Tag Archives: life

On a Side Note #2

I want to give you a little status update on a few things, so I’m using this category again, as I had anticipated last time.
My pile of stuff to type is getting bigger and bigger by the day and I feel like my brain is busy with so many different ideas that I just don’t know where to start.
As I mentioned in the last What’cha Watching Wednesday did a simple story-idea ran totally amok and I’m barely catching up with it…
Aside from that have I managed to publish a few stories, namely my entry for the Clue Writing Blog Parade and Chapter Eleven of Crossing Over – that were on my to-type-list last time – and a short story for a contest over at Edge of Night.
Guess what?

R.O._Winners_Award_PoiSonPaiNter

My award!


Isn’t that awesome? 😀
Either way, I also managed to write two more stories for Your Picture – A Story – again both are in German: Preparations (a continuation of Lukas‘ story from my Advent Calendar) and The Medlar – a Fairy Tale for a change. 😉
During my recent stay with DarkFairy we also managed to edit quite a bit of our book in a few days time, you can read more about it here: Scenes of an Editing Marathon.
Just yesterday I also sent off my Season Summary for Season Three of Supernatural, that might be published one of these days on The Extremis Review.
By now I’m also half way through this years Advent Calendar, but it already looks like my original plan will fail, but I’ll tell you more about that in December. 😉
Other than that am I trying to catch up with my Journey through a bit of Germany-series, as there is still a lot to talk about from last year and some new stuff from this year. I’m also going to expand on the travel logs as I want to include my trip to Ireland from last Halloween, the short trip to Liegé during my mini-Journey and the one to Stockholm I’m about to partake in at the end of the month (24th-26th).
Back in July I participated in another Reading Stage (Lesebühne) and presented some of my stories. Between reading them, someone I’ve been there with commented that I should publish my stuff as it is really good. So now we come to the main reason, why I’m writing this post:
After long contemplation I created an exposé for my Advent Calendar stories, but I wasn’t sure if I should really give it away for quite some time. Then Ed proposed to set a deadline for doing so. That deadline is today, so printed the exposé, put it into an envelope and really put that envelope into the letter box of a local publisher.
I’m still not entirely sure if that was the right thing to do.
Part of me is thrilled at the thought of it being read by professionals, another part is terrified of just that. You know how the saying goes: You’re your own worst critic, so my pessimism is greatly involved in me not believing what I have done and that they won’t like it anyway…
Well, guess we’ll see what will come of this…
See you around
PoiSonPaiNter
P.S. It’s been six months today and we regained some kind of normalcy by now, but it’s still so, so strange. Especially when Dad and I are cooking a meal after two different recipes at the same time or, you know, we’re attending a wedding together, that she would have loved to be part of…I just miss her soo much… 🙁

On the Road: Travelling with a Heavy Heart

For the first time since it happened my Dad and I will be driving to Mum’s/our relatives for our more or less regular Pentecost visit.
It will be very strange to be there without her.

The missing Navigator

Whenever we went to see our relatives, since I got my licence, Mum would sit in the back seat giving us directions and telling us when to switch the motorway and we would tell her that we know and that we can read the signs.
Whenever she saw me struggling to keep concentrated she would give me snack or something to drink, as we kept a basket with food and drinks on the back seat beside her.
Now both those task will have to be done by my Dad and it will be really weird.
We will find our way, but she wont be there with us.
Though the hardest thing will be that down there, where Mum grew up, will also be all those people that knew her and now have the chance to express their condolences in person.
It will be a difficult weekend full of tears, even though I’m tired of crying, but my heart doesn’t care about that.

Small steps

These past few (nearly three…) months I’ve been trying to get some kind of normalcy back into my life and as my Dad supports me in pursuing my own adventures this even included minor trips.
The first time meeting people that know what happened is hard, but at some point you have told them what you need to tell and you can commence to different topics, which takes your mind off off things.
My first visit was to Janzy in Hamburg where we participated in the Lange Nacht der Mussen (Long nights of museums). It was an interesting, educative and really nice trip, but the whole time there was this aching in my heart when I thought of my Mum.
Whene I was travelling in the past I would call her or at least text her to give her an update, but this time I had to inform my Dad about all the things happening.
It felt really weird and it still does.
Another way of me to get used to texting my Dad and enjoying stuff without having the chance to tell her about it was for me to participate in the meetings of the local Animexx group in Greifswald. I discovered the HGWAnime last year and one of their meetings was my last trip I could still tell her about. I felt the need to go there again, to be able to continue going there without thinking of that last time and so far it worked and I could enjoy my time there without thinking too much about her.
Two weeks ago Breagit and I also made another trip to Berlin for Germany’s version of the Free Comicbook Day. We were so busy throughout those hours that I barely thought about her, but still managed to give my Dad some updates.
Another thing I have last done when she got out of the hospital in January was the Sabaton concert I attended with Anice. I was so occupied by my fear of losing her that I only could really enjoy the concert when the main band started.
Next week for the first time I will attend a concert again. It will be in the same hall, but a different band and a different person to accompany me. I’m not sure how that will turn out, but I made the decision to see this band last year and I really wanted to see Blind Guardian in a standalone concert for quite some time now. I really hope I can enjoy it.

What is ahead

Last year I talked about my Fernweh and slowly but surely it keeps sipping in again. With all the sadness and memories surrounding the places I know here my urge to just drive/fly away, abroad if possible, is becoming stronger and stronger. But so far I don’t have any set plans for actual journeys, like the ones I did the past few years. But I want to continue to explore stuff and I’m certain my Fernweh will find a way. Probably even more so when I start typing up my travel logs from last year…
PoiSonPaiNter
P.S.  On a completely different note and in a different tone: My Post about Fernweh is now also available in an E-Book for ferngeweht’s Blog-Parade: 49 Gedanken zu Fernweh (49 thoughts on Fernweh), you can check it out if you like, some entries, including mine, are even in English.

