two thousand and sixteen – a year of goodbyes

two thousand and sixteen has been a challenging year for so many of us. Obviously there has been a shift in The Universe’s energy or something ‘out there’ but I’m not here to speculate on that.

This year has seen so many ‘greats’ of our lifetime die. Carrie Fisher, George Michael, Prince, David Bowie and more. This year many family members and friends, our very own ‘greats’, have also left this earth. I’ve seen myself at six funerals this year… Most of them cancer related. Most too young to be gone already.

A year like two thousand and sixteen makes us reflect on life and death. It makes us realise that people can never die when they leave behind so much of themselves for us to remember. Their memories, their life walk beside us, every day, in our thoughts and in our hearts until we are face to face again. And we will be, this is my whole hearted belief.

two thousand and sixteen makes us question the things we’ve been taught all our lives. Things that society place importance on. It makes you question why we place significance on living in a mansion over a caravan when loneliness is the same. Why, if we still arrive at the same destination, does it matter if we drive a Lamborghini or a 1970 VW there. Why wear a Rolex watch over a Target watch if they both will tell you the same time.

A year like two thousand and sixteen makes you grow up and teaches you to let go. Let go of the importance placed on material possessions. Let go of the pain from friendships that hurt you. Let go of patterns of behaviour that keep you stuck in a rut because being stuck in a rut over small things keeps you living in the past and if my past is two thousand and sixteen then I will do anything to let that go.

A year like this makes you honour your true friendships, love your beautiful neighbours, embrace your wacky family and look forward to new beginnings. It makes you grateful of good times and learn lessons from the bad. It teaches you what is important, really, in the life we live and reminds you that life is too short to fuck around being self-absorbed.

two thousand and sixteen has taught me to be kinder, more aware of others feelings, to listen harder, to worry less about material things, to let the judgement of others be their burden not mine and to laugh harder with the ones I truly fucken love. It taught me that the only person I need to be better than is the person that I was yesterday.

This year was challenging. For others I know it was way more devastating than that. Challenging is simply a way to test one’s abilities. An opportunity to rise and to learn. That moment when you feel defeated but choose to stand up again. Challenging means we’ve been blessed with difficult times for how can we know the real beauty of fun times without them.

None of us have to wait for a New Year to start again when every day we wake up is brand new. But on the first of January two thousand and seventeen we get to start a new year. A year beginning with hope of good things and in gratitude for getting the opportunity to see it in when so many others around us haven’t. For most of us it’s where we can shake off the two thousand and sixteen dirt, step over the threshold and welcome a fresh, new beginning.

As two thousand and sixteen ends and two thousand and seventeen begins just be kinder. Kinder to every one you meet. Kinder to yourself. Kinder to the expectations you would normally put on yourself. I don’t believe it is the time for resolutions. Why set yourself up for failure? Why enter a new year with demands placed upon your days? Why weigh yourself down with a whole lot of pointless things when you can simple choose two thousand and seventeen to just be.

Be in the moment.

Be a part of life and living.

Be a part of your journey and in moving forward.

Happy New Year xxx

One Love
DRK xxx

Life is Short

“Life is Short”

I say this often, mostly to myself, but I’m not sure if I’m living it in the right context.

This saying first came about for me, cementing itself into my world when my brother passed away from cancer. I was around the age of 24 with two children, a third on the way and in a complicated marriage. I don’t remember being particularly mature for my age even with 2-point-5 children and a marriage under my belt. I was still making bad decisions and still very unhappy within myself for many different reasons.

When my brother died of cancer I was shattered. I was full of grief but also full of guilt and regret. Why hadn’t I told him I loved him? Why didn’t I spend more time with him? Why didn’t I realise how short life was. Especially once it’s up. Once it’s up that’s it. There’s no more of that person in your life. No more chances to say “I love you”. To hug them. To tell them who they are to you. I regretted not telling my brother I loved him for a long time. I know now that I was scared to tell him because I thought if I did then it would be an admission that things weren’t good. That he wasn’t going to make it. I honestly believed he would just jump out of bed one day and yell “Just joking! I’m all good! Tricked you all!”

