Tag Archives: Family

About 5 months later …

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about 5 months later ...

Let’s be honest, he never actually wanted to do it.

If other people asked (and they did, often over the last few years), he always said that he didn’t see the point. Whereas I always said that I would in a moment and then, by way of justification, suggested that it meant it would be much easier if one of us had to go into hospital or if one of us dies, it would ensure the other got such things as pensions, etc.

And then came Brexit and with that a great deal of uncertainty, not least because I had never formalised anything. So I went about formalising everything and I’ve done it. But, as always, there’s a nagging doubt, an ongoing uncertainty. After all, come October 31st (or any other date that it might happen) I will cease to have the “right” to remain here but will be subject to the whims of the Italian Government, or the EU or both – who will, in turn, react to any nonsense that the British Government will dream up.

So, whereas most Italians tell me “Don’t worry, you’ll be alright”, I’m not convinced. And F knows this. And so, against his feelings he went ahead to try and get it all done as a surprise. Except that, due to bureaucracy, it was really too difficult. So, when he told me, we went about going through all the hoops anyway.

And here we are, about 5 months later, about to complete it all.

Except, he doesn’t want all the bells and whistles (which is OK) and so he has only (he has said) told one person. I have told 2.

“And afterwards?,” I asked. “People will see and will ask questions,” I added. “Your cousin will notice for sure.”
“I’ll just say it’s a present,” he replied. Which, of course, it is, technically.

But, I wonder why not tell them? Will there be (is there?) some guilt, on his part, that people won’t have had the chance to celebrate? Honestly, I don’t know. I understood not telling them before the wedding (it’s complicated). But after?

I mean, I will say, especially as I find it hard to lie to people. But that’s for my friends. Where they are his, or his family, I guess I have to go along with it. I mean to say, I don’t want to be shouting it out but, if people ask, I would like to tell the truth.

So, further, last night we were talking about it and I tried to explain my problem and he said that I should say what I want to. I tried to explain that this was fine for my friends but with joint friends or his friends and family, we should really be “in harmony” – but it really didn’t seem to bother him.

He’s a little strange sometimes. I can’t understand his motivation.

But I guess it’ll all be alright in the end.

Everything happened at 8

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Something happened at 8

Well, I really know that not everything happened at 8. Some things happened before and some afterwards but, for most of them, it seems that 8 was the magic number.

That was the year that many bad things happened. And, yet, it cannot possibly be.

So, at around 2 a.m., as I’m lying in bed and thinking why it seems that so much happened when I was eight years old, I realised there was one event that definitely, without question, happened during that year.

I can remember the date of the birthdays of most of my family. My mother, my youngest brother, my nan, my grandfather, my sister ……. but not my father nor my middle brother (or my paternal grandparents – but that’s a whole different thing). I can’t even remember the month for either of them, let alone the actual day. And the middle brother was born in the same year that I was 8. Was that it? Or is there something else? Did something happen before or after he was born that explains my justification for all bad things being when I was 8?

These thoughts came to me because, just before this I remembered “The Boiler Room”. Honestly, I don’t know why. But, it came to me and I started to remember some of the detail. And that led me to try and remember when it started. I do know it was before I was 14 but I can’t remember when it began and that’s when “8” came into my mind. But, maybe I was 10 or 12? I don’t actually remember, so “8” has claimed it as its own.

It doesn’t really matter. I thought that I would like to write a post about it and so I will. Maybe during the writing of some of these things from the past, I’ll get a handle on what the real problem with “8” is?

So, future planned posts are:
The Boiler Room
The Garden
The Birthday Present
The Hospital
The Wasps in the Window
Fencing.

There may be more that will come to me. I’ll try to cover them in the next few weeks.

Let’s do it!

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Let's do it!

There’s a glimmer of light at the end of this particular tunnel.

Or, possibly, it’s a slight crack in the paradise of life, showing the fiery core of the earth – hell.

I feel uncomfortable and, yet, still interested enough to go along with it. This is someone who may not have the preconceptions of others. And I don’t have a history with them so I, too, should have no preconceptions. And, still, I am wary.

But I should probably do it. After all, it’s not like I’m going to the gallows.

And I wonder what is going through his head. For I am someone that he doesn’t know. Someone who may have been spoken of occasionally – if ever. I am the mystery.

And what will he find? How will I be. I mean, will I be able to be “normal” given who he is?

