A Far Cry

13th September 2012 Thursday

Talking late last night with my lovely nephew over the washing up...he arrived earlier in the evening like a big gulp of fresh young air......he assembled the stand and the pedals for my husband’s keyboard with great calmness and skill and humour......my husband said he could have done it himself but then he would have had to read the instructions....

This afternoon my husband and I sit at his computer and try and compose a letter or rather three letters to the GP, the neurologist and the psychologist asking for yet more clarification as evidence for my husband’s tribunal. We argue back and forth, disagree about every sentence - get locked in a cycle of despair and rightousness. It takes hours. I feel raw and guilty about how  impatient I am with him, how close I come to screeching rage. I don’t believe any of it will make the slightest difference to the outcome.

Finally we escape  - drive to Sidmouth in blinding sunshine and walk along the sea front -  still arguing - this time about deck chairs and if they are free or not. I say you have to pay he says they are free. Then I realise he’s talking about the benches and calling them deck chairs. We sit on the rocks licking ice creams and remember the cold March day we sat in the same place with his sister’s little family - the day of his mother’s funeral.

My resolution of yesterday to listen to my husband with an open heart disappeared today like the far cry of a seagull snatched up by a gulp of wind.