My cousin Elaine wrote to me in March and told me she had
Lew Body Dementia, at about the same time that we learned of my brother-in-law’s
perforated stomach ulcer. Both of these events were shocking. How do you react
to the first, something unheard of which turns out to be a hideous combination
of Parkinson’s Disease and Altzheimers and involves frightful and frightening
hallucinations? You think you would prefer to have the perforated stomach ulcer
– until you learn that a chest abscess has developed and that poor old Chris’s
condition has snowballed, or rather alvalanched, into an irreversible near-death
with breathing difficulties and oxygen fluctuations. And then you are told he
has moved into palliative care, so you know that there is no hope.
We all feel immortal until our lives are touched by the
decline and death of those close to us. I refer to closeness of heart, because
Elaine and I are thousands of miles apart, and Chris – although only two hundred
miles from us, might as well be with Elaine for all the good it would do to
visit. I can only type out the words: ‘I am thinking about you’ or ‘I am
hugging you in my thoughts’ when I long to be able to take their hands and
press something of my soul into them.
Losing family and friends impacts subtly, creeping into our
lives, eating away at our security and forcing us to adapt to a quieter and
less colourful patchwork of existence. Sometimes it takes years to realise how
much you miss these people, because you have turned your back on them, refusing
to accept that they have gone. It must be better to try to face their pain and
suffering, but this is often too difficult and stressful; bravery is old hat,
these days and we jump into the next task awaiting us in our daily lives,
convinced that this is the right move. Shock plays its part too, for who could
be so callous as to be completely unaffected by grief?
Elaine and Chris are still alive – at this moment – but they
are not the people we knew and loved. Severe and desperate illness has changed
them forever, as we in turn are changed by accepting their decline. It is
important to remember them as they were, or we lose them completely. So I will
remember their youth, exuberance and kindness, and above all the laughter. Both
of these two were people who lived to laugh, and who would wish to infect others
with their happy, sparkling take on life. Laugh on, you two! As hard and as
much as you possibly can. I long to hear it.