I don’t know. I guess there’s only one way to find out …..

Let’s do it!

A dream. It could change everything.

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A dream It could change everything

The other night, within the first hour or so, I had a nightmare.

I think it’s related to “the letter” that I have written and that I may/may not send.

I was in some sort of meeting and suddenly realised that my mother and my two brothers were also there. I realised they were there when my mother spoke and said something about an event in my life (seemingly unconnected with them) that went wrong and how they were happy that they had made it go wrong (I’m afraid I don’t remember the exact details or even if the “event” had actually happened – you know what dreams are like) – and, at that point, I realised that what I had thought all along was true – they are a mean, vindictive group of people. And I said that I was glad that I hadn’t sent the letter.

And, when I woke up, I wondered if it was a sign that I shouldn’t even bother to send the letter?

So, now I’m hanging on, really in two minds about whether I should send it or not.

Let sleeping dogs lie ……. or not?

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Let sleeping dogs lie?

So, here’s the thing.

Perhaps I was wrong. I have posted about this before but it’s kinda niggling now. It’s niggling and time is running out. Of course, it’s not essential that I know. I mean, nothing will really change either way. But, you know ……..

Worse still, what if this niggling gets worse and then I find it’s too late to find out?

I’ve checked for obituaries and death notices and I can only assume she’s still alive. TBH, I expect her to still be alive. After all, her parents lived into their 80s, so she should too.

But, she is at least 79 now, possibly 80 this year (maybe older but I have a fuzzy memory of being at school and writing about her age – I was around 5 and, when she found out, I was admonished for giving away her age, ‘cos you don’t do that for ladies) – I was 5 and she was 26 which means (and I’m fairly certain about this) that she was 21 when I was born. People had babies much younger then, of course. And got married much younger too.

So, there you have it. She is the only person left alive who can verify (or not) this particular “truth”. If she should choose to. And if she doesn’t lie about it.

But, to get this “truth”, I must make contact. And, I have several problems with that.

Let’s take the simple things first. How do I start the letter? Dear who? Of course, I could just go straight into it – but that might be too cold or, for her, too odd. And then there’s her husband. I have to mention him. “Your husband” or “John” or something else? Certainly not Dad or Father.

If the thing is true, maybe she wouldn’t show it to the others. But, then again, maybe she would. And I don’t really want that. Not that it really matters but, still, I would prefer not.

Then, there is the thing that it somehow encourages some hope (in her) and I don’t want that either. Also she might be ill or at the end of her life and, although I have no specific feeling for her, I don’t want to cause unnecessary pain or suffering nor any false hopes.

Of course, if what I had believed for all these years (until recently) remains true, then the contact wouldn’t bring that. But then she most likely wouldn’t reply. And then that would be an admission on her part?

Or, if the new belief is true instead, maybe she would be heart-broken that he really was such a bastard and that he set out to permanently and irrevocably stop any contact. And, for her, that would be too much to bear and so she wouldn’t reply. So either way I would never know.

I could phone instead of a letter. But then, if it’s true/not true, hearing it would be too much …. for both of us??

On the one hand, I want to know. On the other hand, as the saying goes, for a very good reason, let sleeping dogs lie

** p.s. As I had written this post I thought I had better look up obituary or death notices, just in case. I found that she is probably around 82 so I was a few years out.

Getting closer every day

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Getting closer every day

Death happens to us all, sooner or later.

Before the Internet, it was more difficult. Information wasn’t easy to come by.

But, when I was around 15 or 16 (or even 17), I knew how to kill myself. Sleeping tablets. I knew you had to take a lot of them.

I must have been living at home, which is why I put the ages above. I went to the doctor, without telling anyone, and explained that I couldn’t sleep and could he give me something to help me sleep. I thought it was so simple. I was naive. I was a kid who knew nothing.

However, instead of giving me something, he wrote referring me to a psychiatrist. I honestly don’t know if he wrote to me or to my parents. In fact, this story of my life has been so deeply buried that it was only today that I remember it at all – and then only the pertinent things.

In any event, my parents opened the letter. They were some kind of (fundamentalist?) christians. They didn’t believe in doctors or illnesses or anything like that. And so, the idea of me going to see a psychiatrist horrified them. My father “suggested” that I didn’t need to see a psychiatrist at all and, after being very embarrassed by the fact that they found out (not thinking instead about how they came to know), I didn’t attend the appointment booked for me.

