I've had writer's block of late—writer's block about my own life. Today, I went to visit Miriam, the Syrian refugee whom I have started visiting again once a week. She likes to practice her English with me. I used to put together formal lessons, but I decided to take a more informal approach.
Off our own bat, we have talked about everything to do with our families and our lives, mostly through Google Translate. So, today I asked AI to put together 100 questions I could use in conversation with someone learning English. AI came up with some questions, and they were a little cheesy, but I know Miriam thought about them, and she thought about how to respond.
An example is, "What time do you get up in the morning?" With this particular question, I could tell they had taught her a range of these types of questions at TAFE because she first answered the time she goes to bed, and then she realised it was the opposite. We had a good time today, had a laugh, and then I asked her if she wanted to ask me any questions. She said she didn't know how.
So, I asked her to get her daughter to help her come up with 10 questions to ask me next week when I visit, and she liked the sound of that. Next week, we're also going to practice the citizenship test because she mentioned she had failed her first attempt. I'm going to look around online and see if there are any resources we can use to help her learn the answers. I imagine it would have been a bit of a struggle for her, but she could definitely pass it if she puts her mind to it.
I'll give you an update on Nanny. Nanny has taught me a very valuable lesson, and that is the power of the mind. Nanny wasn't doing too well before it was determined that she is terminally ill, but she could still hold a conversation, and she was lucid. But as soon as they told her about her prognosis, she went downhill 500%.
She now speaks, but no one understands what she is saying at all. I know she speaks Lithuanian sometimes because I can make out a few words, not that I understand what they mean. I've mentioned before that she cried a lot in the past, but now it's as if she is permanently crying. She gets hysterical, delusional, and it's really hard for anyone to be around her without wanting to cry themselves.
I am heartbroken. I really am. She was a very harsh person, but she was my person. I spoke to her twice a day and visited her all the time. But now, I feel weird with her family, now that she is like this. I feel like I shouldn't be there when I go to visit because really, dying is a very intimate thing. But I know she would want me to be there, so I'm going to keep going. It really was just like out of a textbook—the way they told her she was going to die, and she just became a different person.
It reminded me of the "pointing of the bone" in some Aboriginal cultures. In some Australian Aboriginal communities, usually a tribal elder will point a bone—I understand it's usually an animal bone, you'd hope—at someone who has broken tribal law or gone against social norms. By pointing the bone, the idea is to curse the individual or place a death sentence on them. The power of this act has profound effects on some people, sometimes causing severe psychological distress and even death.
I find that absolutely amazing. It’s like what has happened to Nanny—she was told she was going to die, and her mind and body have responded accordingly. When I'm there with her, I wonder if she still knows what's going on, and I think she does. Sometimes, she will say her daughter's name. This is her daughter who has been doing absolutely everything for Nanny, and it has put a lot of pressure on her.
It's the age-old question: Are you better off having dementia and not being aware that you're going to die, or are you better off living through every second of it? I think about that a lot after seeing my father live with dementia for so many years. I actually think dementia is kinder. It was so difficult for everyone around him, but for him, he was happy and carefree. He left us at the ripe old age of 95.
Nanny is 91, but before this, she wasn't like any other 91-year-old you've ever met. She continued to clean our house up until she was 90. I think she's had this cancer for a long time. She had trouble with her doctor, who refused to do tests on her because of her age, and I knew there was something wrong.
I have been back to mosaic classes over the last few weeks, and I just finished off that pot I was making before. You can see it below. I'm happy with the way the colours turned out.
Since I last wrote, I took photos of two people using words to express themselves. The first is an image of my best friend Hussein's ten-year-old daughter's television monitor, which she uses as a computer screen. Hussein's three children go to an Islamic college on top of their day-to-day school, and they have been teaching them to hate Israel. He told me they boycott Israeli food and drinks and have become fundamental about it.
