I wrote the following piece after my cousin, Sally, was diagnosed with cancer for the third time in ten years and in fact this time, though cured of the cancer itself, the told it all took on her body had her decide that at 42 she had had enough and an opportunistic infection took her life only a month before my mother died.
My cousin has cancer again and beyond the tedium of the routine of treatment and the expected recovery lie the many aspects of the disease in her life and the lives of every member of her family.
In Sally, I see courage and determination liberally interspersed with a mixture of fear and bewilderment. Her assurances of prospects of recovery betray a loving concern for the impact of her illness on those around her and retaining their confidence in her ability to survive and a deep-rooted fear for the future, beyond the current bout of this vile disease that strikes a cord of fear at its very mention, “the C word” so scary that we sometimes cannot bring ourselves to utter its name.
In my uncle, I see a frightened, lonely boy desperately struggling to provide the manly support for his family as it faces another barrage of challenges, as if there have not been enough in recent times. “How much longer can I bear this before I burst?” are words he dare not utter out loud but his eyes reveal the deep love and fear for his first-born child and frustration at his own inability to make it all go away.
In my aunt, I see a gentle pillar of strength and source of infinite calm, pouring oil on troubled waters as family feelings inevitably boil over, her new-found faith giving her inner strength and an ability to contribute in ways she never knew she could. She faces her own doubts and fears honestly and peacefully but not without pain. She sees everything and listens carefully, providing comfort for each and every member of her beloved family.
And me? I am filled with love, compassion and a degree of melancholy yet I trust that whatever happens is meant to be and that Sally will live her life fully, no matter when it is destined to end and quietly I fear being less supportive than I would like for my dear cousin so desperately seeking peace of mind and spirit.
Saturday, 19 February 2011
Bitter Sweet Pill of Love
It is a strange irony that the visits I make to my mother are a bitter sweet pill for her. She craves my company, my attention, my love and my support and yet my being there is also a sharp reminder that the all too brief visits will soon end and the fear and loneliness that eat away at her mind along with her illness will invade her once again.
She has few glimpses of the joy of the moment, being ever conscious instead of the fear and loneliness that my presence highlight by sheer contrast. I can see in her eyes the thought that I will soon leave and she struggles to find cause to keep me there longer, ever more desperate, resorting to meaningless questions or requests for help – anything in a hopeless effort to hold onto me for a moment longer.
I feel I almost do more harm than good by my many relatively brief visits and our weekly breakfast together, for it upsets her more than when I don't see her for the day. Yet I rise above that concern, feeling, rightly or wrongly, that if I bestow myself and my love upon her openly, freely and unabashed, somehow she is better off with my visits than without.
She has few glimpses of the joy of the moment, being ever conscious instead of the fear and loneliness that my presence highlight by sheer contrast. I can see in her eyes the thought that I will soon leave and she struggles to find cause to keep me there longer, ever more desperate, resorting to meaningless questions or requests for help – anything in a hopeless effort to hold onto me for a moment longer.
I feel I almost do more harm than good by my many relatively brief visits and our weekly breakfast together, for it upsets her more than when I don't see her for the day. Yet I rise above that concern, feeling, rightly or wrongly, that if I bestow myself and my love upon her openly, freely and unabashed, somehow she is better off with my visits than without.
Another Dreaded Milestone
Today was a day I have secretly dreaded for a long time, the day when for the first time my mother didn’t recognise me. That I knew it would come does not really help. I try to be philosophical about it, looking for positive I seek in every challenge in life: the seemingly rapid progression of her illness may ironically be a blessing for her, if difficult for those who love her, because perhaps it means she will soon sink into oblivion, that she may no longer suffer as we have seen her do for so long now, that she may sooner be released and die, at last at peace.
I don’t believe in reincarnation or an afterlife* but if there is either, I am clear I want to be with my mother again one day; if not, then I am contented because I know I have said everything to her I need to for me to be at peace, even if either one of us should die tomorrow. I have told her endlessly how much I love her; thanked her for her unconditional love, support and trust; acknowledged her for her courage, her love of people and her accomplishments; cherished every lesson she taught, the gift of warmth in communication and those special moments both before and since her illness began. It is a strange irony that in sickness we come to truly value life and love and my dear mother has given me that too and I am privileged.
* so confirmed am I in a belief in both since a few weeks before my mother’s unexpected death, I feel compelled to mark it as my past
I don’t believe in reincarnation or an afterlife* but if there is either, I am clear I want to be with my mother again one day; if not, then I am contented because I know I have said everything to her I need to for me to be at peace, even if either one of us should die tomorrow. I have told her endlessly how much I love her; thanked her for her unconditional love, support and trust; acknowledged her for her courage, her love of people and her accomplishments; cherished every lesson she taught, the gift of warmth in communication and those special moments both before and since her illness began. It is a strange irony that in sickness we come to truly value life and love and my dear mother has given me that too and I am privileged.
