Small Pleasures

It has been a very difficult time with lots of feelings of anger and bitterness as well as loss.  Each time I cry I think that I cannot possibly have any more tears left inside of me, but then I cry some more.  I still cannot accept that my sister is no longer at the end of a phone, ready to laugh or cry with me and share stories of our family life.  I still find it totally unbelievable and this feeling is compounded by the fact that there was no funeral to go to.  Typical of Katy - a devout vegetarian for 25 years - she donated her body for medical science research, so to do some good and help others even after her death.  She and her husband were not religious and Katy did not want a service.  I totally respect her decision and admire her immensely for it.  However, the ritual of burying the dead is to help those left to begin the grieving process and to gain 'closure' in some way. It marks the end of the person's life and helps the loved ones gain acceptance and start to move on.  Not having that ritual makes everything seem so unreal still, like a bad dream from which I will eventually awaken.

But during all this grief, I am struck by all the good things I have in my life and several times during the past couple of weeks, I have felt overwhelmed by the kindness of people.  My work friends have been totally supportive and understanding and patient and I feel very lucky to work with such lovely people - thank you.  My friends - particularly the Karens - have not let me withdraw and are making me go out and do things regularly and they do not mind when I cry all of a sudden.  My daughter, who is busy with her new job, takes the time to text me to ask how I am doing.  My wonderful son makes me cups of tea and always asks how I am feeling and always knows when I have been crying and gives me a hug.  My gorgeous boyfriend is so kind and loving and supportive, even when I get snappy and bad tempered.  I know I am lucky to have lots of fantastic people in my life.

And it has not all been tears.  I have managed to take pleasure in simple things.  Going out for Saturday brunch with my boyfriend and enjoying that first coffee of the day.  Sitting outside a pub on the harbour with a cold glass of cider, people watching and enjoying some rare sunshine.  Cooking pasta at home listening to music and dancing in the living room with my boyfriend.  Sitting on the sofa with my son watching a rubbish TV movie and laughing together.  Sitting outside a cafe right on the beach and watching the waves gently break, catching the light from the sun, a mug of tea resting on my lap, hearing children laughing and playing on the sand.  These are simple pleasures but ones I am learning to appreciate now more than ever before.

And all the time my sister Katy is there in the back of my mind and I wish, oh how I wish, that I could pick up the phone and tell her about these simple pleasures.

Feeling numb

It has been a week since I last posted on my blog. Just a few hours after my last post, I received the phone call that I had been expecting in my heart of hearts, but even so I still didn't actually believe would happen.  My beautiful, courageous sister had died at 10 pm UK time, 2pm Arizona time.  She was in her own bed in her own home, our mum sitting with her.  Just typing these words feels like stabbing myself in my chest.

I am incredibly lucky to have some fantastic loved ones in my life.  Red Karen (for her hair colour, not her political views) immediately left her work where she does night shift and came straight over.  My wonderful gorgeous boyfriend, Tony, works away in Reading during the week, but drove straight home to be with me.  My amazing son stayed up and made me cups of tea (the English cure-all).  We sat up talking til the early hours of the morning.  Looking at photos of Katy.  Recalling memories, laughing and crying.

The following 3 days I functioned pretty well.  Lots of tears, but also managed to get up and go out and receive visits from friends.  Unfortunately the 4th day I woke up and there was absolutely no way I was going to get up that day.  I stayed in bed all day, unable to eat or talk.  People talk about being in a 'dark' place and now I know what they mean.  Now though, I just feel numb.  I haven't reached acceptance yet and the chest pains haven't alleviated, but I feel very distanced from the everything.  It is a very strange feeling that is hard to describe.  The best way to describe it is NUMB.

It may be a bit of self preservation going on, shielding me from the pain for a few days, giving myself a rest from it.  And no, before you ask, I haven't taken anything strange!

So ok, I will go along with the numbness, because, for now, it is preferable to the pain.  I can function like this.

Olympics and stuff

I suddenly remembered, whilst watching the olympics one evening this week, that my sister used to be a very keen and very talented cross country runner.  She was a member of Barry Harriers when we lived in South Wales.  I have no idea why I had forgotten about that.  It was a big part of her life as a teenager.  She would go out running in all weathers (and being Barry that usually meant rain).  Then when she got home she would have to clean the mud off of her 'spikes' (special cross country running shoes with small metal spikes on the soles to help avoid slipping in the mud). 

I find myself remembering lots of things about our childhood together.  Things I haven't thought about in years.  Not necessarily the big events, but just day to day mundane stuff - yet so precious.  Back in those childhood days (the 1970's!), we went out to play.  We would be out all day on a Saturday and indeed unless the weather was totally foul, we would be instructed not to come home until tea time!!  Saturday tea often consisted of either lemon curd (for Katy) or chocolate spread (for me) sandwiches whilst watching Doctor Who on a black and white TV.  Katy would laugh at me when I hid behind a cushion because I was scared of the Cybermen or the Daleks. 

I watch these incredible athletes on the Olympics and remember my sister running. 

That's a good memory to have.

Coming home....

Home can mean many different things to different people.  To me and probably most others, Home is where my loved ones are.  It is where are able to kick back and be yourself.  Where I relax in my pjs with a mug of tea and my tattiest furry slippers.  Where I curl up on the sofa with a good book on the kindle or film.  Where my 13 year old son rushes in to do a smash and raid on the fridge before  running back out the house again to continue with whatever he was doing that was so important with his friends.  Where my boyfriend sits with his laptop, browsing the latest techy stuff that he thinks he needs.  Where I'm glad to get back to after a trying day at work, finally able to relax after a day of having to smile and be understanding and patient.  but most of all, it is the place where I most feel safe and loved, surrounded by people who care how I am feeling.

So it is not surprising that my brave sister has decided that her Home is where she wants to spend the rest of her life, however long that may be.  After having spent the last 4 weeks in hospital - the first week of which was spent in ICU connected to a variety of wires and machines - she knows that her Home is where she needs to be now.  With her loved ones.  Her husband.  Her two young children.  Her faithful chocolate labrador who never leaves her side.  Her own familiar things around her.  Her own comfortable bed.  The feelings of security and love that will envelop her and ensure she has peace. 

I may be 4000 miles away from my sister, unable to be physically included amongst the loved ones with her, but my heart is there with her.  I am sending out my love across the Atlantic Ocean and further West to Arizona.  I am thinking about her constantly.  She is my first thought on waking in the morning and my last before closing my eyes in sleep at night. 

I am happy my sister is Home.