I was wrong.

Love

Recently, in November 2015 my Pop became ill. I made a pact with myself to spend as much time with him as possible. I didn’t want him to feel alone. I wanted him to feel safe in the last few weeks/days of his life here on Earth. I told him I loved him. I said goodbye. I was there as he passed. I have no regrets.

7 weeks later as my Nana quickly deteriorated. I made sure I stroked her hair, held her hand, put my hand on her heart to immerse its beating in my own and looked her in the eyes when telling her I loved her. I loved that she still managed to say it back to me, I’ll never forget it. I’ll never forget the sparkle in her eyes. She wasn’t scared. I hadn’t frightened her with my words. She just felt loved. A few days later she passed away too. My heart broke but I have no regrets – she knew I loved her.

Then only a few weeks later we lost our neighbour to cancer. Our neighbourhood isn’t just a regular neighbourhood we are all close and his loss is deafening. When I’m hanging out my washing or playing with my kids he is no longer in his backyard talking to his “girls” (his chickens) or fluffing about in the garden. He is no longer climbing over the fence to have a beer with my parents. He is no longer on the other end of the computer two doors up asking me for help on some internet issues always with his bad grammar and no use of capitals. I was going to see him the night before he died but he was already in bed so I didn’t. He was gone from this life the next day. On my daughters 18th birthday. I told him in one of our last Facebook messages that I loved him. No regrets.

I started writing this blog a few days ago but I was struggling to find the words. Then I’ve been hit today, like a slap of pin-pricked realities in the face, by two friends. One on a fucked up cancer journey and the other just about to have her 11th wedding anniversary except without her husband by her earthly side as he died 5 years ago. Both of their status’s to the world were different and unique to them but both of them had the same underlining content. Gratitude.

BE FUCKING GRATEFUL PEOPLE.

Grateful you have a partner to annoy you and leave his socks at the front door. Grateful that you have a headache you can fix with a glass of water and some panadol. Grateful that even though the kids are driving you crazy and the clean house is now a mess that you have healthy, active kids who love your love and presence… And fuck the house. This gratitude doesn’t mean guilt either. It doesn’t mean you should feel guilty for being frustrated or pissed off at these things from time to time. This is life and this is living after all but we should be grateful more of the time than we are pissed.

“Life is Short” can be summarised just with this one word. Gratitude. Being grateful. Being thankful. Looking for the good in what you have in your life and being thankful for it. Showing those you love in your life that you actually do love them. That they are your living, breathing world. Life is short because once it’s over it’s over. There are no second chances. But there can be regrets, which will for some turn into lessons. I spent 10 years regretting my brothers passing – regretting the lack of love I showed him. But I learnt from that never to do it again.

“Life is Short” has a new meaning for me today because when I first adopted the popular quote into my life I did so in a negative way but today it means gratitude. Happiness. Laughter. Love. Presence. It means saying it and feeling it and not being scared of it. It means showing my kids more presence and honesty. It means listening to my husband and learning more about him and what he needs. It’s about being there for people who need a part of me that I am capable of giving – love translated in any way, shape or form. I’m not perfect and I’m not going to ride the perfect bandwagon from here on in but I am going to give more of myself. More of the ‘me’ that is truly me. The heartfelt, sensitive me who loves deeply but has always carried a barrier for protection.

My protection is removed but perfection is not my status either.

To my family and my friends – I LOVE YOU! To all the people who have come into my life in a positive way, I love each and every one of you. You have touched me. You have honoured who I am. You have left an imprint on my life and in my heart and I am forever grateful for that. I love you. I really, really do.

My heart hurts today and my tears are flowing. Sadness? Still some regret? Missing those I love? Guilt? I’m not sure. Maybe just a heartache.

One love,

DRK xxx

Please don’t forget to tell those you love just how much they mean to you. Show them. This is the message my friend wants you to hear. To really hear. The message we all need to hear. Often.

