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Rosalie is fading gradually
I'm going to see Rosalie again, probably on Saturday. We're trying to avoid too many visitors on the same day. Her friends from the playgroup are visting tomorrow and the children will be able to play in the hospice garden. It really is a lovely garden and a wonderful place for children to play.
She's sleeping a lot now and tires easily. When her eyelids start to droop, people slip out and sit in the garden or in the day room.
The good thing is that she's accepted what is happening. She's spoken to the chaplain several times (the chaplain did part of the wedding service and seemed a really nice woman).
The family all seem so tired now. It's as though we're all fading a little bit with her. We talk to one another and it's hard to know what to talk about, but we talk anyway because we need one another.
We all show it (or not show it) in different ways. I try hard not to think about it, and sometimes succeed, but now I've finished the short Canadian history project, I've lost the writing impulse. I seem unable to think of stories any more. I look vaguely at ideas, but none of them have any shape or pattern. They're just fragments, not plots.
Someday, I may find a way to use all this in writing (Rosalie said it's fine by her), but what is there new to say about grief? Everyone goes through it at some time, and yet, by the same token, it is something that everyone can relate to.
I manage to forget briefly when I'm with friends, but it's almost an illusion.
It'll probably be another week or two, but no one can say for certain.
Can I make a request of you all?
When the time comes, and I post that she's dead, please don't send sympathy - I know you all feel that already. It will just tip me over the edge.
Please imagine it's like flowers for a funeral, please send me something beautiful. Post a poem you love, or a short story that has moved you. Perhaps a link to a photograph of a beautiful place, or simply a description of something that you love. It could be anything from war poems to a picture of children at play; from a mountain view to a story that made you cry. As long as it means something to you personally.
Give me things that I will be glad to associate with her memory.
She's sleeping a lot now and tires easily. When her eyelids start to droop, people slip out and sit in the garden or in the day room.
The good thing is that she's accepted what is happening. She's spoken to the chaplain several times (the chaplain did part of the wedding service and seemed a really nice woman).
The family all seem so tired now. It's as though we're all fading a little bit with her. We talk to one another and it's hard to know what to talk about, but we talk anyway because we need one another.
We all show it (or not show it) in different ways. I try hard not to think about it, and sometimes succeed, but now I've finished the short Canadian history project, I've lost the writing impulse. I seem unable to think of stories any more. I look vaguely at ideas, but none of them have any shape or pattern. They're just fragments, not plots.
Someday, I may find a way to use all this in writing (Rosalie said it's fine by her), but what is there new to say about grief? Everyone goes through it at some time, and yet, by the same token, it is something that everyone can relate to.
I manage to forget briefly when I'm with friends, but it's almost an illusion.
It'll probably be another week or two, but no one can say for certain.
Can I make a request of you all?
When the time comes, and I post that she's dead, please don't send sympathy - I know you all feel that already. It will just tip me over the edge.
Please imagine it's like flowers for a funeral, please send me something beautiful. Post a poem you love, or a short story that has moved you. Perhaps a link to a photograph of a beautiful place, or simply a description of something that you love. It could be anything from war poems to a picture of children at play; from a mountain view to a story that made you cry. As long as it means something to you personally.
Give me things that I will be glad to associate with her memory.