Don’t be dirty!!
My Brother, again not wanting to be normal, was stuck in the Fallopian tube. Quite firmly stuck apparently and alas, it appeared that he had taken a wrong turn and would have to be removed before he started to grow and caused too much damage. My family wasn’t always unlucky, we had a miracle once. By some miracle, a dirty little batch of germs found their way into my Mum’s breathing tract and she coughed so much over night in hospital the night before the operation that she shot the little blighter right into where he should be. Please understand that these are not the most defined of scientific terms and I understand it wasn’t exactly ‘him’ but, it makes the story that much more descriptive don’t you think?

Isn’t he a cheeky little monkey…

Do I think it would be different if our parents were still here with us? Of course not! Grief and Depression are two very different things. It’s testament to this that my Brother and I experienced exactly the same life events (with a few dodgy girlfriends thrown in for him) and I never became a sufferer. I still have days when I do not want to get out of bed but, that is because I am lonely. I miss them and I miss feeling that there is someone in the world that can love me no matter what I did.
I simply believe that our Mum’s death was his catalyst. It would have arisen at a later date for sure but, in his case, he had a trigger. Most people don’t, I understand that.

It’s a very selfish condition but, so is coping with it as an outsider and trying to understand. I lost count of the times that I told my Brother he should be strong and helping me cope, not adding to my worry. I was thinking about me and how I wasn’t willing to cope with more difficulties in my life but, he just couldn’t comply, he had no control. I know he loves me but, love isn’t always enough. It is to me but, I don’t suffer. I do realise it though. That much I have learned and try to apply now but, it really isn’t easy to comprehend.

When I banged my chin on that coffee table, I knew my Mum would make it feel better. She knew she could make it feel better. I cannot in my wildest dreams imagine how it must feel to know that no amount of Love can cover a wound. I understand in respect of the fact that my Mum and Dad are no longer here and I can never feel that love again, I haven’t for a long time. My forever man suffers too and I have to be supportive and acknowledge the fact that in the rest of our lives together, he will have times where nothing I can say will help but, I wish it would. Yet, my accepting of this, although frustrating will ensure that I am always there for him, completely and wholeheartedly without judgement. As I am for my Brother. It has taken me a while to get there but, the road has been a little rocky. Blimey it has been Rocky…

My Brother and I in Disney. We went every year as a family. I wish we could go together again one day.

To be continued……. I definitely don’t want you to get bored and this story is far more than one solitary blog post believe me. I hope you stick around…