Read her amazing, raw and honest post here on her Facebook page…. You’ll need to find the post “Water your own F**king Lawn!” Thank you Kym xx

 

Joie de Vivre

I had this tattoo imprinted on my right arm to always remind me of my mortality. It was a tattoo in honour of my brother. I have had it a few years now and become ‘used’ to it rather than moved by it. But it will now again remind me. “Joie de Vivre” ~ French; exuberant enjoyment of life

 

 

Seven Days

We’ve discussed this before. We’ve had this conversation. But nothing is more real about this chat then it is right now. Because over the last three weeks while we have worried about our weight, yelled impatiently at our children, huffed and puffed out at the series of frustrating road users a man I know has been counting down his days. Not his days til Christmas or days til his next holiday but the days of his life.

Three weeks ago he was told he had a month to live and while we all can’t wait to get into bed at night only to wake up the next day bleary eyed can we even come close to imagining how those nights and those mornings clicked by way too quickly for him.

Yesterday marked one week to go. 7 days or there abouts. How fucken unfair. How frustrating. How absolutely devastating. I cannot even fathom how this feels for him, for anyone dealing with this same mortality. I cannot put into words what each day drawing to an end would feel like to this man. And I can’t tell you how sad I selfishly feel.

How do you grieve the life you had, that life you have to let go? How do you do that? How the fuck do you do that! How do you sum up your life and ‘tie up loose ends’ when the biggest loose end is that you don’t want to fucken die! You want to live! You want to fall in love again and again. You want to explore the world. You want to hug every member of your family. Thank every one of your friends for every moment you’ve ever shared. Say sorry. Take your kids on a spectacular holiday. Boldly quit your job and train for your dream job.

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One week.

Seven days.

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What is really important in that moment of severely shortened time? What becomes the main focus in your life? Who would you spend your time with? How would you feel?

I don’t write this to bring on guilt for those who have just cried about a frustrating yet precious child. Not written to bring shame for the materialistic lives we lead. Not to instil fear in our own mortality. Just words written for a man I know with seven days left on his life calendar. His LIFE calendar. Just words from my heart because I feel so sad. For him. For his family. For the “what ifs”. For the challenges and unfairness of it all. For the fact he has just written his own eulogy which is not done for premeditated fun but out of a requirement to him and his final words of life. LIFE.

So I ask of you be grateful today, if even only for a moment. Be gracious over the next seven days in a compassionate way to all those on this similar and terminal journey. What we take for granted is a blessing to others. Less whinging, more hugging.

One Love,
DRK xxx

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Belle F#€ken Gibson

I’ve just watched the interview with Belle Gibson on 60 Minutes and I have to say that someone has drained me of my blood, put it over a fire pit and boiled it before giving it back.

Yes I am angry in every faucet of angry! I’m angry that she was paid for the interview. I’m angry that she wore that fucken hideous pink jumper, I’m angry that people are defending her and putting her under the mental health banner but most of all I’m angry that she STILL couldn’t tell the truth. There was no simple answer of yes or no. No simple “oh I’m 23 or am I 26?” She can’t even remember how old she is coz she’s lied about it too much!
She is a conman, or woman in this case. She doesn’t have a mental illness besides being a fucking lame arse fucktard! She is someone who has profited from sick people, from people who trusted her, who related to her, felt connected to her …. only to find out it was all lies! Belle Gibson lied and she continued to do so through the whole interview!

I don’t believe in Belle Gibsons words but I do believe there are healing qualities in food. I believe that we all can lead a much better life through whole foods BUT she has now tarnished that for so many people AND people who really need to benefit from healthy living! She is a scammer. A liar. A cheat. A high neck pink jumper wearing monster!

My brother died from brain cancer. My friend is currently combat fighting brain cancer. Little children I fundraiser for are kicking the arse of cancer. The story “her story” of cancer, heart problems, surgeries, strokes are all fabricated stories to get vulnerable people, people who are actually going through these things, to buy her shit in all shapes and forms! 

