The Good, The Bad and the Ugly - Part Deux.

Well we covered ugly. Now I guess I have to present the other two. Working on the same premise, hardest up.

The Bad:
*Sigh*... Where to begin, oh where to begin.

Today started with a bad night. I will not elaborate too much other than to say I woke at 1 am, cold and sore, on the floor of the lounge near my boys' bedroom. And it went downhill from there.

Thus the sun rose this morning to shine its feeble rays onto a grumpy, sore, sleep-deprived Madmother. Opened yesterday's mail. To find a lovely little missive from Telstra (Australian telecomunications company), explaining how they were doing all Telstra customers the honour of rolling ourt a free home message service. Great. Except you get no choice and have to elect to turn it off if you don't want it. Fine. Really fine. THEN you get to the fine print - the bit where it mentions those with medical alert systems may have an issue with them NOT working. Ah, okay. So the already not happy Jan Madmother rings the number Helstra kindly put on missive. To get CARMEN in MELBOURNE. Now Carmen in Melbourne firstly had no idea what I was talking about in relation to the hooly dooly new whizz-bang offer, and then secondly, after finding out more from supervisor, tells me YOU cannot opt out until it is added. Oh, and sorry, but NO specific time frames on the roll out, but sometime between NOW and the next six weeks. 

Tough titty if we do not realise (you only know WHEN you have a message and you go to ring out and the dial tone is different...), and alert system is affected then Wise Woman has a fall! Too bad if my gorgeous mother dies as a result of this, nothing we can do.

And when I get frustrated with this and vent my concerns (mind you, saying to CARMEN in MELBOURNE I knew it was not her fault and that I wasn't upset with her rather venting my anger at the imbeciles who made this choice - yes, I did use that term), her words were: "Well, stop saying it. I can't do anything." Then she hung up. No warning, no comments prior to the final one to let me know I was repeating myself (I think I kept saying something along the lines of "Why would they do this? How on earth could they not at least eliminate the medical priority customers and check for approval?"), just CLICK.

Next call - TIO. Telecommunications Industry Ombudsmen. Far more satisfactory, and now we shall wait to see the pieces fall where they will.

The second event of the morning: that was the Ugly.

Third issue: employee sick. again. For third day THIS week. Not his fault, but as a small business, difficult. Means Big Boy has to rush off to open shop, an hour away.

Slide continued. Wise Woman had an appointment with nurse in GP's office. Really, it was me who had the appointment, as I was sick of the *ahem* community nurses who kept stuffing her around, doing things that risked her health, and were just basically incompetent. So, after THEY decided the ulcer on her leg no longer needed them dressing it, and that a 90 year old could manage, well, I needed training to make sure it was not a problem. And her GP was SO impressed with what I told her I think some heads may have problems remaining attached to their necks...

Now appointment was fine, but upon our return we found a blackout. No power. No electricity up here means no heating, no water, and no hot lunch. Yeeha.

Oh, and as I get my mobile phone to ring Energex (power company) I find a missed call from Big Boy. Not at work. Car died. Lunch time and shop is closed still. Tow truck needed for some weird computer issue with car. Fan-bloody-tastic!

Ah but wait, there's more. 

Finally arriving home just before school pickup, I get another call from Big Boy. To top off his day the police had arrived at our business. Apparently some old codger who had dropped off a repair had been unable to get anyone to answer the phone that morning and then decided that BB had STOLEN his item and called in the cops. And they wonder why these poor law-enforcers are snowed under with the stupid and unable to get to the serious offenses? Huuuuh?

And later we had to drive down to get Big Boy, boys missed guitar lesson, homework not done, tea late, bed later and we are all over it! What a day... And no, I do not mean good.

The Good, The Bad and the UGLY...

I am sorry peoples, but I am getting back up onto my soapbox today. To say it has been one hell of a day is a massive understatement, and the only way I can get through all this is to start with the hardest.

