I opened a box of old letters
I hadn’t looked at them in a while
It brings pain and pleasure. Look and don’t look. A letter, a photograph, handwriting of someone who is gone.
Today I found this.
A letter Larry wrote near the end. Written for me to send to a group chat, in a weak, scratchy hand. He wrote it because certain people seemed to have forgotten he was the one that was dying. And he was exhausted. I remember I kept on stroking him very lightly, as he wrote thinking, if I’m not careful I’ll forget what touch is.
Here’s what he wrote:
“As it’s all about me, it’s time for me to speak up. Janie and I are the only ones that know my current capabilities, and she is with me twenty four hours a day. Since my diagnosis, she has been my rock, my cry buddy, my total support in all things. As each day dawns, I feel like someone has stolen a piece of me. Imagine Superman losing all his powers one by one. I am left a husk, a shadow of my former self. I can barely carry my own weight so much so that the NHS are giving me a wheelchair next week. I sometimes feel normal, whatever that is, and sometimes racked with pain. Early on, we would try and see people as and when we could, but even so had to cancel a few times. For me, trying to be normal is getting increasingly difficult. As spending an hour or two with friends and relatives is completely over tiring and means I spend the rest of the day in bed. I rely on Janie to monitor my condition where this is concerned, and all things here to fit in with both of us. I will no doubt be spending more time in my bed, so I will suggest to some of you that a ten minute FaceTime call might be more convenient for you. And as far as the children are concerned, I am increasingly aware of my ghostly appearance and how that may affect them. Please consider all things before rocking up or making plans to see me that may or may not be convenient as refusal, denial, may disappoint. Live long and prosper.”
I cannot read this without weeping. For his pain. For his love. For his bravery. Love combines seamlessly with grief. The loss is eternal.
I walk from room to room thinking about him. I miss his silliness. His dad jokes. Signing off with “Live long and prosper” makes me smile. It’s perfect Larry.
I think: this is what love looks like. The real kind. The kind that says I am dying but I’m going to use what’s left of my strength to protect my wife.
Dying is complicated. It is shocking. It is not peaceful or graceful. But it is inevitable. And all I wanted for Larry was a ‘good death’. All he wanted was to live. The temperature drops and the wind blows and we are reminded that all of life is precious.
There are so many gifts he gave me. In life and in death.
And I am forever grateful to have been loved unconditionally by this beautifully imperfect human.
Love always
— Janie x