A family funeral thwarted my earnest intentions to blog regularly, and the high-stress event and upturned schedule quite threw me for a six. I took three days off to travel home - Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday - transforming my Monday at work into a logical friday and Friday a logical monday. I expected my abbreviated week to be a relief, but it was just disconcerting. Then two days after I returned, in the context of a weekend that was busier than usual, I developed a fleeting tummy bug, although at its passing I felt better than I had for two months. Granted, I'd attributed my earlier fatigue to the heat, and by then the weather had graciously degenerated.
I rapidly developed a mental cue-card presentation to respond to the inevitable sympathetic clucking I received upon mentioning the recent death of my grandmother. "Died peacefully.. she'd been very ill, so it was a relief, really...funeral was nice, good to see the relatives again...". My own grieving process took the form of little more than feeling extremely cranky and wishing everyone would stop imposing on me their ideas of how I should be expected to feel and just leave me in peace thanks-I-appreciate-the-sentiment-but-waaugh (At this point it may be pertinent to request NO sympathy comments or emails, thanks. I know it's only the thoughtful thing to do, but it still makes me edgy). Definitely not the best headspace to be in for an intensive three-day familyathon, not to mention my dear Mater's not-unreasonable-but-somewhat-in-your-face(-literally) views on grieving. The body was laid in state in my parents' bedroom for a couple of days so that whoever wished could view it. Once I overheard my mother nattering away to her dead mother, nudging her out of the way of the wardrobe door so she could pick suitable funeral attire. I suspect it was only thanks to a couple of the more squeamish relatives that nana wasn't trundled out to the living room to watch TV with us. Probably nana would've gotten a kick out of the idea, actually.
The funeral was nice, short and pertinent, including a brief and admittedly hilarious tribute from a local kaumatua who described his memories of that-pakeha-woman-who-married-that-slightly-ugly-fulla-Mac-Hall. Mater would say "you don't go to many funeral services where everyone's laughing like that, eh!" My ill temper couldn't help but dissipate for and after the service, although the moment the family bowled on back to the 'paca farm, I retired for a brief powernap, only to emerge two and a half hours later. During my stay Mater also insisted on poking my abs a couple of times (and encouraging other relatives to do the same) so obviously the sportfighting is still a braggable novelty. My aunt and uncle shuttled me from and to Auckland, two lazy afternoon trips involving an inexplicable number of stops for coffee and food; this is in stark contrast to the old days when He Who Made Good On Conceiving still had space to fit me into their car, and preferred to indulge in a high-speed night jaunt after work. My aunt and uncle were a touch sheepish, but I'm used to regular stops on bus trips, and appreciate the extra opportunities to stretch my legs. Languid travel suits me, I think, and I like to explore.
As for my grandmother, I didn't see much of her in the years after I left home. This had roughly coincided with my grandfather dying, so my impressions of her in those years tend to the more subdued. Even when I was still at home, I mainly remember visiting for Saturday dinner, and my siblings and me spending most of that time sitting in front of the TV, or exploring the grounds and contents of whichever home she was stationed, generally left to our own devices. My cousin, however, who spoke on behalf of all the grandchildren, remembered longer, more interactive visits. It's common knowledge in our family just how much nana cooked (like - All The Time), but it took my cousin to remind me how much nana laughed. It had been quite awful to see her so ill and frustrated in her last days, but for the rest of her long and sometimes difficult life, she was a star.
Sick at the moment, I've had three days off work and a long weekend and I still feel like a pressurised dribbling mess. It's nothing more than a cold; I keep assuming that I'll be ok "by tomorrow", but tomorrow's been delayed nearly a week now, and now I wouldn't be surprised if "tomorrow" didn't appear for yet another three days. I suspect my malady is partly caused by having to curtail my exercise regime. I always thought fit people would be able to stave off illness more effectively, but now it appears I've been hit twice - once by the cold, and once by stopping moving.
However, Mater assured me she'd had the same virus, and she had to take two days off work. Two days off work for Mater is the equivalent of a stint languishing at the end of a drip in a hospital bed for a week for your regular common-or-garden office worker, so at least I can rest assured that my sick days are more than justified.
In other news, my birthday fell on the one day that I felt reasonably normal (after three days with burning sinuses, and before two days of the classic antisocial headcold symptoms - coughing, sneezing, nose-running and long-winded complaining) and I was treated like a Queen, which I guess is appropriate given the holiday. I stepped out of my room after showering and dressing, only to be berated by the Good Fairy: "Ummm...can you go back to bed please? I'm five minutes away from finishing breakfast-in-bed for you, but now you've spoiled the surprise." So I ate breakfast-out-of-bed - quiche and freshly-squeezed juice. The previous day I was at work long enough to receive Steven Seagal and flowers from Joanna with a lovely personal message that made me cry, and congratulated me on my "23rd" birthday.
I ventured into the city library to see the Ruby Suns, and would've gotten a happy birthday song if I'd asked - notwithstanding it'd be awfully lame to ask a band to sing you happy birthday. I got a call from my best-friend-in-the-whole-world, who is currently in the UK, but I was greatly confused that the phone number of the missed call was from China (calling card, apparently). I got a birthday card from Jessie with a great fighting move and giant cleavage gracing the cover. I got a box of chalk from Karl. I got two astoundingly comfy cushions from the Good Fairy and his man (although it took just 24 hours for them to re-commandeer the cushions whilst reclining at opposite ends of the couch. Pah! Indian givers). I had snacks and drinks with friends, then went to a gig. Unfortunately I became a zombie (moan, moan) around 11pm, so I was home by midnight, and asleep by 12:30. Sunday I lamented my invalid state with my family, who had all turned out (excluding the perennial prodigal, who was in France right at that point) to celebrate with me and ply me with blessings, dinner and money.
When I turned up at the MGOC family's place, I got a big hug from the Sole Heir. MGOC asked him "why's Auntie Heather here?" to which he replied "birt-day!" He learns mighty fast; especially when the subject of his lesson can be turned to food. He subsequently stomped around the kitchen shouting "birt-day party" "birt-day cake" "birt-day cake" "BIRT-DAY CAKE!!", increasingly plaintively. Birthday cake was supplied by MGOC in the form of Death By Chocolate, after the Sole Heir was safely stashed in his bed.
A couple of weeks ago my mum told me that the tumour they'd whipped out was malignant, and she was waiting for an all-clear just to ensure they'd gotten it all. She didn't say it was malignant at first though, she told me it was "the big nasty". I doubt we'll be hearing much of the C-word in our family, fair do's to that.
Today my sister informed me that this particular big nasty has quite a high incidence of recurrence, in different organs. I'm a bit bummed out by this.
Fortunately, my mum is a woman of boundless kiwi-born she'll-be-right-mate optimism, and probably if anything's going to save her, her insistence that it's a mere flesh wound would make the top of the list. Probably we won't even notice there's anything wrong until she just keels over one day...at 94.
In other news, I'm booking a two-week trip to China in October. I'm rather excited.
Bah! Who am I kidding?
I'm sick to my stomach.