The Ugly:

This person is a supposed social commentator. Prue Macsween. Last Sunday, 11th July 2010, on the Channel Seven Sunrise programme this woman espoused her views on classroom integration. The topic was one of a teacher suing the education system for her loss of voice from yelling. The number of special needs children in this class was cited as one of the reasons for her yelling (always an effective tool when dealing with children with various disabilities, and yes my tone is dripping with sarcasm). This lead to our uneducated, ill-informed, big mouth no brain friend spouting some classics such as:

• Children with special needs should not be allowed to be in mainstream classes with “normal” kids - not quite sure what the definition of normal is;
• Children with special needs hold back children without special needs;
• Children with special needs should be "put somewhere and trained” and where they can be “properly administered to”;
• Children with special needs should be slowly re-introduced into a classroom once or if they are properly trained;
• Oh, and just for good measure she said all boys are retarded... I think somewhere in her little mind that was meant to be funny. Ha. Yeah, ha.

This incident has impacted so strongly to many parents and family and friends that there is a facebook page devoted to the topic. Go, if you feel as sickened by bigotry and segregation as I do, please join. In just 48 hours it is rapidly heading towards 900 members.

Now, I think the lovely people who started this group are more tolerant of this sort of thing than I am. If it were up to me I would take all the small-minded, self-obsessed, discriminatory idiots like this one, put them in a special training room, and keep them there utilising some archaic forms of teaching which I am positive are now outlawed. Unfortunately I am not allowed to do this, or to start a group to suggest it. At the very least she needs to be fired. But knowing the way the television industry works she'll probably be given her own show. Matty Johns anyone?

You know, you just get sick of beating your head against ignorance sometimes.

Ah screw it - this is such a big issue I am giving it a post all of its own. I'll blog the rest later.

Vote, Vote, VOTE!

Shameless grovelling here! The Blog This 50th Challenge is open to vote on. I have two entries. Both have been put in Poll # 3 under strange names.

The entry for THIS blog is under Meandering Mother (What the?), the entry for my Roller Derby post is under Mad Mother. People - it is NOT two words, it is one. Not once has Blog Pissed got it right. The popular group, you know the ones they consider in the clique, NEVER have their names mis-spelt or incorrect. *Sigh*. Yes, it may be petty but it does irritate!

Now to vote you do need to press the little button next to one of my two entries and then press vote down the bottom of Poll 3. You don't need to be a member, or even an Aussie BUT you can only vote once! And voting ends TODAY!


Please. I'll even play nice with the other kids quietly for a while...

Memoir Monday - Everyone Needs a Monty.

Now Trav seems to have dropped the MMs again, but I like 'em and just in case he doesn't make an appearance AGAIN this week, am adding a Linky here for anyone who want to join. So look at the end of this week's speil and jump on in if you wish.

I am finding inspiration from other bloggers for a lot of these posts. This week it is the turn of Maggie over at Mind of a Mad Woman with her beautifully poignant post on caring for the elders of our lives. Go read, and take tissues. As for my Memoir Monday, I give you:

The Full Monty

Once upon a time there was a young Madmother who had a loving family with a cast of regular characters. Parents, sibling, Aunts, Uncles, cousins, grandparents. But this little girl was blessed. She had someone that no-one else she knew had, and that everyone needs. She had a Monty. Now, what is a Monty, I can hear you ask. A Monty, in this story, was the close friend and business partner of Yeeha Grandma. A man who never married, had no close family living, whose life revolved around work and making sure little Madmother and the flame-haired hellraiser were protected, loved and happy. He was family.

Now, I could at this point tell you lots of little stories made up of memories of days long past. Things like how little MM and her pals would run and hide giggling in the sandhills of deserted beaches as the Monty climbed and searched, calling constantly, becoming more and more agitated. Secure in a child's blissful ignorance of the predators that could steal innocence, they would wait until his yells had reached fever pitch before launching themselves from their secret spot and into his strong,safe arms. Or of how he would lean over little MM's bed in her Grandma's house and pretend to dribble, waiting until that long thread of drool would almost land on her contorted face before sucking it back into his mouth (yeah gross, but hysterically funny to a five-year-old tomboy).

