Sometimes I can’t bear it.
Today has been one of those days. On getting dressed this morning I was given the news that Sr. Manuel had died in the hospital yesterday (remember Sr. Manuel, he of the Alzheimer’s?) Ok, no big deal, a passing pang of sorrow and let’s move on, oh well that’s life etc. etc. … but suddenly I just can’t bear it.
I can’t bear the fact that I couldn’t even offer the basic courtesy of offering my son, who’d come to visit me for a couple of hours, a cup of tea. No visitors allowed in dining room during meals without special authorisation by the person in charge, I was told; so I wheeled down the corridor to get authorisation to have my tea bought to me on tray like the olden days. No can do, I was told, an inmate has to be ill to be served in that their rooms; all inmates must take their meals in the dining room.
(Does this remind you of anything?)
Vexed, I stayed with my son in my room and went tea-less; no big deal, we had a good chat, he’s a nice boy and it was a pleasure to see him.
But sometimes I just can’t bear it. I can’t bear passing whole days without speaking my own language! (Sorry folks for this rant, I’ll be fine tomorrow, but you see, this is my only line of communication. Suppose I should just pick up the phone or e-mail people but, you see, I get tired easily).
It’s no big deal