For some obscure reason it didn't really feel relaxing to get back home from Cyprus; it felt an instant drain on my emotional reserves, sucking away any enthusiasm to accomplish anything worthwhile. I felt trapped again, the only significance action was to reduce the asking price for my house. I want out, I want to rid myself of this place, allow myself a new start. My home is no longer my safe haven! Being at home is like voluntary imprisonment, incarcerating oneself to spite yourself. This doesn't mean I want to consciously punish myself, but knowing the effect its having on me, and still not doing anything about it, tends to force a masochistic cycle of emotional turmoil. I guess it isn't so much actively making myself suffer, it's really a matter of not being proactive in dealing with it, allowing it to continue. Awareness is one thing, doing something about it is easier said than done though!
Actually I should look at this more objectively: I've broken my frigging wrist, so I have no transport and walking too far seems to induce my arm to swell and throb in the caste. The use of my right arm is severely hampered, I am gradually increasing the things I can do, though become it's more frustrating the longer I have the caste on. I don't have any outlet for my frustration, which has compounded the negative emotions I've been dealing with anyway. Since Cai died I haven't really released any anger, can't say I've felt much either, but I've known its there. Not far below the surface there has been anger lurking, waiting for expression, release. I've dreaded the thought of being stopped by the police, due to their petty minded bigotry towards motorcyclists, I've severely doubted my ability to keep it all in check if subjected to such an affront. Miraculously whatever adverse situations I have been confronted with have seemed insignificant compared to losing Cai. I've not been looking for an excuse to vent the anger, merely wanting credible focus for it.
For many years I worked at the ever present anger that developed in my formative years, an anger created by the inherent injustice of our world. Much of my youth rebelling against any figure of authority, in particular a narrow minded, intolerant, bigot of a father. His attitude was there was something wrong with me, no matter how harsh he was over my misdemeanors I never learned. There again, if the only attention you get from someone is reprimands, the chances are you will seek that sort of attention; I did! My father told me, in my adulthood, if I hadn't been such a little shit, he wouldn't have needed to be so heavy handed with me. Oh dear, such a lack of awareness, so little understanding! At 14-15 yrs old I was suspended from school, for nothing more than putting a bright red Bowie streak, through my peroxide blond hair. I had little more than one foot in the school gate when the headmaster bellowed from his window, "Les Kay, get up to my office now." I was suspended immediately, I wasn't to be seen there until my hair was back to normal; and he was easier going than my old man!
The streak had been put in for a party at my parents house, my mum was working away in London, my father's shift didn't finish until 10pm; so it had to be over before he got back home. It was, just about! Most people were making a move; once an ambulance had been called few wanted to be implicated in my comatose drunkenness. My father arrived as I was being loaded into the ambulance, I was not a popular person! He made my life as miserable as he could, done his utmost to put me down, to belittle me. At least by that age I was taller and better developed than the old git, physical retribution had become a thing of the past, just!
Not once did my father realise, his bull headed manner actually exacerbated the situation. I knew, from a fairly early age; the more shit or pressure I'm given the harder I'll dig in my heals. I understood that, while he never did, and still doesn't! I felt contempt for him rather than the respect he demanded, for me this is a fundamental difference between him and me, in raising a son; you gain respect by earning it, not demanding it! I don't begrudge my earlier life though, it gave me a better understanding of how not to form a close bond with a child. Having lost the chance to form such a relationship with my daughter, Renae, I determined to make up for it with Cai. Almost without exception I used my father as an example, I stood him on a pedestal, anything he may have done I did the opposite with Cai. It worked, it may have been hard, but the bond we formed made it all worthwhile.
I made many mistakes, I had to fight against my own earlier conditioning, but when this came to the forefront I would identify it for what it was, explain it to Cai. It gave him an insight as to what I was fighting against, an appreciation of how much effort I put into safeguarding him from destructive behavior patterns. Funnily enough, Cai got suspended from school at fifteen, for having a bit of weed in his possession. He was mortified, it earned him cult hero status at school; he didn't want the attention. Both me and Gabe were happy for him to partake in a smoke of pot, as long as it didn't interfere with his school work! And yes, we did know he smoked pot before this instance! Better than joining the other youngsters at school, binge drinking, getting aggressive and throwing up. I was happy for him to indulge, he showed a remarkable amount of self restraint, he didn't get stoned during the school week, and kept it within reason most other times.