Of the many words of wisdom and long counselling sessions as Madmother grew older. He was the one who would sit and listen without judgement, hold her hand as she cried, cook MM bacon and home-made chips to heal her bruised heart  and to eat whilst they'd watch The Bill.

Of how he played a solid, constant role in her life as she studied, travelled, grew up. How Monty was always there when MM needed him.

But that is not what this Memoir Monday is about. No.This is about when lives are reversed and the carer becomes the one who needs care. It is about being elderly in a largely  indifferent world. It is about the cruelty of aging.

He suffered a stroke, but after sucessfully fighting back via rehab, he contracted pneumonia which caused permanent damage. The Monty with incredibly high intelligence and possessed of rapier sharp intellect became irreversibly confused and frail of mind. The adult became the child.

As time passed he no longer recognised many, but MM was lucky to be a constant in his thoughts. She came home as often as she could, keeping visits as close to fortnightly as possible. His dimmed azure blue eyes would clear of the clouds when she walked into the nursing home that was now his place of residence. He was one of the very select few permitted to abbreviate her short name, and he would stroke her arm, crying, saying "T**y, you're home, you haven't been to see me for so long." And over the weekend each time she returned it was to be greeted with the same refrain. Time had ceased to have meaning for him, which was a blessing in some ways, a curse in others.

He regressed into another world, another time. Sitting in his massive water chair (like a king on his throne) he commanded the other patients in the common room, directing the mayhem.
Some days the Monty of old would appear, wanting to wheel and deal. He would advise MM, teaching her how to strike a bargain, usually imagining the purchase of the furniture in the room, though he confessed to be concerned over "How to get the old ducks to move out of our chairs..." Other times they were in his old truck, and he would patiently explain how to double-clutch up the hill with the full load of frozen prawns. And of course MM would be lectured long and hard on not parking in the sun with those damnably expensive seafood items in the rear.

The hardest times were when he was frustrated, and the anger would bubble forth. These were the times he accused her of leaving him stranded on the train platform, or of having a fiduciary motive for keeping him locked up. These were the days she paced the hallways letting off steam and trying to dredge up the good memories. These were the moments the staff would pass and mutter :"Bad day. Always remember they lash out at those nearest and closest to their hearts." And whilst it was not home, and privacy or personal space were a thing of the past, the caring staff made life bearable in the public fish bowl. A kind word, a fleeting touch, the joy in a worn face as they listen to the same story again and again. MM was truly grateful for the care and respect shown under such difficult circumstances.

It was heartbreaking to watch the slow mental and physical decline of a man who was a well-respected part of the business community. Madmother's memory was full of the times walking down a busy city street when they were stopped three or four times by well-dressed men who shook Monty's hand in reverence and awe. Now that same hand shook uncontrollably as he attempted to spoon thickened soup between trembling lips.

Two long years he lingered in his own personal twilight zone. At the very end as he hovered two or three days, MM remained by his side, sleeping in a chair by his bedside at night. During his rare lucid moments she sat, stroked his hand and talked of all he had given her over the years. And talked of Grandma waiting patiently for her congenial companion to cross to her side. He left this life one bright, sunny day, with a deeply contented sigh as if signalling "My work here is done."

Whilst his loss was felt so very much, Madmother also gratefully realised how very blessed she was to have a Monty in her life.

And when her children were small she'd lean over their beds, kiss them goodnight, then raise herself up and allow a long thin string of dribble to lower nearly but not quite onto their hysterical faces...

What Price Memories?

Last weekend Big Boy and I FINALLY managed to sort through the huge pile of boxes we have had sitting in one of our spare rooms for YEARS. The local RSPCA shop went into shock at the huge deluge of kids toys, clothes and other bits and pieces which landed on their doorstep. Well, actually the comment was: "Thank goodness the truck is here, we'll have to send some of this to the warehouse."

And that wasn't the all of it. Some I gave to friends, some I have kept to sell on eBay, some has been put into the appropriate space - that is either the bin, or its proper place. But one thing sorting through these boxes has done is pull forward a whole bundle of memories.