On the Road: A rather ridiculous trip

Facebook has a new feature that tells you what you posted today throughout the years. Out of curiosity I clicked on it today and as my Blog has been gloomy and not as funny as before I feel like I should tell you about this ridiculous/strange trip that happened exactly a year ago – like I wanted to a year ago…

It all started on a misty morning in April…

Like almost every day I drove down to work by bus and even though it was fairly early was it a morning like any other. Expect: When I looked outside I only saw mist blocking my view. Still, through this mist I saw a black clad figure making its way through the thick layers of water. It did not take me long to recognize it as Black Kat.
When we both finally arrived at work I told her about it and she told me that she had seen me the day before as well holding a paper bag from the soup bar.
I don’t really remember the exact conversation, but the following theory was created through it:

The rustling in the bushes is not the wind and it is not movement of animals. This rustling comes from paper bag-packs (pack as in wolf pack not backpack) that form when people thoughtlessly throw away their trash and are now eagerly waiting for scraps.

Or something like that.

But this was only the beginning…

During lunch another colleague, let’s call her Breagit, mused that she wanted to go to Berlin again. The weather had cleared, it was sunny and she was out of bread.
While passing by a truck sporting the incredibly melodic logo/brand name „Badusch“ (technically: Bad und Dusche => Bath and Shower => Basho) and enduring a drunkard on the playground were we ate, the musing turned more and more into planning.
So shortly after this lunch break, when we checked the connections and looked at our work load, we made the decision: We leave work earlier to drive to Berlin to get her some bread.

And so we did…

With a Länderticket (state tickets Berlin/Brandenburg ticket in this case) it is easy to get from Neubrandenburg to Berlin and use public transport without additional costs. Through this we didn’t have any trouble to get to the special bakery Breagit had in mind. As this very special bakery that makes bread that bodes well with her and that you can’t really get in Neubrandenburg was our destination – and not because there are no bakeries here…
While getting the bread was a very serious business when it comes to health terms, we did have moments throughout the trip were we just looked at each other, recited the trucks logo and started laughing because of the absurdity of this situation.
We earned a lot of confused response when we talked about this trip to other people.
My Mum for one wasn’t entirely sure she understood correctly what I was telling her on the phone when I told her we were on the train to Berlin to buy some bread and only wished us to have fun. Later, when I had explained it a bit more thoroughly, she called us bonkers…
Well, rarely anyone makes a two/four hours trip on a whim just to get some bread.
Besides this, another constant reminder of our spontaneity was Breagits repeated use of the phrase:

„Usually when I come here I have [this-and-this] with me.“

While it was less convenient we did indeed manage to get around just fine and also found a few other things to buy besides the bread (e.g. a Cookie for me 🙂 ), even without the stuff that would have made the trip easier.
On this very trip I also saw/entered the Grober Unfug comic book and the Otherland book store for the first time and declared them evil and worth another separate visit with more time to spent there.

And so it ends…

With the shopping done we soon had to depart again for our two hours train ride back. And one would think that the ridiculousness would end, but well…it didn’t.
When we waited for the train to stop at our destination we noticed an unattended bike and wondered if people would look at it the same way as they would an unattended suitcase. People are afraid of suitcase-bombs, so we speculated how one would use a bike in a similar situation. We came to very interesting conclusions concerning the frame and the bomb material…
Luckily the owner of the bike came out to pick it up to exit with us and it was not a bomb in disguise.
Long story short: This was a day that started strange and became even weirder along the way.
Though I wouldn’t really mind having such days more often – especially now that my thoughts have an ever higher tendency to turn dark.
Hope you enjoyed the tale.
PoiSonPaiNter

A different routine

Lies auf Deutsch
Tomorrow it will be a month, but also my first day back at work.
This means I’ll go back to my routine of working throughout the week and usually coming home for the weekend.

Yet, it won’t be the same:

  • The daily call will now be made by my Dad or me, with no chance of even hearing her murmurs in the background.
  • The two of us have to coordinate the shopping list and think of all the things she reminded us to buy.
  • My Dad and/or close friends will now be subjected to my rants and/of negativity, now that my main motivator can no longer tell me what nonsense I’m babbling about.
  • I no longer have a first hand proofreader that tells me what is wrong with my stories.
  • While waiting longer for the bus or taking longer to walk somewhere, there will be no one on the other end of the line that I can call to have someone to talk to.
  • When I want to see my Mum I have to look at a photograph, when I want to visit her, I have to go to the cemetery.
  • Everything will be different.

Still, life will go on regardless of all that.
As harsh as it might sound.

What remains

is an emptiness in my heart and the urge to just curl up and hide.
But I can’t succumb to this.
She wouldn’t have wanted it.
My Mum always encouraged me to participate in things I was unsure about attending.
She encouraged me to travel, to explore, to live my life the way I want.
I wont sully her memory by becoming even more of a recluse that I already am.
I will continue.
With this Blog, with my stories, with my travellings and concert/festival visits.
She would have wanted me to.
So, even though I’ll probably have to kick myself in the butt to do so – as my butt kicker can’t tell me to do something any more – I want to restart my weekly schedule for this Blog with the return of The Weekend Guess, Reading Together (when I finally manage to read something again) and the newer Watcha‘ Watching Wednesday, hopefully starting next week.
Thank you for your patiences and sympathies.
PoiSonPaiNter
____________
Read in English

Eine andere Routine

Morgen ist es ein Monat, aber auch mein erster Tag wieder auf Arbeit.
Das heißt ich kehre zurück zu meiner Routine von unter der Woche arbeiten und normalerweise nach Hause kommen fürs Wochenende.

Dennoch, es wird nicht das Gleiche sein:

  • Der tägliche Anruf wird nun von meinem Papa oder mir gemacht, ohne die Chance auch nur ihr Gemurmel im Hintergrund zu hören.
  • Wir zwei müssen die Einkaufsliste koordinieren und daran denken an all die Dinge zu kaufen, an die sie uns immer erinnert hat.
  • Mein Papa und/oder meine engen Freunde werden jetzt meinem Gerede und/über meine/r Negativität ausgesetzt sein, jetzt da mein Haupt-Motivator mir nicht länger sagen kann was ich für einen Unsinn von mir gebe.
  • Ich habe nicht länger einen Korrekturleser aus erster Hand, der mir sagt, was mit meinen Geschichten nicht stimmt.
  • Während ich länger auf den Bus warte oder einen längeren Fußweg irgendwohin habe, ist da niemand mehr am anderen Ende der Leitung, den ich anrufen kann, um jemanden zum Reden zu haben.
  • Wenn ich meine Mama sehen will, muss ich ein Foto anschauen, wenn ich sie besuchen möchte, muss ich auf den Friedhof gehen.
  • Alles wird anders sein.