I've learned, with age, to show authority the respect it demands, in most instances. I couldn't face his headmaster and say "so what?" I had to dress Cai down a strip, impress the head with my attitude to pot smoking. Poor Cai tried to answer me back, I had to verbally slap him down, show I would not stand for such behavior. I did explain this after we left, he then realised I had acted in that manner to ensure the police weren't involved. I'd avoided our house being searched, maybe an official caution for him; therefore a blot on his record. He understood and we got three weeks together with no school. He finished the work he was given in the first week, then we enjoyed the rest of the time! Irresponsible? I don't think so; open and honest I call it! He didn't hide much from me, I knew what he was doing in most spheres of life. There was understanding and acceptance between us, I earned a great deal of respect from Cai, and he from me, it wasn't obtained by demanding it!
Photos show us both at 14-15 yrs, and again at 17 yrs old!
Oh, the relief of ridding myself of my plaster caste! At least that's the way it felt, at first, instant relief from the sticky, mankiness that had been irritating me for the last couple of weeks. In harsh reality I'd been able to use my wrist a fair bit before the caste came off. Once off my wrist was as week and feeble as imaginable, I wouldn't even risk trying to get on a bike. I even turned down getting a loan bike! There really was no way I was going to risk it so soon. Realising there was more work ahead did take away the edge of my excitement, but only a bit!
And of course, I wasn't going to be patient for long. A few days of painful exercise, forcing more movement out of my wrist, coincided with the delivery of a Suzuki 1200cc Bandit. A lot of people have commented favourably on it's looks and, assumed, powerful ride. They obviously don't know what my Triumph was like; it looked stylish, sounded great and had that peculiar quality, found in European motorcycles, character! In comparison the Suzuki looks bland, angular, boring. A potential 1200cc powerhouse, promising a superior ride? That all it is, full of promise and delivering little. Maybe I'm being harsh, though after a couple of months with no transport I'd have thought any bike would suffice: only with no other choice!
Mustn't grrrumble, I'm mobile now. Its enabled me to get out and about under my own steam, although my wrist is too week to hold the bike up properly, if really needed! So more exercise to the wrist and it can only get better. Anyone out there got any magic cures to increase mobility? Pretending there isn't a problem doesn't seem to work anymore; bugger, I've succumbed, I've become a mere mortal, vulnerable to the realities of life. No longer able to bury pain, whether physical or emotional, and continue, seemingly oblivious to the rigours of life. Of course, this is a portrayal of many people's lives. 
Really it's just the stiff upper lip attitude, eh what old boy! And whatever is said, it can be a very useful character trait. Letting the pain control you is detrimental, feeling it doesn't need to be. You can, and need to, experience the pain to some extent. I can't be healthy to bury your head in the sand, neither is it to allow the pain to sweep you away. In whatever form it takes, the pain must be accepted as part of life, not the end of life! There is no point in allowing it to be your life, what a miserable existence that would be. But ignore it and the damage may never go away! At the end of the day, if you can still feel pain, you're still alive. So don't whinge about it, or be a martyr, accept it and keep living!
Recently I've opened up to families again, not a feeling I found comfortable when first coming home. It really seemed to heighten the grief already present. Seeing nice happy families when I had nothing, it sucked! Self pity is difficult to bear, maybe even harder to admit to yourself, and extremely difficult to pull yourself out of, especially when the circumstances don't change. I still feel sorry for myself, sorry I had to lose Cai, sorry to be alone; for sure, I wish I wasn't in the position I find myself in. But there isn't much I can do to change things, so the only thing to do is moving forward. So I've been spending time with more families, enjoying the buzz you can get from kids. Its opening up my heart again, it may be slow, but it is progress.
If I hadn't made that step forward I couldn't enjoy my nephews and niece, nor the hoards of kids I went camping with. So I owe thanks to all concerned for contributing to this shift forward. I'm aware these interactions do not have the depth of emotional experience I'd ultimately desire, but Rome wasn't built in a day. I still feel vulnerable, reluctant to open my heart, scared of loving and losing again. I hope this emotional journey is getting me somewhere, above all I hope to regain my full range of emotions, to again find the capacity to feel love without the associated fear.