I am a hoarder. I freely admit this side of my personality, embrace it even. And as my mother, Wise Woman, tells me, you can't keep everything! I know they are just things, and that things are the physical not the emotional, but it is like a smell or a song can trigger a forgotten memory, a much-loved toy or a well-thumbed book can do the same. It is not necessarily the thing itself that is important, it is the emotion attached to the years of connection.

I sold my Giggles doll on eBay. She came complete with original box, wobbly letters with one reversed spelling out my name in a childish scrawl over one corner. I have boys, and thought it was silly to hold onto her, but that was wrong. I regret the sale though she fetched a pretty penny. I miss her, or at least the young girl buried deep inside me misses her. She took some lovely little girl secrets with her, and yes I shed a tear.

I still have my childhood guardian, he sits on my bed ready to listen in the dark hours. His fur has been drenched with tears, he is matted and his coat is dull. But his arms still embrace even this chubby adult body, as tightly as they did the frail frame of a five year old. I have fought my sons for him, and although he does do special sick bed visits, he is the one thing I have refused to surrender to those little thieves of my heart. In that Wise Woman does not nag, for she has Edward, her childhood companion. And at nearly ninety years old he is worth far more than a 1960's dusty old bear. And neither shall ever be sold, for they are items far more precious than mere money.

What about you? Have you discarded something and then regretted it? How do you put a dollar amount on an item of love? Or are you ruthless, one of those de-clutter your life gurus? What is your price for memories?

Oh, and I have someone here I want you to meet. His name is Pandy. He holds safe the heart of a little girl on her fifth Christmas morning.

Blog Etiquette 101 - How Do You Approach Blogworld?

Am pondering on blogiquette. How do you view it? If someone comments on your blog, do you respond? I do sometimes, and sometimes think "Oh I must come back and address that..." and then forget.

I guess with the blogs I follow I view it a little like conversation. If it strikes a chord, I'll join in and comment, if it strikes home I may well do my own post here and link back. I just adore how many different worlds we all come from, it makes for far more interesting blog relations and a greater learning experience. Taking the time to walk in another's life shoes. And whilst I simply love finding new blogs, the bigger my list grows the more I find the title/intro which shows up on my reading list has to really grab my interest for me to open it up (just a tip peoples).

I also must admit to wondering about the new followers who NEVER comment. Is it because they are shy, nervous or is it just a lack of interest in what is posted here? I always have a look at the info they post, will go read their blogs if linked in their about me, and of course follow IF they strike a chord.

What about you? What is your take on blogworld? I promise I'll answer this time, lol.

FlogYoBlog Friday - The Good, The Bad, and the Downright Putrid!

Seriously - is Brenda psychic? Does she have some sort of incredible mind link to this family? I mean, really, how apt to comment in the opening of her blog post for FlogYoBlog #19: How's your week going? Good? Good-ish? Suck sweaty hairy smelly donkey balls?

Mmm, sweaty, hairy, smelly. And seeing as Madmother is the only female humanoid in these here parts the donkey balls image is kinda apt if you get my drift. Now, before you jump to the conclusion that our personal hygeine standards suck, I need to explain a little.

We live on not quite 3 acres of heaven. Gorgeous views, crisp, clean mountain air, privacy and serenity. Well as serene as it gets with a ten year old and a twelve year old running rampant (and the other ten year old and eleven year old here on a mission for fun). BUT there is a drawback to rural life.

TANK WATER.

Yep, we do not have town water or sewerage, we have these two amazingly big mothers of concrete containers and a waste water treatment plant (used to be called septics in the old days before they became new-fandangled bio-chemical units).

If the power goes out, we are stuffed. If the water runs out, we are stuffed. If you have a TWELVE YEAR OLD BOY WITH ASPERGER SYNDROME NO TIME MANAGEMENT SKILLS OBSESSED WITH SHOWERS YOU ARE STUFFED!

You guessed it. This morning we arose to a cough and a splutter out of the tap and NO WATER. Not happy Jan! I have been screaming at him for ages over this issue, and now he finally realises why!