Trotzdem geht das Leben weiter.
So hart das auch klingen mag.

Was übrig bleibt

ist die Leere in meinem Herzen und der Drang mich einfach einzuigeln und zu verstecken.
Aber dem kann ich nicht nachgeben.
Das hätte sie nicht gewollt.
Meine Mama hat mich immer ermutigt an Sachen teilzunehmen, bei denen ich unsicher war, ob ich mitmachen soll.
Sie hat mich ermutigt zu reisen, zu entdecken, mein Leben so zu leben, wie ich es wollte.
Ich werde die Erinnerung an sie nicht beschmutzen indem ich noch mehr zum Einsiedler werde, als ich es eh schon bin.
Ich werde weiter machen.
Mit dem Blog, mit meinen Geschichten, mit meinen Reisen und Konzert-/Festivalbesuchen.
Das hätte sie für mich gewollt.
Auch wenn ich mir wahrscheinlich selbst dafür in den Hintern treten muss, um es zu tun – da meine Hintern-Treterin mir nicht mehr tu was sagen kann – will ich meinen wöchentlichen Zeitplan für diesen Blog wieder anfangen mit der Rückkehr des The Weekend Guess, Reading Together (wenn ich es endlich schaffe wieder etwas zu lesen) und dem neueren Watcha‘ Watching Wednesday, hoffentlich ab nächste Woche.
Danke für eure Geduld und Anteilnahme.
PoiSonPaiNter

But you have older siblings, right?

Lies auf Deutsch
This is the first question people ask when they learn about my parents‘ age.
But it also leads me to write this very personal post.
Nowadays it is not unusual to have children late in ones life, but a pregnancy during a woman’s early forties is still considered quite odd.
Back in the late eighties, after nearly twenty years of marriage, my parents were finally expecting their very first child and a little over nine months later little me was brought into this world.
Back then my parents were both already beyond forty: Mum 42, Dad 41.

Growing up with old parents

I love my parents to bits, regardless of us butting heads and disagreeing on things.
Yes, they have lived a complete life before me and much has changed since I’ve entered their lives, but we are a family that cares deeply for each other and that’s the important thing about it.
With all their experiences growing up and living in the GDR and generally already being old people, I do believe they raised me well.
Still, our age difference did lead to some confusion about our actual relations:

  • Back when I lay in the stroller and my Mum was pushing me around town, one of my Mum’s old colleagues asked her what it felt like to push ones grandchild.
  • When I was in kindergarten my Dad once picked me up and another child told me that my Grandpa was picking me up – which I was utterly confused about, as my Grandpa lived hundreds of kilometres away and wasn’t visiting us at that time.
  • Technically the titular question counts for this as well, as people have a hard time believing that I am an only child.

Anyway, at some point in your life you start thinking about the age difference. Not just because all the other parents are so much younger, but also about what will happen in a few years time. You start to realize that you won’t have your parents as long as others will.
For years my calculation was that when I’m forty, my parents will be in their eighties and I still have at least twenty years with them.
Unfortunately this turned out to be one of my false predictions.
Because

on 7. March 2015 I lost my Mother to cancer

after mere 25 years of knowing her.
I know cancer is disease that can strike at any age, but a young woman is more likely to overcome the struggles than one that is already in her sixties.

A futile battle

Back in 2011, when I returned from my worst semester during studying, I found her crying and admitting to me that she had done something wrong.
For a few weeks she had hid a wound under her arm from both my father and me to not make us worry, but when it started bleeding he knew and they decided not to tell me until my semester and my exams finished – I still failed 4/6 of them without knowing anything.
Shortly afterwards we got the diagnosis: Cancer, virulent.
Months of radiation and several chemotherapies passed and between them it looked like she would now finally make it. That she had won.
But there was always a remainder of the cancer and always another chemo.
Still, when she was well we still managed to do stuff together, like go the Christmas markets or the cinema, visit the Book Hotel, attend organ concerts and what not.
She was still able to do all that.
At least until earlier this year.
At the end of last year her body started to react badly, skin slowly peeled, her breathing got more problematic and her arm swell.
Still, she did not want to worry us, so again she waited with seeing a doctor.
Only after we celebrated my Birthday together – where she and my Dad made fun of me by telling me there would only be cookies and later bringing in pieces of cake and two candles (a 2 and a 5) – she went to the hospital and stayed there.
When she got out about a week later and I finally saw her after my trip to Cologne, I was shocked how bad she looked and my fear of losing her rose.
The doctors statement that there was medically nothing they could do any more, wasn’t helping.
Still, my Mother always fought, always stayed optimistic and always assured us that things will get better.
But they didn’t.
Things got worse.
Returned from the hospital we now had someone from a nursing service coming to us on a daily basis and later on also someone from a palliative service a few days a week.
They tried to remove the water that got stuck in my Mums arm through a special massage, they twice removed a total of 3 litres of it from her lungs (first time 1 litre, the second 2) in the hospital and they changed her bandages on a daily basis.
Things looked good again. We had our schedules, the first care level and the services tried different things to improve her wound – which by now had spread from her armpit to her breast and back.
Yet, my Mum started having trouble eating and drinking.
Managing a whole litre a day was hard, just some days later a half-litre was much.

The final struggle

A volunteer from the palliative service gave us a booklet about how to live with someone that is slowly passing away and for some reason my Mum was eager to catch up and run through the phases described in it.
In her last week she went from being able to sit up and walk, to just lying, to lying in a special bed wearing a diaper, to being calmed and soothed by medication.
When she was awake she could still recognize us and say a few words, but she knew as well as we did that all her fighting was to no avail. That this horrible sickness finally got the better of her.
Yet, she smiled and listened to us like it was nothing.
My Dad, my aunt and I knew deep down in our hearts that she would not live through the weekend and we/I just kept telling my Mum that it was okay for her to leave us, that we would somehow manage, that we do not want her to suffer any more.
We were with her all the way to the end.
And it was the worst moment of my life when I held her hand and her breathing simply stopped.

