Loss
I have had a number of posts in my head for the past couple of weeks but keep stopping when it comes to writing them. I'm not sure why? Is it that I don't want to share? Is it that it always seems like life is painful? Why is it I only want to write when it hurts?
So maybe there will be a few in the next week or so.
Today I have to talk about loss.
Yesterday, a friend and I sat with out support group friend at her bedside in some of her final moments. She could not respond. I know she knew we were there. We told her we loved her. We said we'd meet again and next time it would be a chocolate appreciation (or red wine!) society. We told her we would miss her, that our lives were richer for having met her. Such precious time just holding her hand and stroking her arm as we listened to the breathing that those who are dying breathe. She seemed comfortable, she had a wonderful view, was surrounded by family and love and her dog at her feet slept watching over her. We kissed her and left - before we arrived home we recieved a call to say she had died. Only last week she was still planning to get to the Bolshoi ballet and move into her new home - neither happened.
The day before our support group lost another member. A long term member. a much loved member who chose to quiety withdraw and leave peacefully surrounded by her family. She'd hoped to celebrate her 40th next year with her twin brother.
Earlier in the week our support group lost a newer member - a girl who so full of life had returned to study and could not continue coming to group as it clashed with her classes. We kept in touch - she had a zest for life. She lived for her two little boys and husband. She'd just celebrated her 40th birthday.
These three women all dealt with this disease in their own way years for some, shorter time for others. They all wanted to live. They all tried to live. They gave it their best shot.
How do you sit at the bedside of your dying friend and then return to the schoolyard and pickup the same person knowing that you too have the same disease? That this fate is what you are told awaits you?
Your instinct says - not me! But does that do the dead a disservice? They tried too? Why should I be different? Then your grief settles in, your mood drops and you wonder if you can keep going. You look into the eyes of your children, already grieving your anticipated loss - you don't want this for them or your husband. You allow yourself to grieve then pick yourself up, slowly at first and then you charge on ahead knowing every moment that passes will never happen again.
But for now, i'm sitting on the ground waiting to pick myself up - I will - I just need a little time.