And so we sit. And wait for the water tanker angels to deliver us from dirt. And poop. And clean dishes. Really hanging to wash, flush, hell... even brush my teeth to get the fur off. Oh, and did I mention I went to derby training last night? Decided to have my shower this morning instead of last night, BIG MISTAKE! Though the water probably would have run out mid-lather when I think about it.  But boy, do I smell...

*Mutter, mutter, grumble, whinge*

I need my morning shower - I am not nice if I do not get my shower. Luckily for you lot, this blog does not include smellorama...
This is Rancid Madmother signing off on FlogYoBlog Friday. Go read her rules, I can't be arsed copying them until I smell better.

Off to sulk in a corner so the other people who are present in this house do not keel over. Oh, and I lied about the Good in the title...

Today's Post

Today's entry for Throbbing Thursday is postponed due to events over the last few days. It is not appropriate when the world has lost one little angel's light. Apologies for those who are waiting to read the conclusion, I will publish it for next week's entry. But for today...

Today, hug your children and tell them how they fill your heart to the brim.

Today, stop rushing and take time to play. 

Today, let the sun shine on your face even in the rain.

Today, even as your heart cries for the loss of such a beautiful little girl, smile in her memory. T'keyah would insist.

Sometimes...

words are not enough to express the magnitude of what we are feeling.

Sometimes, although we fight hard, it is not enough.

Sometimes we cannot explain why life is so unfair.

Sometimes life is a tragedy unfolding before our eyes.

Sometimes a soul is so beautiful and pure, the love surrounding it is not enough to keep it on this earth.

Sometimes sorry is so truly inadequate.

Sometimes we are frail and will fall. Sometimes all you can do is sit and cry. Sometimes it is so damn hard to be human.

Sometimes, one little angel you meet on the internet highway can impact you for life in ways you never knew possible.

Farewell T'keyah. For one so small you fought so hard in your time on earth. And have left such huge impressions on those your wonderful family shared you with.

RIP

26/11/03 - 06/07/10

A truly sad

Fifty? Waddya Mean FIFTY?

Bejeebus - how to scare a forty something sliding rapidly towards fifty mad female peoples! Mention the F word in a challenge title.

Yes, don't go into shock readers, I am about to dip my toe back into the icy waters of the Blog This challenge system again. I know I moaned and whinged in the past about *ahem* some of the lack of hoopla for winners of the Blog This challenges (well, I was entitled, I did win four challenges, and am pretty sure I was runner- up in one other but by the time it was announced... Ah well, all water under the bridge now) but I figured new crew, new era? Yeah?

So, it's the big FIFTIETH CHALLENGE!

We have open slather to post anything, so long as it equals the big 5-0.

And I sit here with absolutely no bloody idea what to write about! Everyone else has already covered it all. I have to keep up the level I set in my other *cough* winning entries, and let's just say my high-jumping days are long gone, so I'm off to fetch the ladder.

*Cue booming James Earl Jones voiceover*

Now presenting The INSPIRATIONAL LADDER...

Thanks James!

By golly Miss Molly, it worked - I think I have it!

I give you:

FIFTY SONGS TO BE COVERED

 BY THE CAST

 OF GLEE!

Yes Glee! The show! Oh come on, everyone's heard of Glee, even Madonna... Now this is not going to be your average list, but one in keeping with my warped perspective on life. So hold on to your panties peoples, it's gonna be a rocky one.

I could go though each one and nominate a cast member, and I will for a few, but let's face it; half the fun will be you picking which of your favourite Glee-ites could take on what song and own it. And for any lyrics you don't know (being young-uns, some of you) do remember Google is your friend.

