I can’t talk about it anymore. The grief, it is crushing and although I laugh and smile, I can’t breathe. Often, I have to remind myself to keep breathing, to keep moving, otherwise I’d be found, struck dumb with tears streaming down my face. Unmoving and uncaring.
I cope by moving through my moments without thinking about it. If I consciously don’t think about her, then I can move through my day without hurting.
Then
something will happen.
And the enormity of what we’ve lost hits me like a truck with no brakes.
Loss is forever and I think that is the hardest part. That this is forever. There are no undos, no fixing this. I can’t make this better because I can’t bring her back.
I said after she died that I didn’t regret anything I had done or not done. That I was at peace with her passing. I told her I loved her lots on that last day.
I think I lied.
Because
I regret that she died at all. That we didn’t have longer. That she was in pain.
In the future, we will have a cure for cancer. It might not be for a hundred years, but in the future there will be a cure. Future generations will look back and wonder how we managed to lose so many people to cancer. They will wonder how we didn’t crack the code sooner, in order to save more lives.
But it will be like us, looking back on the invention of antibiotics. We know that we’re lucky, but we don’t realise how lucky we are. We’re not likely to die from a simple cut anymore. A puncture wound is not going to be our death.
In the future, Cancer will be like that.
I hope it is sooner than we believe.
But until then, we will support the research. We will donate money and time and good humour. We will do what needs doing, even if that means we hold the hand of a loved one while they’re dying.
We do this, hoping that in the future, our children’s children won’t have to go through it.
Because god knows, I wouldn’t wish cancer on anyone.