My Mum

My Mum was the most important person in my life and I love her with all my heart.
She was a wonderful, caring and strong woman that fought until the bitter end.
There is a saying – I don’t know if it is a German one – that says that someone who fights for their children/family, fights like a lioness.
My Mum was definitely one, as all her fighting was to make sure she could stay by my side a bit longer.
She showed me how to lead a selfless life, how to help people in need and not ask for anything in return. In our Abschlusszeitung (literally completion paper, something people in their final school year make to commemorate their time together) of Secondary School – she was my teacher too – we compared her to „Mother Theresa“ and I still believe there could be no one more fitting.
She was gentle and I could always come to her with my problems and get a warm hug and encouraging words from her. She lifted my spirits so often I lost count, but regardless of my negativity she still remained optimistic and told me when I was babbling nonsense.
She was clever and a total bookworm. I got my love for reading from her and she was always the first person to hear about new stories I wrote or thought about.
She managed to completely read my Advent Calendar, but barely any of the stories for the Your Picture – A Story project over at DF.PP Entertainment. As we didn’t manage to keep up, she only managed to read the first few chapters of Warlords, but at least she liked them.
When she didn’t like something in the story I changed it and asked her again if it was better now. The last story we worked on together was „Nebeljagd“ that even made it into the current issue of the Bücherstadt Kurier.
I owe her so much and I will never be able to repay any of it.

What the future holds

It’s been a week now and I still haven’t completely realized that she is no longer with us. The lump in my throat and the heaviness of my heart is slowly getting better, but the tears still stream whenever I think about her.
Writing this helps a little as well, but I still don’t know when I’ll pick up Blogging and Writing properly again. I just don’t feel like doing anything right now.
Her memorial service will be on the 27th and maybe until then I find the strength again to continue. Until then I just need some time for myself. And for my Dad.

Life is like a book full of stories and it ends after far too few chapters.

PoiSonPaiNter
____________
Read in English

Aber du hast noch ältere Geschwister, oder?

Das ist die erste Frage, die Leute mir stellen, wenn sie vom Alter meiner Eltern erfahren.
Aber sie veranlasst mich auch dazu einen sehr persönlichen Beitrag zu schreiben.
Heutzutage ist es nicht ungewöhnlich erst spät im Leben Kinder zu bekommen, aber eine Schwangerschaft bei einer Frau in den frühen Vierzigern wird immer noch als seltsam angesehen.
Damals in den späten Achtzigern, nach fast zwanzig Jahren Ehe erwarteten meine Eltern endlich ihr allererstes Kind und ein bisschen mehr als neun Monate später wurde klein-Ich in diese Welt geholt.
Damals waren meine Eltern bereits beide über vierzig: Mama 42, Papa 41.

Mit alten Eltern aufwachsen

Ich liebe meine Eltern über alles, egal ob wir uns streiten und uns uneinig sind über Sachen.
Ja, sie haben bereits ein komplettes Leben vor mir gelebt und vieles hat sich verändert, seit ich da bin, aber wir sind eine Familie, die sich umeinander sorgt und das ist das Wichtigste.
Mit all ihren Erfahrungen vom Aufwachsen und Leben in der DDR und generell davon, bereits alte Leute zu sein, denke ich, haben sie mich gut erzogen.
Trotzdem hat unser Altersunterschied zu einigen Verwirrungen, was unsere tatsächliche Verwandtschaft betrifft, gesorgt:

  • Als ich noch im Kinderwagen lag und meine Mutter mich durch die Stadt geschoben hat, fragte sie eine alte Kollegin wie es sich anfühlte, dass eigene Enkelkind zu schieben.
  • Als ich noch im Kindergarten war und mein Vater mich abgeholt hat, hat ein anderes Kind mir gesagt, dass mein Opa mich abholen kommt – was mich total verwirrte, da mein Opa mehrere hundert Kilometer weit weg gewohnt hat und uns zu dem Zeitpunkt nicht besucht hatte.
  • Theoretisch zählt hier auch die Titel-Frage, da es Leuten immer noch schwer fällt zu glauben, dass ich ein Einzelkind bin.

Wie auch immer, an einem gewissen Punkt im Leben fängt man an sich über den Altersunterschied Gedanken zu machen. Nicht nur, weil alle anderen Eltern so viel jünger sind, aber auch darüber, was in ein paar Jahren passieren wird. Man fängt an zu begreifen, dass man selbst seine Eltern nicht so lange haben wird wie andere.
Über Jahre war meine Rechnung, dass wenn ich vierzig bin, meine Eltern in ihren Achtzigern sein werden und ich somit noch immer zwanzig Jahre mit ihnen haben werden.
Leider wurde das eine meiner falschen Voraussagen.
Denn

am 7. März 2015 habe ich meine Mama an Krebs verloren

nach nur 25 Jahren, die ich sie kannte.
Ich weiß, Krebs ist eine Krankheit, die in jedem Alter eintreten kann, aber eine junge Frau hat eine größere Chance den Kampf zu überstehen als eine Frau, die bereits in ihren Sechzigern ist.