Shame on you Belle Gibson. Shame on you for not stepping up to the opportunity for truth telling. Shame on you for not putting on your big girl knickers and owning up to your shit, your lying shitty shit. Shame on you for not giving those you stole from, those whose trust you slaughtered, a real, decent and heartfelt apology! 

  
I can’t apologise on her behalf (and I don’t want to) but I will say this to those who have been burnt by BG … 

Feed your body love and pure ingredients. Nutrition is important to your wellbeing, to everyone’s wellbeing. But life is also for living. So laugh with those you love. Enjoy the slice of sunshine on a winters day. Be spontaneous and dance in the rain but most of all forgive BG for her stupidity and let it go. Let her go. The sooner we all let her go the better. The sooner we let her go the less she will profit from her self-made stories. Don’t let her profit from anymore of her lies and don’t let her own anymore moments in your precious life.

 
Life is wonderfully short. We have so much to do with so little time.  Fill it with good stuff….


One love

DRK xxx 

10 Cheeky Comebacks For When Someone Asks If You’re Pregnant BUT You’re not!

In the light of recent pregnancy comments about Princess Zara I was reminded of a lifetime of my own. As a mere ‘normal’ mortal, though, I am lucky not to have had my “is-she?-isn’t-she?” splashed across the internet and news feeds but I do wonder why there is this obsession with the woman body. I believe just like being “on a period” you should never ask a woman if she is pregnant. You should never ask when she is due and definitely never EVER have an opinion on her “baby” weight! We are women and weight is a very sensitive subject. It’s not hard though. Just keep your mouth shut.

Preggas

I’m generally two from left – except my boobs are bigger – unless it’s been a few days since visiting the toilet then I am definitely more a three or four.

If you, like me, have ever been asked these questions, if you have ever been in that mortifying and uncomfortable situation don’t hide yourself away. Don’t feel ashamed. Don’t visualise punching them in the face – and please don’t actually punch them in the face! Instead have a comeback. A fucking witty comeback topped up with good dose of sarcasm so people learn that it is NOT ok to assess a womans body or to make assumptions that we can’t simply be a little voluptuous or god-forbid bloated without having to be up-the-duff. Lets face it for those of us who can conceive it is an awkward situation and, at worst, it’s a throw-the-outfit-in-the-bin-and-never-wear-it-again embarrassment but for those who can’t have babies then it is just a heartbreaking moment in their life… A question they would give anything to answer “YES!” to …  A question and answer scenario they dream of, even when they are awake.

Lets raise the bar (or our eye level) and look at each other when talking together instead of analysing bumps and lumps. If you do feel the need to analyse bumps and lumps then do a breast check and by that I mean your own! Now doesn’t that seem much more important than insulting an unsuspecting and definitely not pregnant woman?!

OK so let’s talk about comebacks to particular questions. They must be delivered with shoulders back, head held high and a smirk on your face. No one needs to feel embarrassed in the skin they are in and typically, these questions come from people who mean well but lack any type of filter from brain to judgement to mouth.

Here we go………

Q1: How long have you got to go?

A: Well, I dropped a couple of laxatives a few of hours ago now so ummm any minute now I guess and then my five day old shit will be ready to explode!

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Q2: Wow you must be ready to pop – how long now? 

A: Oh no I’m not pregnant but hey looks like your arse is about to have twins – congrats!

Q3: Oh my god you’re pregnant… Congrats!

A: Yes but don’t tell my husband – it’s not his!

Q4: OMG so-and-so told me you were pregnant – congrats!!

A: Shit! Am I? I better lay off the tequila shots and cigars!

Q5: When’s this one due?

A: I was just about to ask you the same question!

Q6: OMG! Are you preggas?

A: No but the night is still young!

Q7: Look at that belly! How far along are you?

A: Well I’ve been brewing this massive fart all morning but unfortunately you’ll need more than gas to help that mouth of yours!

Q8: Are you up the duff?

A: No. My boobs are always this awesome!

Q9: Oooohhh (points to belly) what are you hoping for?

A: A puppy that can burp the alphabet

Q10: I can’t believe you’re pregnant again!

