Home Is Where The Heart Is…

And right now my heart is in Sydney…but the rest of me needs to be there. I’m writing it here because if I write about it on FB, members of my family will see it (and I don’t know how many of them know) – and I know none of them visit this blog.

My mum. She wants it over with. She turned 80 just six weeks ago. I never even believed she’d see 80. She didn’t even want to see 70…and was only just about able to cope with the idea of seeing 60.

She tried to commit suicide last night. And…in a way that would be wholly ineffectual (and that is not to say it was a deliberate failed attempt…though, to a degree it could have been, in the sense of her demonstrating to my sister a plea of “if you won’t help me, I’ll have to do it myself”).

Beyond the devastation of the shock that she tried was the skewed feeling of pity I had that she’d failed. DO NOT MISCONSTRUE MY WORDS. The last thing I want is my mother dead…but I want her to feel…rested, peaceful…pain free. She has not been free of pain for a very, very long time.

It isn’t the first time she has contemplated or attempted suicide. But it is the first time, that I am aware of, in a very long time that she actually tried.

When I was home in 2015/16, she told me DAILY how much she wished to be gone. I do believe she wanted me to assist her. And how was I going to do that? How could I ever do that? I saw it. I saw the hell she was going through every day. Had there been a way to take her pain away, I’d have done it in a heartbeat! But for that way to be assisting her suicide?

And I didn’t want to come back to the UK. I didn’t want to leave her, because I knew it would be almost impossible for me to turn around and go straight back.

In several weeks I should have the funds to return home. And then? What happens then? How long do I stay? What do I do?

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