Four Days In My Life Living With Grief
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Dear Doug,
This letter comprising of four days in my life was meant to reach you last week… time is not my friend in more ways than one lately. I speak to you every day, I look for you only to find fragments that become double edged swords - feeling the warmth that you were here and feeling the loss of your absence every time, over and over.
Monday 29th of May, 2023
Tonight I hugged your shirt. I stood in the middle of the walk-in wardrobe and held it to my chest… and then I buried my face in its softness.
Something within me said hug you tighter… so I did, and held on for dear life. I’m sure I felt your heartbeat against mine… I’m sure.
Memories came flooding back of the day we were told ‘no more could be done’.
We laid on the small hospital bed arms around each other and wept. My head on your chest… your hand stroking my hair.
Maybe you were wearing the same shirt, I don’t remember. It would have been one of your good flannelette shirts for sure. One of the few that wasn’t paint stained from tinkering in the shed.
Maybe it was that one, maybe that’s why that memory came at me like a steam train, not wanting to let the shirt go just like we didn’t want to let each other go that day.
The staff left us for as long as they could in the radiation waiting room but then they could no longer delay… you had to go back to the ward and I wasn’t permitted there until visiting hours.
They felt so bad I couldn't stay with you… go up to the ward… out of their control.
We said solemnly, with some semblance of a smile, we understood… and we did… not their fault. F*ck Covid. F*ck cancer.
Tuesday 30th of May, 2023
I shared a meme this morning on my socials that said “It’s me and my four hours sleep against the world” This about sums up my night and the mindshift needed to get through the day.
My body has taken to aching all night.
It likes to wake me up to change position and let me know my hips, legs and ankles are still there, but not necessarily very happy… or comfortable.
I’ve had trouble with hip tendonitis before, but this is next level.
It also likes to call itself Fibromyalgia.
Time will tell if it can claim the title. If so, I’ll not be ceremoniously knighting its contribution to my world. It is, literally, a pain in the arse.
The magpies song this morning intertwined with the reverse beep of many trucks in the estate. The building noises may go on forever - morning alarms that are now so normal, creating hopes and dreams of a new life in new homes for those footing the bill.
Wish I could stay in bed and think of you for a while longer but my four hours of sleep that’s apparently ready to take on the world is calling me to action… actually, my job is, best get my painful arse into gear.
Tuesday evening…
Today was shit. Think I knew before I left home it was going to be shit. My brain must have stayed behind in bed because it certainly didn’t follow me to work.
I had no flow about my day. I smiled and did the best I could but it was far from the best I’m capable of.
Too tired and annoyed with the disconnect from myself and everything and everyone around me today to write anymore tonight.
Wish me luck with blissful slumber this evening Dougie! My hip already has other ideas… just realised it’s bin night… I’m in bed. Pretty sure I can hear them laughing at me. Fab end to the day.
Wednesday 31st of May, 2023
The drifting sound of highway noise woke me before the rumble of trucks and led footed tradies this morning. I wondered if busy had a noise would it sound like the ebb and flow of a highway - a constant hum with periods of frantic intensity to fade slowly and then build again.
I woke early. A better night's sleep. Sliding the door open into the passage of Mum’s part of the house I was hit with the familiar scent of face powder and hair product.
For a moment I let myself believe she’d still be asleep in her bed as I cranked up the heater and opened the blinds.
I hadn’t been able to go down there much since she died. I couldn’t bear to see her chair empty. Such a disconnect of painful proportions.
This last week I’ve felt a slight shift and have found some comfort in old morning routines of heater tweaking, letting in the morning light and sitting to watch the sheep in the paddock next door from her chair for a little while. Mum loved watching the sheep and young lambs skipping around.
I made the chilly morning trek outside to put the bins out that I’d forgotten to do last night and actually thanked myself for being so forgetful. There was a glorious sunrise peeking through the gum trees. So pleased I looked up from my toes.
Noticing beauty in my mornings has been severely lacking of late so I took a moment to capture the colours through the filtering trees.
Curled up in the chair in your room Doug, sipping on my morning cuppa, looking out at the purple spikes of Salvia flowers being tousled by the wind I reflected on yesterday… it wasn’t all bad. It was Aunty R’s birthday and I spent the evening with her and family… nothing shit about that.
I hope my brain follows me to work this morning.
Thursday 1st of June, 2023
The wind blew all night. You hated the wind. I hated being woken by it without you beside me so we could hate it together. That’s a lot of hate in one night.
My brain followed me to work yesterday which made the morning more pleasant for all concerned but sadly went missing when the lunch time rush hit.
The over stimulation of noise, lots of people, the need to retain information and concentrate on adding up was all too much.
Either that or my brain is a sadistic little bastard and likes to sit back in the corner with a whisky and cigarette and watch me flounder around and pivot on the spot like Michael Jackson in the middle of a dance (without the crotch grabbing) only I’m stuffed if I know what move should come next.
I’m struggling being away from the house during the day though. That’s something I really wasn’t expecting. Being home with you and Mum, caring for you both and making the most of our days and lives together had long become my normal. Now I’m out there walking and working amongst every one else’s normal - a scenario so alien to me I feel as though I’ve stepped into a foreign country, with an unfamiliar culture and language and rituals I don’t quite understand.
I understood our world. I knew how it worked even with the variables that chronic illness would throw at us. I spoke it’s language. I felt comfortable within it. I knew how to function within its parameters. This new world without you and Mum in it makes no sense to me… I’m a fish out of water.
I’ll write again soon Doug,
All my love Sandra Xx
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I loved the diary entry style of this piece. I felt like I got a glimpse into your daily life and how it feels to move through your days. Thank you for sharing this with us. x