One week on I hear you are dying. We need peace. My last blog post was about visiting you in hospital, last week Saturday. They had said you are getting weaker. I felt you are dying and needed to say good bye. You did not want to talk. I said good bye, but not in so many words.
Today I hear you are dying. That's what your mother says. You did manage to get home, out of that soulless and anaemic hospital room. Good! You are lying at home, quiet, at peace and not in pain, so I hear. You are on morphine. The only sentence you said out load with a clear voice last week was about morphine "I am not yet THAT far." Your mother holds your hand and gives you a squeeze, but no squeeze is coming back. So she says. I'd like to think you feel the squeeze. I believe you can feel it.
Your beloved cats don't come to you on the bed, so I hear. The one called Little Sock does not part from your mother's side. Perhaps they give you space. Perhaps they have started to let you go. Your mother says she is strong, now, but does not know about after... how she will cope. She will be 80 next month. Her only child is dying.
Since the last blog post I have been doing a lot of thinking about what I wrote and why, my intentions, my feelings about your silence. Yes, I was angry, and I felt judged. Did I need to share that on a blog? Do I need to share this on a blog? But perhaps that really is my stuff and not yours. Perhaps this is another moment where I am unsure about my-self and doubt, about who I am in all this cancer mess. But I have to let that go. You need peace around you in the world, no bad fibes from anyone, anywhere. You are moving on and perhaps passing through.
I find rituals help to make peace. I tell your mum I will light a candle - in honour of your soul and your life. I light it, but I instinctively feel it needs to be outside, outdoors. Perhaps I do not want death in my home? No, on reflection it feels more like you need the air and nature around you.
I put the candle next to the pot with forget-me-nots. Their season is ending. And then I think that makes a nice picure for this post. By the time I come back with my tablet, the candle has gone out. It is windy. Then 2 bells ring on my tablet. 2 email notifications. At least that's one way of looking at it. I do believe in omens, and I do believe something has just happened. I re-light the candle.
The tide is coming in. Mr Heron stands in his usual spot, absolutely still. The geese banter is drifting over and a plane passes ahead. My dog lies curled up in front of me and snores. She needs to go out for a pee. I want her on my bed when I die.
I feel at peace. I will not rush back again, on the next plane. I think we both have gone beyond that.
As before, I send you love and positive energy. My heart is wide open for you at this special time.
But when all is said and done, you did not deserve this, noone does.
(Karin Sieger is a BACP registered and accredited psychotherapist based in London. She has been treated for cancer and specialises in supporting people affected by life-changing and life-shortening illnesses. In her blog Between Self And Doubt she ponders life and death and how to strive despite cancer.)
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