Ein aussichtsloser Kampf

In 2011, als ich von meinem schlimmsten Semesters in meinem Studium zurück kam, fand ich meine Mutter weinend und zugebend, dass sie etwas falsch gemacht hatte.
Seit ein paar Wochen hatte sie eine Wunde unter ihrem Arm vor meinem Vater und mir versteckt, aber als sie anfing zu bluten wusste er es und sie hatten entschieden mir nichts zu sagen, bis mein Semester und meine Prüfungen zu Ende waren – ich habe trotzdem 4/6 Prüfungen nicht bestanden, ohne etwas zu wissen.
Kurz danach haben wir die Diagnose bekommen: Krebs, bösartig.
Monate voll Bestrahlung und mehrere Chemotherapien vergingen und zwischendrin sah es so aus, als wenn sie es endlich schaffen würde. Das sie gewonnen hatte.
Aber es blieb immer ein Rest des Krebs und immer eine neue Chemo.
Trotzdem haben wir es geschafft Dinge zu unternehmen, während es ihr gut ging, wie auf Weihnachtsmärkte oder ins Kino gehen, das Buchhotel oder Orgelkonzerte besuchen und was nicht noch alles.
Sie konnte das immer noch machen.
Zumindest bis Anfang diesen Jahres.
Zum Ende letzten Jahres fing ihr Körper an schlecht zu reagieren, Haut löste sich ab, Atmung wurde problematisch und ihr Arm schwoll an.
Trotzdem wollte sie uns nicht beunruhigen und sie wartete wieder bis sie zum Arzt ging.
Erst nachdem wir zusammen meinen Geburtstag gefeiert haben – wo sie und mein Vater mich noch veralbert haben, dass ich nur Kekse bekommen würde und sie später Kuchenstücken und zwei Kerzen (eine 2 und eine 5) auftischten – ist sie ins Krankenhaus gegangen und dort geblieben.
Als sie ungefähr eine Woche später wieder raus kam und ich sie nach meinem Ausflug nach Köln gesehen habe, war ich geschockt wie schlecht sie aussah und meine Angst sie zu verlieren stieg.
Die Aussage der Ärzte, dass sie medizinisch nichts mehr machen konnten waren auch nicht hilfreich.
Trotzdem kämpfte meine Mutter immer weiter, blieb immer optimistisch und versicherte uns das es wieder besser wird.
Wurde es aber nicht.
Es wurde schlimmer.
Zurück aus dem Krankenhaus kam jetzt täglich jemand vom Pflegedienst und ein paar Tage die Woche auch jemand vom Palliativ Dienst.
Sie haben versucht, dass Wasser das in Mama’s Arm fest steckte durch spezielle Massage zu entfernen, zwei Mal haben sie im Krankenhaus insgesamt 3 Liter Wasser aus ihrer Lunge gepumpt (1 Liter beim ersten Mal, 2 beim Zweiten) und sie haben täglich ihren Verband gewechselt.
Es sah wieder gut aus. Wir hatten unseren Rhythmus, die erste Pflegestufe und die Dienste versuchten neue Sachen um ihre Wunde -, die sich jetzt von der Achselhöhle bis zur Brust und dem Rücken ausgebreitet hatte – zu verbessern.
Dennoch fing Mama an Schwierigkeiten mit Essen und Trinken zu haben.
Einen ganzen Liter am Tag zu schaffen war schwer, nur ein paar Tage später, war ein halber Liter schon viel.

Der letzte Kampf

Eine Freiwillige vom Palliativ Dienst hatte uns ein Büchlein gegeben in dem etwas über das Leben mit einem langsam Sterbenden stand und aus irgendeinem Grund hat meine Mama versucht, die darin beschriebenen Phasen aufzuholen und durch sie durch zu rasen.
In ihrer letzten Woche ging sie von sitzen und laufen können, zu nur liegen, zu im Spezialbett liegen und Windeln tragen, zu beruhigende und schmerzlindernde Medikamente bekommend.
Wenn sie wach war konnte sie uns noch immer erkennen und ein paar Wörter sagen, aber sie wusste genauso wie wir, das ihr Kampf vergebens war. Das diese schreckliche Krankheit schließlich doch die Oberhand gewonnen hatte.
Trotzdem lächelte sie und hörte zu, als wäre nichts.
Mein Papa, meine Tante und ich wussten tief in unseren Herzen, dass sie das Wochenende nicht überleben würde und wir/ich sagten meiner Mama wieder und wieder, dass es okay war wenn sie uns verließ, dass wir irgendwie schon klar kommen würde, dass wir nicht wollen, dass sie noch länger litt.
Wir waren bei ihr bis zum Schluss.
Und es war der schlimmste Moment in meinem Leben, als ich ihre Hand hielt und ihre Atmung einfach aufhörte.

Meine Mama

Meine Mama war der wichtigste Mensch in meinem Leben und ich liebe sie von ganzem Herzen.
Sie war eine wundervolle, fürsorgliche und starke Frau, die bis zum bitteren Ende gekämpft hat.
Es gibt ein Sprichwort, dass sagt, dass wenn jemand für seine Kinder kämpft, dann kämpft sie wie eine Löwin.
Meine Mama war definitiv eine, da all ihr kämpfen dafür sorgen sollte, dass sie noch länger an meiner Seite sein konnte.
Sie zeigte mir wie man ein selbstloses Leben führt, wie man Menschen in der Not hilft und nichts dafür im Gegenzug erwartet. In unserer Abschlusszeitung der Realschule – sie war auch meine Lehrerin – haben wir sie mit „Mutter Theresa“ verglichen und ich denke immer noch, dass es keine passendere Person gibt.
Sie war sanftmütig und ich konnte immer zu ihr kommen mit meinen Problemen und bekam eine warme Umarmung und aufmunternde Worte von ihr. Sie hat mich so oft wieder aufgeheitert, dass ich den Überblick verloren habe, aber unabhängig von meiner Negativität blieb sie optimistisch und sagte mir wenn ich Unsinn redete.
Sie war klug und ein richtiger Bücherwurm. Ich habe meine Leidenschaft fürs Lesen von ihr und sie war immer die erste Person, der ich von neuen Geschichten, die ich geschrieben oder mir ausgedacht habe, erzählt habe.
Sie hat es geschafft meinen Adventskalender komplett zu lesen, aber kaum etwas von den Geschichten von unserem Dein Bild – Eine Geschichte Projekt, drüben bei DF.PP Entertainment. Da wir nicht hinterher kamen hat sie auch nur geschafft, die ersten Kapitel von Warlords zu lesen, aber zumindest die haben ihr gefallen.
Wenn ihr etwas in einer Geschichte nicht gefiel, habe ich es geändert und sie wieder gefragt, ob es jetzt besser war. Die letzte Geschichte an der wir zusammen gearbeitet haben war „Nebeljagd„, die es sogar in die aktuelle Ausgabe des Bücherstadt Kurier’s geschafft hat.
Ich verdanke ihr so viel und ich werde es nie schaffen ihr irgendetwas davon zurückzugeben.

