One of my favourite places to go and visit is the local graveyard. We live on a square block, the streets conveniently named North, East, South and West, and the cemetery is on the North side of the square. I have no relatives or friends buried there, in fact, I have no connection to anyone there. But there's something about the ambience, the peace and the love that has gone into that patch of land that permeates the air and is hard to find anywhere else.
The piece revolves around the concept that when trying to confront the issue of talking to disabled people the advice is always negative, always a list of "don't"s and rarely "do"s. Mr Hoge then states that most of these are the opinion of the authors and then gives a list that he states are things "you can say to someone with a disability".
On 4 March 2014, I witnessed a group of police officers forcibly move on some homeless people around Newland Avenue in Hull, the heart of the city's student population. Their only crime was being homeless, which I don't feel is a crime, and certainly doesn't justify the treatment they received. I felt helpless, and had to carry on home, angry...
We're talking about actual human beings existing in the twilight of grief and primal fear that comes with cancer. And if a lung, bowel, or pancreatic cancer patient feels, in that horrific state of mind, that it'd be easier to have a more socially acceptable cancer like breast cancer... We can't judge that. What are we doing, policing the private fears of terminally ill people now?
For many of us there are only rare moments in which we do not think at all; when we are engaged in sports or indulged in a concert, for example. Besides these moments, the rational mind dominates the scene, one thought after another, until we fall asleep at night. In worst cases it even persists and keeps us from falling asleep.