1.  Shaddap You Face - Joe Dolce. Perfect for Sue Sylvester, let me tell you.

2.  Holiday in Cambodia - Dead Kennedys.

3.  Sweet Transvestite - Tim Curry, Rocky Horror Picture Show. Hell, the options on this one are endless!

4.  Am I Ever Gonna See Your Face Again - The Angels

5.  I Touch Myself  - Divinyls. Would love to see the virginal Rachel tackle this one, lol.

6.  My Sharona - The Knack

7.  Blue - Eifel 65

8.  You Talk Too Much - George Thoroughgood.

9.  Boom Boom - Paul Lekakis

10. Happy Birthday - Altered Images

11. Achy Breaky Heart - Billy Ray Cyrus

12. Tubthumping - Chumbawamba

13. Who Let The Dogs Out - Baha Men

14. Gimme Dat Ding - Pipkins

15. Pushbike Song - Mixtures

16. Black Betty - Ram Jam

17. Pop Muzik - M

18. Cotton-Eyed Joe - Rednex

19. Cool Cool Change - Midnight Oil

20. Rock Lobster - B52s

21. You'll Always Find Me in The Kitchen at Parties - Jona Lewie

22. Blister in the Sun - Violent Femmes

23. Lump - Presidents of the USA

24. Oompa Loompa Song - Willy Wonka and The Chocolate Factory

25. How You Gonna See Me Now - Alice Cooper

Halfway - woot woot! So what do you think so far? Interesting?

26. Pressure Sway - Machinations

27. I Got You - Split Enz

28. Cars - Gary Numan

29. Computer Games - Mi-Sex

30. Bony Maronie - Hush

31. Der Kommissar - Falco

32. Cum On Feel The Noize - Slade

33. Evie (Parts 1, 2 & 3) - Stevie Wright

34. Out of Mind, Out of Sight - The Models

35. My Humps - Black Eyed Peas

36. Believe It or Not - Mike Post

37. Hungry Like The Wolf - Duran Duran

38. Spirit Got Lost - Mental As Anything

39. Bang Your Head - Quiet Riot

40. The Bitch is Back - Elton John. Now you would automatically think Sue for this one, but me I prefer Terri, Will's wife to take the lead.

WooHoo (as Tigger would say)... Final TEN.

41. Nutbush City Limits - Ike & Tina Turner

42. Pump It Up - Elvis Costello

43. I Need a Lover - Johnny Cougar

44. Anarchy - Sex Pistols

45. Choir Girl - Cold Chisel

46. Dirty Deeds - AC/DC

47. Stupid Girl - P!nk

48. Take on Me - Aha

49. Boys Light Up - Australian Crawl

50. Living Doll - The Young Ones feat Cliff Richard. Ensemble finale methinks? Agree?

So, who did you pick for what? Hmmm?

Don't forget the important bit now: if my fifty got your inner Glee glowing, go vote for ME!

HERE

 I will be grateful...Mwahahahahahahahahaha. And I promise not to sing.

Memoir Monday: Yee-ha, Grandma!

Yada, yada, you know it. I have copied this, as always, from the Trav's blog:
Hey y'all. This little thing is called Memoir Monday, and I'd be thrilled if you gave it a shot. Just jot down a story about yourself, grab the code down there, and I'll link you up to be read by all my wonderful blog buddies. The only rule? It has to be true. I am personally doing what I can to help cure your case of the Mondays. Thanks for playing along!
Comment on Trav's blog post if you want to be linked. Cause I ain't doin' it for ya!

Now, I must thank the gorgeous, bubbly one, Melissa for giving me my Memoir Monday inspiration. I didn't have one of those fairytale Nanna's either Mel. Not like this:

Or this:

No siree. My grandmother, known as Grandma, was flamboyant and funny, extremely bright and opinionated, loving and devoted yet tough. I wrote about her many eons ago, of her love of driving, her Pied Piperesque attraction for the neighbourhood kids, her loss, but someone as large in character as Grandma could not be captured in one post. And so for today's Memoir Monday tale I give you:

Yee-ha Grandma!

Now, you're probably wondering about the red, right? There is a reason, but you guessed there would be, didn't you. Right up until her death, I never saw my grandmother without her face on. This consisted of pancake foundation, loose powder, and Revlon's Red Red lipstick. Even today, twenty years after she has been gone, when I see someone with those truly red lips I think to myself: "Wonder if it's Revlon Red Red?"

