Many months ago I kept a cutting from a magazine article written by a doctor on the death of his wife from cancer. It was a sharp insight into his helplessness at witnessing the pain and discomfort of her death. Being a doctor, he knew every step of the way she would travel to her last breath. It was painful to read. I have been on that same journey too.
I want to offer some extracts; they are valuable words. It's clear to me that 'love' and 'steadfastness' help to heal the hurt. But, if not heal, then they might manage the pain ... a little bit.
" ... Sunday she slipped into sleep. Sunday night I held her and I told her it was ok to go, and on Monday she died in my arms. Her last words were, "I love you" ...
... no ghost rose from her body. No ethereal phosphorescent spirit. As her body was removed, I reclined on my side of the bed next to her abandoned space, the emptiness of where she, my wife, had been a few hours ago, and for many years ... now a still point at the centre of a turning world, a world oblivious to her passing ... the sheets in mild disarray like she had just arisen on any other morning.
... our life together was gone and I was reminded of what a friend had said after she had lost her husband; that she had plenty of people to do things with, but nobody to do nothing with.
... the waves and spikes of grief don't arrive predictably, either in time or severity ... it's not an anniversary that brings the loss to mind ... it's not sobbing, collapsing, moaning grief. It is phantom-limb pain. It aches, it throbs, there's nothing there, and yet you never want it to go away. "
[ Source: Times Magazine article 2014 ... included here first on 6/11/2014 ]
No comments:
Post a Comment
Comments welcomed