* so confirmed am I in a belief in both since a few weeks before my mother’s unexpected death, I feel compelled to mark it as my past
An Attitude of Gratitude
After so much anguish, pain and self doubt, I never imagined such deep, enduring and unconditional joy was possible: joy at who I am; joy at what I am privileged to see and do in this life; joy in knowing I am safe, no matter what, even in the face of major loss including death.
Whilst experiences such as death and sudden poverty can be painful, there is still joy to be had from the experience and the understanding, the connection with others who have faced the same and the opportunities such experiences produce for those willing to look for the elusive silver lining to every apparent misfortune.
My access to this joy? It’s simple: the constant looking for that silver lining coupled with profound gratitude for everything.
Whilst experiences such as death and sudden poverty can be painful, there is still joy to be had from the experience and the understanding, the connection with others who have faced the same and the opportunities such experiences produce for those willing to look for the elusive silver lining to every apparent misfortune.
My access to this joy? It’s simple: the constant looking for that silver lining coupled with profound gratitude for everything.
All Dignity Lost
As my mother fell deeper into the clutches of the dreaded Alzheimer's all I could do was be there for her, observing, loving, helping...
Picture this: a bright, vivacious, elegant and immaculate woman who makes friends of everyone she encounters; she charms the world and makes them feel important; she is special and she doesn’t see it for herself.
Then picture this: that once lively soul, sat staring into space, all clothing removed except a T-shirt; the blinds half open, all this for the world to see; she look up and asks who I am; I help her find underwear and put it on; I reach for her trousers wrapped in tights that have her sandals stuck inside them, clearly taken off in haste and hanging on the back of a chair, sodden.
It is painful to behold, all sense of dignity lost; bewildered, she doesn’t even know where she is. It seems so cruel, yet really it is we who now suffer as she slips deeper by the day into her illness. Amidst thoughts of blesséd release, I also recall the better days when, confused, afraid and vulnerable, she hugs me, clinging on to me for dear life and tells me over and over that I’ll never know how much she loves me and I reassure her that I really do and that I feel the same.
God, how I cherish those moments and they remind me how they would not be possible if she were dead and to value every moment of life we are blessed with.
Picture this: a bright, vivacious, elegant and immaculate woman who makes friends of everyone she encounters; she charms the world and makes them feel important; she is special and she doesn’t see it for herself.
Then picture this: that once lively soul, sat staring into space, all clothing removed except a T-shirt; the blinds half open, all this for the world to see; she look up and asks who I am; I help her find underwear and put it on; I reach for her trousers wrapped in tights that have her sandals stuck inside them, clearly taken off in haste and hanging on the back of a chair, sodden.
It is painful to behold, all sense of dignity lost; bewildered, she doesn’t even know where she is. It seems so cruel, yet really it is we who now suffer as she slips deeper by the day into her illness. Amidst thoughts of blesséd release, I also recall the better days when, confused, afraid and vulnerable, she hugs me, clinging on to me for dear life and tells me over and over that I’ll never know how much she loves me and I reassure her that I really do and that I feel the same.
God, how I cherish those moments and they remind me how they would not be possible if she were dead and to value every moment of life we are blessed with.
Friday, 18 February 2011
A World of Me
“Imagine for just one day that everyone you see around you is simply you with a different set of life experiences”, says a messenger with a challenge. Suspending disbelief and truly imagining that it is so, I can hardly bear it for a few seconds as I look around and see all the faces, noticing my subtle criticisms and other thoughts that distance each and every one. Undertaking this exercise with integrity is very hard as I look deep into each person and see that their being “me” with different life experiences allows me to love and accept everyone, feeling compassion for their deep suffering that has them be other than the same way. Suddenly there is a world of “me” everywhere, me’s just doing the best we know how, to greater and lesser effect. It is sad this world of me where I don’t know myself, love myself as I would like to be known and loved. I can but pray and dream…… one day at a time.
A Walk Along The Canal
I wrote the following as I made my way to work on foot a short time after my mother passed away:
It’s a bright, frosty morning as I turn onto the canal footpath and I call to her to join me. “Isn’t it beautiful?”, I start as we walk along. “Look at all the ducks and geese”. “I’d like to eat them” she says mischievously. We carry on for a while in silence and then I ask, “Is that you dear, or is it my imagination? It sounded like you, but how can I be sure? I know you’re there but I wish you really were here, in the flesh, in person, yet I know you are happier where you are, at peace and limitless in form and potential. It’s been nice talking dear. Now I have to get to work”.
It’s a bright, frosty morning as I turn onto the canal footpath and I call to her to join me. “Isn’t it beautiful?”, I start as we walk along. “Look at all the ducks and geese”. “I’d like to eat them” she says mischievously. We carry on for a while in silence and then I ask, “Is that you dear, or is it my imagination? It sounded like you, but how can I be sure? I know you’re there but I wish you really were here, in the flesh, in person, yet I know you are happier where you are, at peace and limitless in form and potential. It’s been nice talking dear. Now I have to get to work”.
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