A: Actually I’m not. I have a condition called “Fuck-You” – Google it.

Pregnant

Only ever assume a women is pregnant if a) you have x-ray vision (which you should be careful with as it can be harmful to the baby) or b) you physically see that baby emerging from her body! Otherwise shove that foot firmly back into your mouth and never utter those words again to any woman ever?! Got it? Get it? Good!

Now some wise words from the always effervescent P!NK, the woman I adore and may even consider leaving my husband and children for….

Pinks statement

Ahhhhh god I love her……

One love,

DRK xxx

A year of lasts. A year of firsts.

This year someone I know is celebrating their ‘lasts’. Their last birthday, their last Easter, their last long weekend in June. 

Odds are they will not see another one.

Odds are they will be “lucky” if they make it til Christmas. 

Odds are a year of “lasts” is a wild roller coaster ride that no one wants to get on. In fact no one goes on it voluntarily. This is a coaster ride that starts with confusion, disbelief and, in misdiagnosed cases, anger. ‘The fight’ then kicks in. This is where you will do anything, anything, to beat it, to prove ‘them’ wrong. To make sure you’ve uncovered and discovered any treatments or options or miracle cures. Then the frustration of it all boils over followed by that deep emitting sadness that maybe, just maybe you actually won’t make it and finally, and hopefully, acceptance. 

This is the roller coaster just for the terminally ill. The one the family goes on is similar but mixed up and around a bit. The acceptance of the fight ahead is the first initial supporting role, the confusion and the frustration of not being able to save them follows, then that deep unforgiving sadness when they leave, followed by anger, guilt, confusion, the feelings of unfairness, the questionable ‘what ifs’. Acceptance comes much, much later for the ones left behind.

A year of lasts is the year where your mortality stares you in the face each and every moment of each and every day. A year of lasts will see some fighting it every step of the way. Others who will write their bucket lists and hurriedly, joyfully get those things ticked off. Others choose to use their last year to inspire others, to leave a mark – their mark – on the world. But however, and whoever, it is that are living their ‘lasts’ they will be living it as if all of these moments are also their firsts. Because the simple things we take for granted have a very different look when they are stripped away, when they’re bare naked, raw and mortal. Life looks different through the eyes of the dying. Yet aren’t we all? Dying that is.

  

If you’ve said for years how you’d love to take your Dad to a live football game, just do it. If you’ve always dreamt of hot air ballooning with your husband, book it and just fucken do it. Make it happen. Whatever it is. Why wait til the day you are told you only have 12 months to live. Why wait until it is too late. It’s time to look at your own mortality in a most positive way. We are all dying. We all won’t make it. So what are we all doing with our lives! Whose fucking living it?!

One love,

DRK xxx

  

Day 3 – Sucks Less

I’ve just returned from a birthday party.

But it wasn’t the type with streamers or candles.

My greatest challenge of the night wasn’t avoiding the party food or the birthday cake it was, in fact, holding myself together. Holding myself together because looking around the room I saw 8 out of the 10 smiling guests either have had cancer or have been directly touched by cancer. The guest of honour himself has been given 12 months to live. If it’s a good year.

This makes my hunger, detoxing pains suck less. Suck less because they are inferior to the reality. They suck less because I am choosing to be hungry. Choosing to because I want to feel better, to be happier, to be healthier, to live longer. Today sucks less because I have the choice, still, to create my future.

So day three is done and dusted.

Today on day three I am grateful.

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One love

DRK xxx

Tissues and Stars

I watched a movie called “The Fault in our Stars” today yesterday a few days ago (ok so it took me awhile to finish writing this blog) and it was…. Wow… Just wow! This movie is as beautiful as it is touching. It’s about life, young love, young death and cancer. But its even more then that it’s also about leaving behind memories or a scar as Augustus says. It’s about being important and deeply loved by someone. Oh and by the way cancer totally sucks balls right?!

