Yesterday, on the way to Bookworm’s house after the service, my Mom, sitting in the back seat with Bookworm, said, “Now the hard part begins”. But I don’t think that’s true. I don’t think she realizes just how hard this past year has been. From the moment FG was diagnosed there was the certainty of his death looming and all who loved him put their lives on hold, their full happiness on hold. In my house, any time my mate would say, “It’s going to be a great year!” I’d have to remind him that FG was going to die this year, so “great” was not a word I could use. I know BW found much joy in her last year with FG, but there was still the dark specter of death in his cough, in his chemo, in his growing weakness. It couldn’t be ignored.
I am thankful that after I retired at the end of August I was able to visit weekly and then more often as the days grew short. I don’t want to imagine how I would have felt if I’d been working and wouldn’t have had the energy and will to visit as often. I am also thankful that the last days were not as bad as predicted by the nurses. It could be that somehow Fossil Guy willed himself to be clear until the end and to die before he was vulnerable to the point of total helplessness. He relied on us, but he was in control. He could still hold his water cup, he could still sip from it. With help, he could reach the bathroom or a chair. There was no humiliation. That is probably what I feared the most, having experienced it with my Dad.
I don’t think it will be “the hard part” for Bookworm because she is so strong, resilient as the silly putty she often kneads in her hands. Any woman who can live through what her son has given her to endure can live after this. She is from hardy stock, feisty, buoyant people. And she has scores of friends who love her. That counts. I’m not saying it’s going to be a cakewalk. FG was so special that he will never be replaced, but he “saved” her life, as she says, and she doesn’t need saving anymore.
So life goes on. It’s one of the most used cliché’s there is, but cliché’s are born and flourish because they are true. Life will go on and we’d best make the most of it. Who can ever know when the death sentence will be written for us?
4 comments:
Oh, my God, what sadness. I am sorry about it very much. I know that any thing that we say to you won´t relieve your sorrow, but ... cheer up! ... that the life continues.
Love, your Spanish friend... María
Thank you, Maria. You are truly un bueno amiga.
Two and a half years on ...
I didn't know Jim very long or very well. We just shared some photo's and related stories as members of an on-line photo community back in 2005/6. I genuinely liked Jim and although we lost contact, I'm saddened to learn that he died of cancer back in Jan 2008.
Despite the time-lag, I just wanted to let you know that I appreciate reading your posts on Jim. Even on-line, he was special.
Mike Morrell
The Netherlands
Don't know if you will ever see this Mike, but thank you for your comment. We never know how many people we touch and I'm glad Jim was your friend, and that he knew you.
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