Cancer in my family is like buses, it comes in threes. My father, uncle and aunty were all diagnosed within months of each other. My aunty, a lovely kind women who was gentle and loving passed away today.
On my way to the train station heading back for University I went to visit her. Cancer is a violent disease that just leaves a shell of the former person, and their she was; shrivelled and ravaged by the disease, here but not really.
I held her hand and said my goodbyes and while we were all in the room she passed away, taking her last breath. I had to check for a pulse, and couldn’t find one, it all happened so quickly. A sense of relief and sadness filled the room. I couldn’t help but think unlike my father she had died in her home surrounded by those she loved, and that helped us all.
Her sons soon came, one was already on the way but just missed saying goodbye. With them her grandson, a happy chappy with curly blonde hair and an infectious giggle. Sometimes you have to see the beginning of life with the death of one to realise how important yours is.
I wasn’t there with my father, something I wished I had been. For me being with my aunt when she died, in an odd way helped me to heal. I shall of course grieve, it brings back horrible buried memories. Yet seeing someone so peacefully slip into death and to feel that they are now at peace makes me feel better about my own fathers passing.
I haven’t figured what happens on the other side of life. Part of me thinks this can’t be it, there has to be more. Another part of me wonders, do we experience death to remind us about the fragility of life? This is our one chance, and to make the most of it?
All I know is the sensation is numbing, and will take you on an emotional roller coaster like never before. Sometimes I look up to the sky and think, you got out of it, left us behind to pick up the pieces.
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