Was die Zukunft bringt

Es ist jetzt eine Woche her und ich habe es noch immer nicht ganz begriffen, dass sie nicht mehr bei uns ist. Der Kloß in meinem Hals und die Schwere meines Herzens werden langsam besser, aber Tränen kommen noch immer, wenn ich an sie denke.
Das hier zu schreiben hilft ein bisschen, aber ich weiß noch nicht wann ich das Bloggen und Schreiben wieder vernünftig anfange. Ich fühle mich zur Zeit einfach nicht danach irgendetwas zu machen.
Ihre Beisetzung ist am 27. und vielleicht schaffe ich es bis dahin die Kraft zu finden weiterzumachen. Bis dahin brauche ich einfach ein bisschen Zeit für mich. Und für meinen Papa.

Das Leben ist wie ein Buch voller Geschichten und nach viel zu wenigen Kapiteln endet es.

PoiSonPaiNter

The Soundtrack of my life – excerpt

Instead of the 20th Weekend Guess, I wanted to finally cover something Fairy posted over at Darkfairy’s Senf a couple of months ago:

Which song stands for which chapter of your life and why?
(translated from the post)

As I already contemplated the different chapters of my life in a couple of posts and am able to think of a few songs, I guess I might as well do her the favour and write about it – instead of so many other things that are still unfinished, again.

Though instead of choosing a song that would best describe that part of my life in retrospective I chose the songs that have affected me at at those times, which is also why this is only an excerpt as I can’t remember all of them.

Live, PoiSonPaiNter

During my time in the Secondary School (Realschule) I was one of the most avoided people around, but as I described here, was there one song in particular that made me rethink my behaviour: Leb (Live) by Schandmaul.
In particular the lines were they describe a person barely straying away from the flock, unable to lift their head from the road before them and not seeing the nice things that life provides for them. I rarely looked up or went out on my own during that time as the few people I considered friends back then usually had to ask me out. It’s probably not a surprise that I know more about cartoons and anime from that time than about parties and celebrities.
When I changed to Grammar School (Fachgymnasium) my soundtrack changed as well. The defining songs that created my alias (see: link) became more and more important to me. Edguy’s Wash away the Poison and Painting on the Wall became synonyms for how I felt when nearly no one around even thought of interacting with me. During this time the interest for Metal that was spurred shortly before I learned about Leb was broadened to new bands, including Avantasia. This resulted into one of my favourite concerts at the Wacken 2008, my very first festival.
With Avantasia came new songs, most prominent amoungst them Memories. This song accompanied me into the beginning of my studying years, just as the instrumental song Reqiuem for a Dream and Invasion, Treachery and other songs from the Bleach soundtrack frequented my player. The epic-like scoring of the songs just made me re-listen to them over and over again. It just felt like with this „background“ music I could accomplish anything. Even though, in Invasions case, it is still misspelled in the play-list and I still mishear the lyrics…

Fear, Anger, Mighty Canines and Knight Shoes

Towards the end of studying more Metal came into my focus due to me attending a couple of more Wacken (2010, 2011, 2012) and the Metalfest. Through this I re-learned about Powerwolf and Sabaton, but also about Letzte Instanz that would provide me with a song that I can no longer listen to while thinking. For many people their studying years become the best years of their life, I can’t say the same for several reasons. One of which is the fear of losing my mum when she was diagnosed with cancer in 2011, which made Ohne Dich (Without You) such an emotional song for me. On the opposite emotional scale did Alestorm’s Keelhauled provide me with the needed stress-/anger-relief whenever I turned up the volume while driving and sang along just as loudly.
Powerwolf and Sabaton on the other hand gave me songs that just grabbed me and took me along with so much energy that I do not grow tired of hearing them, even after seeing each band live for several times (six and four times respectively).
Prayer in the Dark and Saturday Satan also managed to get into the Soundtrack for the book project of Fairy and me: Warlords (its own Blog: dfppentertainment.wordpress.com), but the most defining one is Sabaton’s Carolus Rex. It not just perfectly portrays our Nameless King, the whole album reminded me of something I had forgotten for some time: My home town used to be Swedish during the reign of Karl XII. (aka Carolus Rex). 😀 Regardless of that do the songs of both bands, like Ruina Imperi and Amen & Attack, still hold enough power without additional (personal) meaning to them.
Currently my new soundtrack is still in progress, but To Hell and Back and Resist and Bite are some of the songs I currently can’t skip when they start playing.
In a way did my Soundtrack change from moody and relatively slow to fast power numbers with strong lyrics and rhythms. This is also portrayed in the way I am now, as I became more outgoing than I used to be a couple of years ago. I am no longer bound to a flock, I travel or attend concerts on my own and pretty much do things the way I want to do them. And I am fairly certain that music played a major role in this development.
PoiSonPaiNter
P.S. If you are interested to have a go at this again, feel free to use my translation, but don’t forget to mention Fairy as original Blogger.

National Pride

I had already started drafting this post a while ago, but as the FIFA World Cup just started and Germany are playing their first official game today and I still have my memories of visiting the KZ Memorial in Ravensbrück I wanted to reflect a bit on the National Pride of the German people. With ideas to cover some language stuff and views on Germans in shows and movies (like Sherlock and Grimm) I simply wanted to express my thoughts before I dive into those topics.
I have lived my whole life in Germany, I was born and raised here, yet I do not feel any sentiment for my nation, even as citizen of Germany.

But why is that? Why can I not be proud of where I am from?

Everyone knows about the horrid history an Austrian bestowed upon the Germans where, even seventy years later, we still have to live with the repercussions, prejudices and fears. It is not easy to see the good things our country has to offer with that background. National sentiment or even national pride, let alone patriotism – which all can be some kind of synonyms for each other – is all in all a weird thing in Germany.

