Chapter 48 After Depression, Contemplation
I knew that I would miss work, but I thought the birth of our first granddaughter would be enough to fill the void in my life. Not only that, I formed a local group at my house, a simple weekly discussion group that met over morning tea to discuss natural health. I put an ad in the local paper, and chose a day of the week, and eventually assembled about eight interested participants, and some lively discussions took place. We exchanged books on natural health subjects too. As well, I intended to get more quilting projects underway. I thought I had prepared for the change, and would not miss work too much.
But I was wrong. I found that for no apparent reason I was bursting into tears, and I felt sad all the time. As usual I called on my first 'soft place to fall'. I rang my mother for a heart-to-heart. She wasn't surprised. Actually, her worst fears were confirmed, and she had been expecting me to get depressed, because she had suffered the same thing when she had to give up indoor bowls a few years earlier.
"I was afraid this would happen" she said.
I then consulted with the M.S. society and explained my dilemma, and before long they responded to my call for help by organizing a councillor to call me on the phone.
She was wonderful and knew exactly what was wrong. “You're going through a grieving process, and your feelings are perfectly natural.”
She complimented me on the measures I had taken to prepare for total retirement. As a matter of fact, she told me that she used my example at one of her Uni lectures she gave to students.
Because I understood what was going on at last, I recovered from the depression within a matter of weeks.
--0--
Buying the walker after we got to our new house was a great help, but I had persevered for so long with the stick that it wasn't long before I had trouble sustaining the energy level needed to complete the shopping. Peter always accompanied me at that stage anyway, and I found that most of the time I was forced to retire after about three or four aisles, to sit on a seat at the front of the shop until he’d finished the shopping. Eventually it became such a hassle going at all that I decided to stay home, much to Pete's distress. I felt bad about not giving him moral support, but one day he surprised me by announcing that we were going to look for a wheelchair, so that he could take me with him.
I wheeled my chair up and down the aisles and once even managed to get through the whole shop, but after a while my arms got too tired on our supermarket visits and I'd only make it about half way before I retired to a magazine rack to leaf through a gardening or quilting magazine. These days he often goes alone, finding it much less exhausting and more economical time wise.
In March 2007 I started attending the local respite centre once a week. Mostly I play 500. As it is now, (2012), I’ve found it’s interesting to observe life and society from a wheelchair. Not that it’s any different from that aspect, but you have more time to do so. At first it seems sad that things have to change so much, but after a while you realize that it’s a great privilege to be able to watch it change and to have some insight into why changes occur.
I was a child in the 1950’s, and a teenager in the 60’s, so trying to compare life then and life several decades later, and in a new century, is ludicrous. In the 50's life not only seemed, but did, move more slowly, especially on the farm. We had plenty of fun times but life could be very stressful, especially with Dad’s wild temper. Mostly for me I was just lonely, lonely for friends and bored and lonely for life. As I grew up I often thought of my mother’s life when she first came to live on the farm. She'd loved the city where she could dance every night of the week, and where there was life going on, where she could jump on a tram and go to town to shop, and where she was closer to her friends and family, especially her sisters. What a test of spirit it must have been for her! Buried out in the bush, she used to say.
Many times she remarked, "If we lived in the town, you kids would learn dancing. I'd see to it that you did all that, and elocution to."
One of my strongest memories is of arriving home from school in the afternoons. Mum would be there working in the kitchen and there was always plenty of food to eat. I've never known a child to arrive home from school and not be starving hungry. One year Mum picked all the peaches off the tree while they were still green, before the grubs had devastated the crop. She stewed them by boiling them in pots on the wood stove with lots of sugar, and stored them in jars in the fridge. They made the perfect after-school snack.
I didn't realise how much I depended on my mother being there, until I arrived home one day and the house was empty. Dad was clearing more land for cultivation and Mum was there beside him, stoking stamps for burning. I felt a hollow emptiness, a loneliness I’d never felt before.
In the 50s almost every man wore a felt hat. Dad’s hat practically lived on his head until it wore out. If he went to town he wore his hat, and when a lady approached he raised his hat to her, although sometimes he just touched the front brim. But it was a mark of respect, and a man never wore his hat at the meal table. Dad always dropped his on the floor beside his chair.
Unfortunately, good manners are not such a priority now. As a matter of fact anything old-fashioned is not generally popular, which is bad judgement on the part of this generation, although it is not really their fault. When you throw out good manners you throw out one of your standards in society. It started in the 60s in my opinion. That's when the rot started and big changes have continued ever since. Change in itself isn't bad, but it has to be done wisely and cautiously. Sometimes in an effort to change the status quo we rush in making worse blunders. Of course the increase in electronics has been mind blowing. People of my generation often treat it with suspicion and reluctance, finding the new technology challenging, and sometimes overwhelming. I'm sure I have been a great disappointment to my daughter in this regard. When I first gave up work she gave me an Internet diary with many Internet addresses already entered.
She wrote in it, "Mum, the world is at your fingertips." She must have been disappointed when she found how reluctant I was to let the world in.
Gradually though I have made some progress and have managed to write this memoir using my word recognition program and microphone. That has been necessary because of the loss of fine motor ability in my hands.
When I went to school basic education was a necessity above all else. In the 50s we learnt spellings and tables by rote, practised writing in copy books and learnt to draw maps by free-hand. The teacher managed the whole school of 60 children in different classes all on his own, or if it was in the city he managed a class of 50 or 60 children all on his own. It wasn't ideal and discipline was tough, but above all else we learned the work. Everyone could spell. Everyone could write, even the poorer scholars. And everyone could read.
When our son was in grade 9, I worried about his inability to spell well, so I arranged an interview with his young teacher. "Oh, don't worry about his spelling, it’s the English language. I can't spell either." I was stunned, and lost for words, but I never forgot that remark, and I never lost the feeling of disgust at her attitude.
I should have felt sorry for her though. Despite her youthful naivete, she was obviously a product of the same system.
I have noticed that attitude in the public arena a lot lately, especially in the last few years. If you can't manage something you simply blame the system. When a research doctor doesn't like recent research by an opposing authority, he simply discredits the research.
Eventually, the truth has to be faced, though.
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