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I have had this movie since it came out on DVD but I had been putting off watching it. Why? Well for lots of reasons – the same reasons why I couldn’t finish the book I suppose. Because not finishing the book meant the story didn’t end and I knew it wouldn’t end the way I like fairytales novels to end – with ‘and they lived happily ever after’. I knew the ending would be death. I knew cancer would win. I knew it would bring up my heartbreak over my brothers own cancer battle, a life lost. The things he missed out on having and experiencing. But he left a scar … on me, on many.

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If you haven’t watched this movie I suggest you grab a box of tissues and watch it. It is not a deeply depressing movie where you will finish watching it and want to go drown your sorrows in a bottle of Jacks it is instead, heart warming and lovely. It will leave you feeling grateful for healthy lungs and it’ll make you want to hug your kids and be present with each conversation you have with people who are important in your life. It will make you want to say the things you don’t say often enough, things usually left to an eulogy. Are you brave enough to say those things out loud, to the people who need to hear it? It’ll put things into perspective and remind you how precious life is. And even though I still haven’t found out the meaning of life – or my role in this movie of Life – I do feel all warm and squooshy on the inside because after watching this movie because I realise that I don’t have to change the world to be important. So pressures off.. Phew…

tfios13

One love
DRK xxx

Saying Goodbye Every Year

Jeremy

It happens at this time every year. Every time without fail and without me even realising it is happening. Well that was until last year in the midst of all these crazy feelings of despair I finally realised why I get like this, why I cry and feel sad know matter what my day brings. So this year as the tears began to roll and after a brief moment of thinking ‘what the hell is wrong with?‘ I quickly remembered. I now know why.

This realisation makes it easier to accept the tears and with acceptance I am being kinder to myself during this process then I have in previous years. This is the week of my life that my sub-conscious goes back to his final week here. The last week that I had the opportunity to spend time with him. The last week to show him I cared and to nurture him. The last week and last chance I had to have told him I loved him. But I never did. I never said it out loud, just over and over in my head a thousand times. I was too scared to say it, my voice wouldn’t own it. I was scared to say it out loud because saying I love you was like telling him that this was it. His life was ending, it was over and I was giving up on him.

So as the tears roll now and my heart hurts, this time I know why. I know that it is the distant memory, the unforgettable pain and the sadness that we had to say goodbye that is making me cry.

I also know that I am ok. I am not sad to get sympathy from others. I am not sad because I think I am the only one to have dealt with death. My sadness isn’t forced or unnatural it just is. I am sad because I miss him. I am sad because this time will always be the last few days of his life – no matter how many years pass.

I feel sad without realising until I remember.

Today and in the days leading to the anniversary of the last time I saw him, through the tears, I try to focus on happy memories and not on the last image of his face. I like to remember his positive attitude towards life and towards his fight with cancer. I remember the mark he left on this world and I remember that even though I am sad I am also very blessed. Blessed to have been his sister, to have known him and to have him watching over us as I continue to live my life – something I felt guilty about for such a long time but try to no longer dwell on.

So as his anniversary draws near and maybe it’s his presence I can feel more during this time I just wanted to acknowledge him. To acknowledge the feelings, the journey and the ride of missing someone. And I do. I miss him and the future he should of had with us.

“Some people come into our lives and quickly go. Some people move our souls to dance. They awaken us to new understandings with the passing whisper of their wisdom. Some people make the sky more beautiful to gaze upon. They stay in our lives for awhile, leave footprints in our heart, and we are never ever the same” ~ Chicken Soup for the Soul

One Love,

DRK xxx

This is a short story below is from two peoples points of view that I wrote not long after my brother passed away. It’s not the true story of Jeremy or his relationship with my Mum but just some words that I wrote for them both, with the hope and intention that the end part is true.

Ivory Tower

14 April

For the fourth time that morning I have my head down the toilet. There is nothing left to come up but my body doesn’t seem to know that. I’m so drained of all energy but I’ve made a promise to beat this thing, again. They haven’t given me a time frame, which is good, right?

“You alright?” asks my concerned mother. She looks tired too but she smiles at me and gently touches my back.