The evil flag

To underline my point I’d like to quote this comic from Scandinavia and the World by Humon:

*Sweden, Denmark and Norway are waving the German flag to congratulate Germany on his birthday.*
*Germany panics*
Denmark: „Don’t be like that, Germany. It’s just your flag.“
Germany: „Yes, but what if I felt pride from you waving it?! Then what would happen?! Bad things! I’m not allowed to feel pride! People die when I’m proud!“
Denmark: „Your flag is harmless. You’re even wearing it.“
*Germany looks down at his shirt and freezes in fear*

Like Humon describes it in the comment for the comic do (some) Germans only wave their flags during sport events. During World Cups it’s also common to decorate your car with flags hitched on the doors or attached to the exterior mirror. You might even be frowned upon if you do not support our team by wearing flags on your clothes or as painting during public screenings of the matches (which is called „Public Viewing“ in German by the way).
At every other time, showing the German flag seems to imply Nazi tendencies and people frown at you for keeping the flag after the game. Needless to say that every flag „vanishes“ just when the tournament is over – or Germany failed at some point, which makes this whole deal totally ridiculous.
Unfortunately there are far too many cases were this prejudice is indeed true. Even in our day and time, where you would think everyone knows of the wrongness of Hitler’s thinking there are people that follow in his belief that everyone not-German is bad. I am more than glad that there are institutions trying to get a hold of these people and their political parties.

Things to be proud of

I personally can not be proud of Germany as a whole, as it has far too many things I do not agree with, but there are things I am indeed proud of.
For one do I really like the general living standards. While not everyone has a proper flat and the prices differ greatly, it is great to have all these possibilities. If you find a place, you can live where ever you wish and only have to get through tons of bureaucratic nonsense to do so. In every town/city there is at least one supermarket (my home town with not even 3.000 inhabitants has four) and you have at least a chance to get from one place to the other without having your own car (taxis, public transport, even planes). It’s not always easy, but it is possible.
With all the stupid things the state can throw at you (taxes, fees, etc.) it also does good (payment during unemployment, support for businesses, schools, children) and supposedly tries to help its citizen.
What we/I also can be proud of are the people that became known not just here, but internationally.
We are the home of important scientists like Albert Einstein and Konrad Zuse (first functioning computer); famous poets/writers like Johann Wolfgang von Goethe and Friedrich Schiller, but also inspiring musicians like Johann Sebastian Bach and Georg Friedrich Händel; just to name a few.
The music tradition even continued with bands like Blind Guardian, Rammstein and Edguy.
And let’s not forget our current chancellor Dr. Angela Merkel. 😉 As bad as people talk about her, I think she at least managed to improve our (political) image quite a bit.
But I think the thing I am most proud of is our language.
As I wrote here do I really like my mother’s tongue and I am quite certain this is not because it’s the language I know since I am capable of understanding spoken languages.
I really like how you have so many different ways to formulate what you want to say. Of course each language has something like that, but I also like the words that are used, especially the older – and in a way more sophisticated – ones. Though I am (ironically) at a loss for words when describing why I simply love my mother’s tongue. I just do…

A look from the Outside

As I mentioned above do we Germans still have to endure the aftermath of WWII.
Many people still seem to have a quite negative view on my country and our politicians seemingly try to better this in an awkward “we’re not like that any more”-kind of way. It’s always strange to see officials interact, mostly when the other country is one that is still sceptical about us.
If a German isn’t classified as Nazi, the next picture is the Lederhosen-wearing Bavarian, which really isn’t a German “standard”. Interestingly is Bavaria not really seen as actual part of Germany by most Germans and therefore this picture couldn’t be more wrong.
The third picture people have of Germans are the weirdo tourists who expect everyone to speak/understand German and demand their German bread everywhere. I can understand the bread part as I quite enjoy German bread (propably another proud-thing), but I already mentioned what I think about having to speak in a different language if you are native in the land and will not get into detail here.
Let’s not forget the over punctual hard-working engineer, who doesn’t really exist as people are either on time or take at least the academical quarter.
But there are also people who like Germany at least for its travelling properties and I can agree to that as I have seen one thing or the other on my travels (report 2012, 2013, 2014 follows soon) or on my way to festivals or concerts and stuff.
If you like you can tell me in the comments how you see Germany and the German people. For me it is always interesting to encounter people from other places and to see what is different and what is similar in our countries/cultures/customs/etc.
Other than that can I only conclude this post by saying: I am glad that I live and grew up in Germany, but I couldn’t proudly say “I am German” as there are still far to many things I don’t agree with.
PoiSonPaiNter

Alles neu macht der Mai

The title is a German saying that derives from a poem from 1818 by Hermann Adam von Kamp and can be roughly translated to: „Everything new May will do“ though the proper English version would be „April showers bring May flowers„. Either way this proverb essentially means that May brings about change.
Literally speaking this of course refers to the now more steady weather (there is another saying that goes:  „April, April der weiß nicht, was er will“ – „April, April, who does not know his own will“ that refers to April’s changeable nature) and Spring now slowly turns into Summer, causing vegetation to flourish, at least in the Northern Hemisphere.
Needless to say the first of May is also a national holiday here in Germany, a kind of Labour Day where all kinds of demonstrations are also a common thing. Let’s not forget the 30th of April that is celebrated quite differently as „Dance into the May“ („Tanz in den Mai„), Walpurgis Night or even Beltane.
Oh, how I’d like to take part or watch a proper celebration of one of the latter two…
We merely gather up to chat on the meadow at the base of an old castle and watch the hustle and bustle of people that enjoy the more village fête like character of the feast.
Anyway, on a more figurative level the new stuff May can bring about is change for a person, a life so to speak.
As I mentioned before did a new chapter start for me at the beginning of the month, as I officially became employed and received my degree at the End of March. But as April had thrown quite a bunch of stuff at me, both positive and negative, I have yet to find my footing and rhythm in this new chapter, though I will continue searching for it
Still, May also brings about some changes of its own.
For example am I starting as monthly writer for The Extremis Review and still don’t know what that’ll be like. (On that note: I have added the page and some other pages I am reading on occasion into the Blogroll, so you can check them out if you are interested)
Besides that is this May also the start of the festival season with the Out&Loud (former Beastival) in Geiselwind. DarkFairy and I will be attending it for the first time and quite a bunch of planning needs still to be done – I hopefully get my latest investment (an adapter for my headset as my new laptop only has a connector for speakers) in time so that we can at least discuss everything properly, instead of having to type everything.
Other than that did I spontaneously buy tickets for a concert of Bela B. (from Die Ärzte) whom I wanted to see live on his own for quite some time now.
On the weekend after the concert (10. May) will also be Germany’s version of the Free Comic Book Day, though I am not sure if I can actually participate in that as the nearest Comic book stores offering the comics are in Schwerin, Rostock and Berlin, all of which are not really around the corner from where I live.
I’m still curious to find out what other new things this May will bring, though I do hope the amount of good things is higher than the bad ones.
PoiSonPaiNter
 

On the Road: Taking the Bus – Take Two

A couple of months ago I ranted about taking the bus and I really wish I could say that what I am about to tell you below is a really elaborate April Fools joke…but I’m afraid it isn’t…

The rough route to work...