On any other elderly woman it would have looked ridiculous. On Grandma, well it suited her. She was strong in personality, and strong in her beliefs. She also maintained her curly blonde hair until her passing, managing to fit in a perm a few weeks before she was hospitalised.

I grew up constantly being told I, as a woman, could achieve anything I set my mind to. Now this, you need remember, came from a woman who was born in the late 1800's. A woman who left and subsequently divorced my grandfather in the 1930's. A lady who sold dresses door to door to farmer's wives who hid the egg money from their husbands. Who went on to become one of the first female Real Estate agents in New South Wales, and who set many a sales record which were unbroken for decades. This woman, who at nearly 91, still was a practising agent, and sat up and signed the business cheques from her hospital bed.

My memories of my grandmother are true and strong today. She had a huge role in forming who I am, and I love it when people (her daughter, Wise Woman included) comment "Oh, you are just like your grandmother!" even when they do not mean it as a compliment. I am a formidable foe, as she was. I have a strong sense of black and white on moral issues, as she did, and I am a loyal and true friend like her.

This incredible woman chose her own way out. Admitted to hospital for a minor health issue (though nothing is minor in your nineties), I did not realise she was ready to let life go. I had completed my degree, was employed in a prominent, successful company, in her eyes I was settled. I was by her side when she went in, and kissed her goodbye before driving back to the city. It was in the days before mobile phones, and so it was early the next day upon my arrival at work I received THE call. Grandma had slipped into a coma and was not expected to live.

I do not know if she realised by instilling her strength of will and ability to fight adversity that I would not accept this lightly. I sadly missed an urgently booked flight by ten short minutes, and instead drove the four and a half hours crying and praying for her to be alive upon my arrival.

We were met by her doctor at reception. "She will not survive the night," he proclaimed to my mother and I. I think now I must have given him the Grandma look of total disdain, for he stepped back, alarmed. I know my thoughts were stupid man, if you think that you do not know my grandmother at all! By this time it was mid-afternoon and outside of visiting hours. Nobody attempted to stop me as I took my place by her bedside. For the next three or fours hours I sat and argued with her in a one-sided debate.

"You cannot do this to me, what will I do without you."
"I love you, if you love me don't give up. Fight, for me if not yourself."
"I won't be okay with this, I can't cope with losing you, please, please come back."

Yes, I was a very self-focused young woman, and looking back it was incredibly selfish an attitude, and really quite arrogant of me. I think the nurses thought I was mad, I know the doctor believed I was delusional. But I believe you may be already aware of the outcome.

It was early evening, and dinner was being served to the other patients. Once more I squeezed her unmoving hand, and said: "I love you" with all the fierceness I could muster in my exhaustion. Her warm fingers tightened around mine, and her frail, dry voice croaked out a cracked "love you too." Yes, my Grandma came back out of love and concern for me.

For the next five days she counselled me, explained her desire to be free of this world where her body was failing her. She did not want to be here if her mind did too, and she explained I needed to let her go. Time to grow up a little.

In one of our last conversations I asked her: "What if you change your mind? What if you get close and decide you want to live?" She gave me THAT look, probably very similar to the one I had given the doctor on arrival. In her words: "I came back for you once, what on earth makes you think I couldn't do it again if I chose?"

Unbenownst to me she had told her daughter, Wise Woman, and niece, that she would not go if either myself or her business partner and dear friend were present. She quietly slipped back into a coma on Saturday morning, and waiting until myself and her partner had left for a brief time, she sighed and slipped away. My Mum and her cousin were there together to support each other to the end. Just as Grandma had decreed.

Sorry if this is not the usual light and funny MM. I had intended it to be, but somewhere along the way it became a post from the heart.

I owe a lot to this incredible, formidable woman and thank God for allowing me to be a part of her life every single day. She is still here with me. Be it in a phrase or a look, or the passionate way I live my life. No halfway measures for the granddaughter of Grandma. It just would not be acceptable.

Oh, and to get the title - you need to follow the link to my old post about her.