And, of course, my idea of suicide was equally scuppered.

So, maybe it was a good thing? Or maybe I should have gone to the appointment and got rid of some of the dreadful baggage that I carried around (both then and now).

But on a different but same note, this summer some things happened and I have cancer.

Well, as I’m not actually a doctor, I don’t actually know it is but suspect it is. I’ve talked about my tendency to hypochondria before now, so, you know, things happen and I think the worst but you “ignore them” and they “go away”. In this case, some things happened together at the start of the holiday (so I could hardly ruin my holiday, could I, by going to a doctor?) and some of those things are still happening.

Of course, I do understand that these things may still be happening because I believe my diagnosis. But, you know……

So, today, I’ve made an appointment to see the doctor and this will mean tests and stuff to determine if my diagnosis is correct. I’ve already been playing out all the possible consequences of these tests in my head and in my imagination – from it’s nothing, to a simple infection to a full-blown, nothing-you-can-do, terminal cancer.

And I’m both scared and not scared. “Not scared” being more “resigned” to it.

And then today I learn that a friend (or, rather, a friend’s wife) has some sort of mass on her brain. And now, at this time of my life, of course, these types of things will happen more often.

When I was a kid, death was so far away as to be something you had to actually force.

Now, death is a reality.

And it gets closer every day.

Can I find the keys to the vaults?

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And, to add to my previous post.

My memory is terrible and everyone who knows me knows this to be true.

Except, that’s not really the whole story.

My memory is very selective. It seems that I am able to blot out parts of my life to the point where I remember almost nothing. But it’s a choice, albeit an automatic “choice” in that, I don’t consciously say “OK, I will forget that part of my life” but rather that parts of my life just, simply, disappear.

The student I mentioned in the last post seemed to think it was my way of dealing with difficult or hurtful things.

This can be very convenient. It can also make things difficult.

Convenience comes with not having to remember details that may upset me or things that were difficult. Also with the fact that certain things can be revisited as if for the first time and re-enjoyed without any previous “knowledge”.

The difficulties come with things like the coming weekend. My previous best friend died a few weeks ago. We (V & I) had been on holiday with him and his family many, many times; we spent Christmasses and Easters with them and other weekends too. We just got on so well. On Thursday, I shall go to the funeral. And people will talk about things from the past.

Except, I remember almost nothing of all those years (it was, maybe, 15 years or so) and I remember almost nothing of our times together, except a few, very tiny and insignificant things.

So, I’m quite nervous about this. I will have to have my “Oh, yes, I remember it well” face on. For about 3 days. This could be more than a little difficult.

Sometimes, when people remind me of something, I will be able to retrieve it from my memory bank, from the securely-locked vault. Other times, it’s locked in a different vault and the key seems to be missing. And, no amount of prompting by others enables me to find the key. The memory remains elusive.

And, I have learnt that people will try to help you remember and that they don’t really like it if you can’t remember.

On the other hand, some things I DO remember and, because those who know me and know how terrible my memory can be, assume they have better memories than I do and will be convinced that their memory is the “correct” one, even if it isn’t.

An example of which was the argument I had with my sister one time. Talking about my Grandfather, I said that he was in his 80s and she was convinced he was in his 70s and assumed (and told me) that my memory was always bad and so I was definitely wrong. I knew I wasn’t but I couldn’t convince anyone.

Some years later I found the “order of service” of his funeral which proved he WAS in his 80s. Unfortunately, by then, my sister and I had become “estranged” again and so I was never able to say “I told you so”!

Anyway, let’s hope vaults are opened this weekend so I don’t have to hide my lack of memories too much.

Like a ghost

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So, she got me thinking.

Was it true? Did we have such a relationship that HAS affected everything else?

And then came the most disturbing thing.

I realised that, in all the memories, although she was obviously there, she had no physical presence. I mean to say, she was there – she was making or had made food; she put that blue stuff on my wasp stings; she cried in the car as they took me to university. And yet …..

When I tried to picture her or feel her touch, she was like a ghost – not real, ethereal. I couldn’t see a face. Or hands. She was always just out of vision. Just out of reach. She could have been touching me but I couldn’t feel it.

And that was strange. I could see him. He existed in both sight and feel.

But she’s not there, exactly.

So, I keep thinking, is this all part of it? Have I locked it down so well that she is being erased/has been erased by my own mind?