The rough route to work…


 
For the last four and a half years I took a bus line to my workplace that directly connected the district I live in with the district I work in and a second one that drove into the opposite direction.
But as of today those two no longer exist.
What does exist are two new separate lines that cover half of the route each.
As I really like sketches I tried depicting the scenarios in what you can see on the left.
The green line is what it used to be, one cycle of bus lines that connected both districts. The red line is the connection of my living-district to the Central Station and the blue is a for me important part of the one from there to my work-district. The round thing symbolizes the ring we have surrounding the city centre, but I wont get into that right now as that would be to much off topic.
This morning the old lines where no longer in business and the new ones had started. A small part of me is proud that I did manage to make out the differences with the new lines and knew what I would have to do to get to my usual exit this morning, without having read about it somewhere. Sometimes I do like my ability to think things through based on little, but significant information, even at unearthly hours.
This whole change leaves now me with two choices when it comes to my stop, both of which are quite inconvenient in comparison to what it used to be like.
The choices are:

  1. Get out at the Central Station and switch into the other bus for the remaining stops.
  2. Get out at, before or close after the Central Station to walk from there to my workplace.

For someone who is far from being a morning person or let alone fully awake while taking the bus, a walk could wake me up a bit more, but I fear I am far too lazy for that.
On the other hand it probably will be difficult for me to remember switching the bus line in the first place for a couple of weeks and I’ll end up at a station where I do have to walk from before taking a full detour.
Another option I have, where my laziness might get in the way even more, is to use the upcoming better weather to get my bike to a check up and then actually use it to get to work; which is easier said than done if you live on a hill where going down is easy, but going up is awful…
Even though I complain about this change, I still do understand why it was necessary.
Further into the work-district a huge construction side started working today, so the traffic jam that area will cause will be quite long. If the complete cycle would still be taken by the buses this would cause enormous delays for the line to my living-district. Therefore the thoughts put into the alternative routes and the change itself is way more understandable than what I complaint about in the other post, but that does not mean I am supposed to like it.
I like my conveniences and especially a proper routine for certain things, so if you take that from me I will need some time adjusting and figuring out how I want to go about creating a new one.
The last few days have been pretty rough in regards to that and adjusting is kind of my top priority right now. It’s after all not every day that you change from being a student to be a full employee with a Bachelor’s degree. 😉
Still, why can’t this be an April Fools joke and my old lines have returned tomorrow? 🙁
I’d like that…
PoiSonPaiNter

Spring-Cleaning

To be honest: I am not much of a cleaning-person.
But with spring around the corner (the 20th is the official beginning of spring) the topic of spring-cleaning comes to mind.
Or it would, if you are a person that participates in such things.
The practise of spring-cleaning seems to come from several different places as I just found out.
For one it derives from actual thorough cleaning of the house after a long winter using the first warm days of the year.
For another the cleansing is done in anticipation of the Jewish Passover (or Pesach) feast.
And some other possibilities (including apparently something similarly done close before New Years Eve – „New Years Cleaning“ – in Scotland and other countries).
Regardless of where it came from it symbolises this:
Getting rid of old stuff for the new year.
With spring starting around March the year is already three months in, but I guess doing something like this during the winter months isn’t the best idea. (Regarding all the mud and darkness usually around that time).
But why am I writing about this instead of other way more important/interesting topics?
That’s simple: I’m currently cleaning my flat as I will be having someone staying over for the weekend and I needed a break from that…
I kind of think my flat wasn’t this clean in quite some time as I myself don’t really care about dust and chaos. But if you have a guest, you kind of want them to feel comfortable and to enjoy their stay.
So cleaning it is…
And contemplating about the process and what good it might bring to apply it to other places.
As I said before: The essence of this activity is to get rid of old stuff for a new year (or new start if you wish)
With my studying having ended (I’ll pick up my certificate on Friday) another chapter of my life is closed.
A chapter that took me four and a half year to get through.
A chapter that was full of struggles and failures, but also some good things too.
A chapter I have finally finished.
Though I still cannot believe it or be happy about it.
Everyone keeps telling me „You’ve done it, be happy!„, but somehow I can’t be.
I’m not sure if this is because I haven’t really gotten it into my head that I’m really done or I am still too disappointed of having had so many failures and bad marks.
Probably both.
Though I would like this to changes with me (finally) holding the certificate in my hands.
Unfortunately I doubt that will actually happen as my mind is already occupied with the new chapter, without having checked off the previous one…
And a lot of variables for the new one are still open and it seems like I have to make some quite difficult decisions during the next few weeks/months…not really looking forward to that…
So getting rid of that old stuff is not going to be easy.
Maybe I should focus on the other old stuff that is the actual stuff I own.
Where I am chaotic in regards to my flat, I consider most of my files and documents on my various hardware-thingies to be quite organised (with exceptions of course), but I still think I could organise them even better.
I don’t really understand this contradiction, but I can’t really stand it if documents aren’t filed properly into folders and those folders are categorized as well – and so forth.
Though I do have fits like that when it comes to cleaning too.
I don’t mind my chaos most of the time, but every now and then I just grab things and move them where they actually belong, just because it annoys me to see them not being there.
Or I rearrange things so that they are placed exactly as I think it would be the right way to place them.
Or I rearrange other peoples hoods if they are dishevelled.
Or…but I digress.
Spring-Cleaning.
Getting rid of old stuff for a new year. A new chapter.
Guess I’ll have to do some more cleaning in my mind before I can properly start into my new chapter of life.
So while I’m tidying my place and driving around and spending time with my guest, I wont be able to write a proper post this week – either.
But there will be another Weekend Guess, probably on Sunday this time.
As far as spring-cleaning for the Blog goes: I guess you can kind of see the Re-Wri-Day and the new theme as such.
Hope your spring-cleaning goes better than mine. 😉
PoiSonPaiNter