Blogs may be patchy for a while.  Today is the first anniversary of my father’s death.  I cannot believe how terrible the year has been.

This week was the first in two years that my husband and I had some time alone to discuss all that has happened but the time for us did not eventuate.  On Thursday a doctor ushered me into a very nicely decorated room and suggested I sit on the sofa.  I have lived long enough to know that there is no bad news which can be improved by soft furnishings, so I sat on the hard chair.  The news was the most annoying kind, which is to say the last two tests were inconclusive.  They’d very much like to take large portions of my anatomy away, just in case.  This would involve six weeks off from looking after my demented mother.  No such thing exists.  There hasn’t been a day since my father died free of looking after my mother.  I ring her three times a day and quite often several times a day, agencies, or her few remaining friends, ring me to put me under pressure to do something or other.  The legal niceties are still not concluded and I am frightened my grabby cousins will try to extract money from my mother’s will as they did from my father’s.

Yesterday I thought I’d have a day to marshal my arguments in favour of not cutting me up and even got a pad of paper ready.  Then, naturally, the care agency rang to say my mother had got hold of her medication and over dosed, for the third time.  She is now in hospital, again.  I got up this morning feeling full of dread and couldn’t think why I felt so depressed until I realised my mother has OD on drugs, again, I have legal, financial, family, friends, practical and emotional difficulties.  I am still dealing with the fall out of my father’s decision to leave his body to medical science without telling me and trying to arrange the same for my mother, though the relevant departments at the university are on holiday and not answering emails and now I either have cancer or will have to have unnecessary surgery.

And today is the anniversary of a death I always dreaded without knowing why.

Blogs may be a bit sporadic and I have had to face the fact that I probably won’t get to Miniatura, or if I do, there’ll be a panic, an overdose or some other fun and games in the middle of it.  This was my 20th anniversary year in business and meant to be a celebration.  I missed all the good stuff beginning with the Olympic games and working up and I haven’t poured porcelain for so long, I hope I’ll remember how, though before I put the kiln on I’d have to clear all my son’s junk out of the garage.

My husband is not well, my son is dependant, my mother is demented and dangerous and I may have either radical surgery or cancer.

This is not the good bit.  Some day I’ll look back on this and laugh, if I get there.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ – experiencing the roller coaster of life.

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