Sorry you’re here

I mean, of course I’m so pleased you found me. That we found each other. But really, you and I know you’re here because life is a bitch and has thrown you a massive curve ball when you were least expecting it.

So what can we do for each other?

Well, I’ll write because there has got to be a way to remain sane through it all. And I’m hoping that in the process I will help others. You. It’s as simple as that.

So I’m married to the love of my life. Course I am, aren’t we all. I have my perfect 2 children. Boy and girl, of course. A beautiful house with a huge garden and a tree house. And a job I love.

Oh, have I mentioned my husband is dying of cancer?

Because I’m afraid, dear reader, that’s why we’re here. We’re here to document my anticipatory grief process. To bitch and moan about cancer, to try to understand how a 30-something year old can possibly be expected to know the right thing to say or do, and to help each other put one foot in front of the other in the process.

I’ll tell you the story of the itchy jumper another time. But for now, let me tell you what the subtitle of this blog is. Why it’s not the other women you should be worried about. You remember those heady first months of a relationship where the thought that he might fancy (what a sweet, innocent word!) another woman gives you shooting pains in your gut. Because there is so much love, and so much hope, what could possibly go wrong.

Sometimes, the things which could never happen to us, do happen to us. That terrible thing that your mother whispers, someone else’s tragedy, other people’s sadness which must be avoided for fear of contamination…well, as it happens, sometimes it becomes you.

And dear reader, be warned: it will kick you in the solar plexus and knock the breath out of you. You’ll be completely unprepared. So I’ll try to help. I’ll tell you my story and I’ll hold your hand. And if that won’t do it, I’ll mix you a bad boy G&T.

You’re welcome

This is us

Published by luiza227

38. Mother of two gorgeous children. Wife of an amazing man. Trying to accept the thought that I will be a widow in the near future. Dark sense of humour. Endless love for people.

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3 Comments

  1. I love your honesty and I hope it helps me understand why my husband alternately hugs me to death with tears in his eyes and forgets my cancer and calls me selfish. It’s like a confusing sunshower.

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    1. Ilene, whenever I get tempted to think ‘poor me’ I remind myself that I wake up every day and am not in pain. My husband hasn’t had a pain free day for over 4 years. So whilst I’m angry on the unfairness of it all, and I miss him dearly, I also know that I’m grieving, and that in itself is a hard process on my husband, who is my nearest and dearest. That is probably what your husband feels. He adores you and feels he is losing you every day, wants to make the most of his time with you whilst always having at the back of his mind the reminder that he is losing you… there are no winners in this game.

      Liked by 1 person

      1. I agree totally and he’s not sure how to respond to my pain and I keep a happy face firmly in place. It’s odd but trying to seem well is so different from trying not to seem sick. Inside it’s vastly different than outside. You’re so right that there are no winners. Especially when friends and family disappear and isolation becomes the standard. A friend of mine was diagnosed with metastatic colorectal cancer and she’s got so much Facebook support – but I offered help in any way I could whenever she needs it but she turned away towards people who cannot possibly know what stage four cancer is like. She gets so many “atta girls” on Facebook but I know in time all of those people will fade away. I guess I don’t feel the need to announce every day I was in chemo for 26 weeks straight because that’s not the kind of support that does much for me. The blog brings more thoughtful, deeper responses like yours, which I get far more out of than the “likes” on Facebook. There’s nothing to “like” about the treatments or the cancer, and I’m not in a competition to see who has the largest turnout at their funeral service.

        Thank you for your help by giving me a good perspective that I cannot have – I’m deeply sorry for your pain, and no words can take it away and in some ways not even time can heal some wounds. My husband and I joke that we are are still on our first date 12 years later. The honeymoon doesn’t always end in some relationships. People think we are like brother and sister – we even resemble one another… he’s definitely in pain for the thought of losing me. I miss him sometimes too when I cannot get through his pain.

        ❤️
        Ilene

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