I was teaching something about women in business. There was a thing called “imposter syndrome”. It was said to cause the person to attribute their “success” to other factors such as luck, good timing, etc. rather than to themselves. They felt that they were always on the verge of “being found out”.

So, we were chatting about it and I explained that this was how I felt about the business I had. When people would say I was successful, I would respond with things like, “It’s not me, it’s the people that work here” or “It’s only because I happened to be in the right place at the right time”, etc.

I had forgotten that she has trained as a psychologist.

She said that this was caused by the relationship between me and my mother, up to 5 years of age. She suggested that it was because I had felt disturbed in some way when she wasn’t with me. So, that led me to thinking about the situations with and without her.

And that led me to the realisation that, in my thoughts and memories, she didn’t exist. Not really.

So, come our next lesson, I have to ask about this. To me, of course, this is normal but I’m not sure if it’s really normal or not.

A visit

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A Visit

Ay (my “niece”) and E, her boyfriend have been over for the weekend. Well, long weekend.

They came Thursday night and are leaving this morning.

To be honest, we haven’t seen that much of them. Ay (and, maybe E) like shopping, so they are out every day. Saturday night they got tickets for the football (AC Milan v somebody other team that’s not at all famous). Sunday night we cooked for them at home.

I say, “we” meaning F. He did pasta with his ragù (which is particularly nice) and the saltimbocca (using chicken fillets instead of veal) and some mixed vegetable thing. It was all really lovely and he went to lots of trouble. I mean, she isn’t my “real” relation, being V’s niece really, but they are a sweet couple and he thinks so too. He wanted to make them real Italian food, bless him.

i know he liked them because he invited them down to Carrara (when the house is finished) which he only does if he likes someone.

But it was really lovely to see them. I miss Ay (and all V’s family, to be honest) although I don’t miss the “drama” of their family life. But, in the peace and quiet of Milan, talking to them and spending some time with them, it has been really, really lovely.

So, I will miss them but I think they had a lovely time and I hope that means they’ll be over again.

I think so.

One slightly strange thing – as I never told E what he should call me, he addresses me as Uncle Andy. I’ve always felt quite strange about Ay calling me Uncle Andy but I like it – it just gives me a strange feeling. But E calling me Uncle Andy seems even weirder. However, I don’t want to correct him as it seems far to late to do that.

Shit happens

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Shit Happens

He’s been back just over a week but it seems like F O R E V E R!

I’m not really complaining, of course, but it seems I’ve rarely have a good night’s sleep since he’s been back. Such is life.

Last night wasn’t too bad except that I woke up some time around 3 a.m. and, amongst the many thoughts that crowd my brain and keep me awake, was this blog. Can you believe that?

It started off by me thinking about my brother. We haven’t “been in touch” for about a year. He stopped emailing since I explained that F’s dad was dying and that everything was a bit “up in the air” and then, even though I’ve sent an email (or two), – nothing.

I’m not particularly bothered by it one way or another but I do wonder why. And this led to the blog.

After all the trouble I went to to move it, for some reason which I don’t really understand, I’ve let it slip a bit. It’s not like I don’t have anything to say, it’s more like I don’t want to write it all down, which is strange for me. As I’ve explained before, I tend to use it as some kind of therapy and yet, right now, it doesn’t seem to work as well as it did before. Or something.

I still have the same doubts and fears about the most stupid of things but I either don’t want to write about it or can’t be bothered.

And, without regular posts, of course, blogs become a bit defunct.

And then there’s the blogs that I have listed that have suddenly become “private”. I have emailed the guy for one of them, Man of Roma, and he said he’d email me after the summer but then he didn’t. And, if you can’t see the blog, you can’t see what’s going on. Or, maybe he’s not posting? In any event, you can’t tell if there’s anything happening in his life (not that it was really about his life, as such.)

So, here I am, after the middle-of-the-night thoughts, posting something to explain why I’m not posting much. If you see what I mean.

I do have some shit going on, of course, as usual but nothing I can write about since I do need to try and sort it in my head and find a “way round” the problem (which is all to do with the effiing bureaucracy here) but let’s see what I can do first.

And, then there’s other stuff. But it’s not like any of it is exactly life-threatening, so it will keep. And it’s not like my life is terrible, as opposed to friends who are ill or dying or struggling with life in general.

And, anyway, shit just happens, right?