Not saying goodbye

Thursday 29th November:

since mid-day Monday Dee has not been able to open her eyes nor has she been able to utter any words. Pain killing drugs are being pumped automatically into her body. District nurses come twice daily in pairs (they are with her as I write) and the doctor visits every day. In between times I sit by her bedside listening and watching the rise and fall of her breathing and thinking of all the good times, doing my level best not to feel sorry for her or for myself. As Bob Dylan said; 'It's life and life only'. And I think of  that other Dylan, Dylan Thomas, addressing his father; 'Do not go gently onto that good night.'

There is nothing gentle about lymphatic cancer.

Sometimes in the dead of the night I speak to her and to myself. I talk on and on about Gosport and Alverstoke and Lee-on-the-Solent and Hayling Island and Titchfield and Sopley and Micheldever and Headbourne Worthy. I talk about our dogs Seth and Chloe and Sorosh and Mati and our adventures with each and all of them. I talk about the magic of our children growing up and their children growing up and now their children growing up and the world we are leaving to them. I am not proud of that legacy. I hope the light will shine again at some point.

I talk of things we know but that I cannot write of here. I can only hope/believe that she hears me.

I refuse to say goodbye. She's going no place that I any all of us can not follow.

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