For Ever In Our Hearts And Minds

Emotional Trigger Warning for those who may be dealing with loss.

The clothes needed folding and putting away in their various hidey holes.

Ironing was done.

Vacuuming and dishes were also completed.

Meaningless and pointless tasks, all set to with vigour and focus.

I tried desperately to occupy as much of my time as I possibly could.

All this industrious effort was simply a desperate attempt to distract and soothe.

My heart bore the pain of slowly cracking in two.

Soon there would be two halves. What was before, and what came after.

There was simply nothing else I could do.

A decision had been made; there would be no more chemo, tablets, or injections—just acceptance of what was to come.

These treatments and medication had strung out her life but had also, in the last couple of months, made it miserable.

The only silver lining to her decision to stop treatment was… for a while, she was still with us and feeling better.

Sometimes she lay in bed sleeping or, when feeling well enough, would come out wrapped in warm blankets and lay on the couch. Apologising all the time for the effort everyone was putting into caring for her as her independence crumbled.

What did it matter? We would ask her, as long as she was comfortable. As long as she wasn’t in pain. The only thing of any importance was more time.

Time to talk.

Time to laugh.

Time to give advice.

Time to hold her when the times got tough.

All through, right to the end, my hero remained.

Never angry.

Never lashing out in fear.

She was the perfect example of who to be when faced with such a fate.

In those desperately sad and painful days, so many gifts were given to me. My hero gave me so many examples to carry me through my own life experiences.

Strength.

Dignity.

Kindness.

Empathy.

Gratitude.

And although the pain of loss has changed over all these years, it has remained. Along with it, though, is one particular moment that left an indelible mark.

As I put her washing away, she watched me smiling. Pausing to revel in her moment of peace, a question overcame me.

“How do you remain so positive?”

She didn’t have an answer right there and then, but obviously, I’d hit a chord.

I was struggling with the impending loss. The black dog was always a companion, constantly nipping at my heels as I desperately tried to deal with her decision.

Why couldn’t we have the miracle?

Why couldn’t we have a normal life?

Why?

It was just so unfair on so many, many levels.

I was going to be without her.

Another pile of washing.

This time as I entered her room, she spoke with clarity.

“I was thinking about what you asked. And I guess my answer would be this. You can never choose what happens to you in life. But you can choose how you handle it. So, I choose not to fall down because if I do, I’ll take you and everyone else down with me. It will be really hard on me and everyone else to climb back out of that hole. I can’t choose what happens to me, but I can choose how I handle it. So, I choose to be positive.”

I have not always been able to live up to her examples.

I have fallen sometimes.

And for that moment, I will always be grateful.

I cannot choose what happens to me, but I can choose how I deal with it.