“Who looks after you?” is a question I’m asked most weeks and I usually answer with a smile and a shrug but actually the truth is I’m looked after by everyone and no one.
Family first. I’m not alone as both boys are still living at home and I’m hugely grateful for that. I have my big brother, Nick, who’s doing lots of work around the house so he’s a regular visitor too. The three of them fulfill very different needs in me: Gabriel has a huge sense of justice and helps me to pick my way through my the thoughts that bombard my brain continually, whilst Harry allows me to say out loud my darker, more unthinkable thoughts with no judgement and tremendous humour. They find their dad’s deterioration hard to watch, of course, and so when I’m at work they tend to stay in their bedroom. Although I would prefer them to take a more active approach to Nigel’s care, I’m not keen on playing the ‘guilt’ card. Besides, what do I really know? Could be their laid back approach that’s keeping Nige sane… I mean, to have the three of us constantly watching him isn’t exactly conducive to that relaxed, calming environment we’ve strived so hard for in the past twelve or so months. There’s a price for that, by the way, for the normality we’ve upheld. It’s being charged to our personal lives – Harry’s all spent out, I’m on a low budget and Gabe’s actually managing to save. Between us we’ll even each other out. Through Gabe, there’s Lois. Our very own Little Blue Wolf. I’m not sure I’ve ever met a lovelier person. Honestly, for one so young, so vulnerable, she takes altruism to a whole new level. A week seldom goes by without a message on my phone from Lo, checking up on me and seeing how things are; offering to relieve Nigel’s boredom with impromptu visits… With her own illnesses to combat, I am both amazed and honoured to include her as part of our family, and that extends to her own family too. Then there’s Nick. He helps without knowing it, aside from the obvious help he’s giving with the garage of course. It takes a huge amount of courage to continue to embrace a broken family such as ours. After a week or two away, working or travelling, he bounces back up our steps, not knowing how we are, how Nige looks or sounds: how the cancer has progressed. I can tell by his face if there’s a difference (being with Nige constantly clouds my vision of progression) and that’s an enormous help too. Spiritually, Nick provides me with a constant link with my other self; the Barnes girl with the ‘Doc Martens and roll-up’ attitude who I know will be a huge help to me in the coming months and years. I feel protected when he’s near, without him doing or even saying anything. Which is perfect as he talks very little!
Never one to surround myself with friends, I have found myself quite overwhelmed by the few I do have: Marianne checks in like a warm arm around my shoulder, allowing me to speak or not speak, hearing the silences as well as the rants. She’s done this for me from the very beginning, choosing to ignore my request for isolation and giving me what I actually need; support, as well as the occasional coffee and cake outing. She’s smart and bright, sugar-coats nothing and wastes no words. We’re like two peas in a pod. Gemma gives me her naive perspective on things, paring it down to it’s core. She has a need to understand me, and I do too, so chatting with her often reveals things about me I never knew! She has thanked me over the years for all I have taught her, little understanding just how much I have learned from her. Though, of late, I think she’s realised. Michelle is a haven of fresh air and woodland walks, with the occasional bottle of wine thrown in. She symbolises a future of sorts, my future here, on the Hill, for though I’ve known her for the past five years, our friendship has only really grown since Nigel’s diagnosis. Since then we’ve walked miles of a morning with her dog, shared stories of our pasts and even completed a 26 mile Hike for Macmillan together.
There are more, of course, but these are the friends and family who take care of me without first having to ask. They all just shove their noses into my business, make me face uncomfortable truths and listen. I don’t know how I’d manage without them. The thing is, I don’t do a great job at managing with them either. Oh I think I exude strength and I know I have everybody’s admiration but I am unravelling. I can feel the facade cracking, the tears are constantly waiting to drop and in the darker hours drop, they do. No one can help me. Not with this bit. There are no words, you see. It’s all emotions; raw and terrifying. Now, I know some of you reading this will offer me help (and thank you) but, honestly, I’m right. This bit is for me. If I don’t have a part of myself that is unfixable then how do I know that I ever went on this journey? Where’s my scar? It’s for me to figure out and then to fix, when I’m ready. And I absolutely will. I just can’t tell you when.
So if I come across a little unhinged from time to time, that is just me looking for the best way to manage my raw emotions. It’s temporary (I hope…) and once all the pieces have fallen back into place, I’ll be fine. We will be fine.