“Yeah, just great.” I reply sarcastically. I don’t mean to sound so harsh but sometimes it just comes out that way. I guess deep down I know she is the only person who will put up with me. The only one who will never leave, no matter how I treat her or how hard things become. Mothers have that special role, sometimes a gift but in this case, for her, a curse. Sadly I only ever tell her how much she means to me in cards on Mother’s day and her birthday. That’s just twice a year but I hope she knows that’s how I feel towards her every day.

“You alright?” I ask with concern for my only child, Andrew. I force a smile on my face as he turns his head away from the toilet bowl to look at me.

“Yeah, just great.” He looks drained and I forgive his harsh tone. I touch him gently on the back to acknowledge his suffering. I appreciate that we, as human beings, usually take our anger out on the ones we love the most. So I guess he loves me lots.

I help him to stand and I look him in the eye. We connect and I have the urge to tell him that everything is going to be all right but deep down I know it’s not. So instead I help him walk to his bed in which he has laid for weeks now as the cancer has a deeper and much more powerful control of his body but not his will to live.

“Can I get you anything? Should I make you some lunch?” I’m fussing with his sheets and I know he hates that but I just don’t know what else I can do to help him. I want to take care of him, I want to save him from the disease that is eating away at his life, and all I can do for him is cook his meals – which he can hardly stand to eat; wipe his chin after he violently vomits, sometimes for hours at a time, and fluff his pillows to stop his neck from becoming stiff, just another ache to his pained body.

“No.” He abruptly replies.

“OK. I’ll leave you be. Just call out if you change your mind.” I know he won’t. He’s stubborn like that. I sigh heavily and walk out. I turn as I reach his doorway to take a glimpse of my boy, so fragile and weak. Not the healthy 20 year old that he should be. What was it that I did wrong? He doesn’t deserve to suffer like this. He sees me looking at him and he turns his back to me. I want to tell him I love him but I’m scared that if I do that will mean this is the end.

I’m not hungry why doesn’t she understand that? No matter what food I eat my body will not heal. I am riddled with a disease that her love cannot cure, my will to live cannot beat and I hate it. I can see her in the corner of my eye standing in the doorway, looking at me with sadness and pain. I am ashamed that it is me that causes her this despair. I turn away from her so she cannot see the tears that well within my eyes. I am crying for her. I want to tell her I love her but I’m scared that if I do she’ll think I’m giving up.

28 April

I can’t walk or talk as the cancer has control of me. The pain in her eyes I can see and I don’t want to leave her so sad. How do I tell her I love her now that I cannot speak? How can she know that I am ok and I will meet her again someday? How can I tell her that the pain she feels is within me too because I am going to miss her so damn much? She’s taking me to the hospital today and I know my days are coming to an end. I am so scared of the sorrow I am leaving behind.

30 April

“We’ll just give him some morphine to ease his pain.” The nurse gently speaks to me. I nod my head although I want to scream and shout at them all to go away, to not touch my son, to help him, to bring him some life and not make him lifeless. I am at his beside as I have been for days. He no longer talks, he cannot get out of bed, and he is motionless. His breathing is shallow and I hang on to every breath he takes. I’m so scared that at any moment he will stop. I stroke his arm and I whisper over and over
again how much I love him. Please God let him hear me.

I feel so peaceful and safe. I can feel her stroking my arm and hear her soft and desperate cries. I can feel her silken tears touch my skin as she leans in to me whispering that she loves me over and over again. I feel lightness within and around me. I open my eyes to see what the warm glow is and it’s a beautiful ivory tower shining happiness and peace. I am going to be happy here, I think to myself. I will wait here for you to come and be with me. I’ll be at the top, I want to tell her. I look down at my mother with tears in her eyes and I whisper into her ear.

I cannot stop touching his skin. I want to warm him up and I am fussing over his sheets. I touch his head softly and I feel a lightness descend upon the room. I look up as he takes his last breath and in the silence of my pain I am sure I hear him say…

“I love you too.”

Cristy

Copyright 2004