From the Mythic Tarot
It’s been a fraught week.
My youngest sister has battled with bipolar disorder for many years and it was inevitable that our dad’s deteriorating health would be a difficult pressure for her to cope with.
And when she’s not coping, the rest of us cop it.
Rough Bluebell is for deliberately hurtful, spiteful and malicious people.
The Page of Wands brings the gift of new adventures, of increased activity, of news and communication from afar. Reversed, that quickened flow of Energy is blocked, for whatever reason.
It could be external, such as other people’s actions, timing, luck or internal such as a fear of change.
Maybe that fear of change is at the heart of the Rough Bluebell character and that negative, manipulative behaviour is intended to try and keep loved ones from changing and moving away.
Tragically, its consequence – as I can attest – is to encourage loved ones to do exactly that.
Sympathetic, but distant – that’s the position I have always tried to maintain, but this week my sympathy has been stretched to exhaustion. I understand, but right now it helps not at all.
It started last week when she started phoning me and various other relatives – many times and usually in the wee hours – with the urgent message that since we all shared the same blood as dad we all had to get tested for everything under the sun, from HIV to who knows what else.
Dad wasn’t spared either but he kept his sense of humour. “I told her girls don’t have prostates,” he said. It was distressing for all, but so far pretty standard fare.
Unfortunately, her next act was to get it into her head that Dad had actually died and she phoned several ancient relatives with the news, upsetting them severely, as you can imagine.
So I’ve been fielding condolence calls from all and sundry. As for Dad, he was terribly upset by these premature reports of his demise.
‘Unforgivable’ was the word he used, and I’m with him on that.
Next she smashed her new car into a lampost. Thankfully she wasn’t injured but she is now in hospital where hopefully she is getting some much needed help. She still has her phone and is bombarding Dad with calls.
It’s hideous to hear his helplessness. “She called me because she couldn’t get the lid off her toothpaste. What I am supposed to do?” he asked me. How am I to answer?
It feels like an assault on him, on all of us.
At the same time as she was admitted, her partner had to travel over here because his father is in hospital after a stroke. He needed somewhere to stay for a night so I offered up our sofa bed.
Next thing you know, she’s on the phone to me, accusing me of screwing her boyfriend.
At that point, I just pulled her up and told her to get off the phone.
She did, but she has called again today to say that Dad’s dying wish is that she and I should get on better and I’ll be responsible for his death when it comes because of the way I spoke to her.
My father’s dying. It’s a big thing for all of us. I’m trying really hard to remember that all of this is a reaction to a really stressful time for her too. But the truth is my capacity for sympathetic understanding feels utterly exhausted.