Time

I have agonised since Sue's death about the fact that we did not tell our youngest daughter what the matter with her was. The agony is questioning why we did this and more importantly whether I can ever answer if this was the right or wrong choice?

 Part of the agony is that what was once a joint decision; shared, discussed, thought about together, rationalised as mum and dad, husband and wife not just a mere few months ago is now pondered, ruminated on and lost in my present isolation. We didn't tell her because we wanted to spare a young child something to fear, the natural instinct of protection. We also didn't tell her because we never gave up hope, if we were going to tell her then at least be able to couch it in "but we're getting better, mummy's really fighting it." We just needed to wait until a bit more time gave us the chance of firmly setting us on the road of hope. But inevitability and death I have now come to see are no respecters of time. We ran out of time more sudden than it takes the hand of a clock to stop, the ticking to cease. I now think another reason we were waiting, not telling,  was because of our own fear!  

Only time will now tell whether this will have any lasting effects or impact. Maybe good, perhaps not so. There's that thing again, time! At the time we only did what we thought was best, what my dying wife actually wanted, so at the time this was all that mattered, end! Others I am sure might have done things differently. One thing I know, no-one, no-one actually knows the truth, the right answer or solution especially if they have never experienced it themselves, especially this. So I think about these things all the time and I think about whatever might have been done or said can never be undone. It can never be undone but it might be possibly mended, so now we try to talk. Trying to talk is important even if it doesn't always happen, in fact I guess it rarely happens, routine goes on, but it is there, my step-daughter and I are there!

Hope was loaded at the time with the biggest irony. If what I talk about is an expression of the adult to child relationship, then what of the adult to adult? Friends to friends, family to family. Who knew the seriousness of it all? How much of this was shared? Who spoke to whom and about what? Who dared to, or stay silent? Secrets, half-truths, hope, blind hope! Knowledge, facts, statistics, hope, phrases. "Have you Googled it?" The Internet! Vocal intonation, miracles, body language, facial expressions. "You do appreciate this is very serious." Palliative care. Life expectancy."It's not good news I'm afraid."  Wards, corridors, trolleys, uniforms, bags of pills! Disinfectant, sanitiser, car parking, hills, bags of pills! Tea, coffee, coffee, tea, water, sweets, tea, coffee, coffee, tea, water, toilet, bored, "Hi mum", bags of pills! Wait, waiting, minutes, hours, iPad, Independent, D.V.D, nurse, staff nurse, Macmillan nurse, consultant with nurse, pull the curtains round and silence, looks, moments then news, bad news!

I love my step-daughter. I care about her. She helps me by advising me about my youngest, that's a good thing. At Glastonbury my daughter and lovely friends remembered Sue in a place she loved, that's also a good thing. We laughed and joked, eat, drank and by god did we endure those toilets. We cried at songs as we waved Sue's memorial flag. Fluttering high in the wind for all to see, 'shining bright like a diamond', just like our memories of Sue. Just like them!