First, catch your..? #cancer

“… knowing you are going to die makes clearing out the cupboards so much easier!”

The sound of choked laughter came through the phone. “You should write that,” said my friend, once his calm was once more regained. The sentiment had, I think, taken him off guard, but it was a simple observation. Even in such circumstances, there are up-sides.

Like, I seem to have pretty much ‘retired’. At least, temporarily. I certainly won’t be back at work until the chemotherapy is done… and who knows after that? And all my worries, although they are exactly same as ever, are now definitely finite. Except, that has always been true, I just know now that they are. And that conscious knowledge is the only thing that separates me from any other person in the street.

We are all dying by degrees, as part of the natural lifecycle… but being aware of it does make a difference. Accepting anything as a gift that can be enjoyed for just a little while gives it a different sense of value. Those few minutes when dawn glows gold or sunset paints the horizon with flame… the first time a baby looks into your eyes with that deep, wise gaze… that first snowfall by moonlight that sparkles with magic… Such transient moments are the ones you remember… and against the backdrop of eternity, our lives pass faster than a mayfly.

But no-one likes talking about death and dying. Especially when it might actually become imminent rather than some far of ‘maybe’. That I would write about it was inevitable. But where to start? I have mentioned the collapse, the diagnosis and the start of chemo and immunotherapy, the next round of which begins, blood tests permitting, this time next week. But there are other sides to it too.

“It throws me,” said my son, subjecting my steroid-rounded face to close scrutiny. “You look too… healthy!” And I do. I appear to have gained a little weight, rather than having lost it as I was doing originally. My skin looks pretty healthy… the wrinkles have softened… and, in spite of all the nurses’ assurances to the contrary, I still have my hair… at least, for now. On the surface, and unless you know me well, you would never know.

I am still doing most of the things I would usually do. Except for the heavier stuff, like mowing the grass. I am asking for help lifting weighty things. I have to rest between jobs and  I can get out of breath sometimes. But I have been doing that for months and actually feel better in many ways than I did before I was rushed into hospital. The pain levels have dropped considerably too and I can actually lay down to sleep in more than one position.

My mind appears to be still functional. Possibly too much so as it races around being busy when it should be sleeping, trying to squeeze more hours into each day, perhaps, so I can get done what I would like to do. I do not count the elusiveness of the occasional noun. That is probably just an age thing… and if it is the chemo, I can live with that. The only obvious symptom is my voice…always quiet, it has lost all resonance and volume… and speaking on the phone is nigh impossible.

The trouble is, looks can be deceiving. I find that most people who know of the situation but have not seen me recently, expect me to be gaunt and grey, or wilting delicately like some fragile flower.  The problem with looking well is that people don’t believe that you are not. Or they filter what they hear to make it a happier story. And while that makes it easier to live with, it is not always a useful or even a helpful perspective.

There are some conversations you never want to have. If they force their way into your life, you may well avoid listening too closely… you may miss things, whether because you really do not want to hear them, or because you are not ready to take them in. Or you may hear it all and filter out those things too painful to acknowledge, replacing them in your conscious mind with a version less final and holding more hope. Sometimes, especially with those closest to you, those you love, you will have to go back and revisit that conversation several times before the facts sink in.

Sadly, when you are sitting there being told that, within the current state of modern medical knowledge and barring divine intervention, there is no cure, you cannot afford to mishear or misunderstand.

And then, there is a whole new language to learn as they give you your options. ‘Treatment’ does not mean ‘cure’. ‘Palliative care’ does not mean just keeping you comfortable till you die. Hopefully, you get a medic who remembers to highlight these points.

I have metastatic Small Cell Lung Cancer, (SCLC). Without going into detail, this means there is nothing that can be done to cure or remove it. Neither surgery nor radiotherapy is an option. It is going to kill me, unless something else does first, it is just a question of when. Palliative treatment with chemotherapy and immunotherapy may buy me some useful and relatively healthy time, if it works.

As this family has already had its medical miracle with Nick, my son’s recovery, I am not expecting another. I do know how much can now be done to cure many cancers… over the past few decades incredible leaps have been made, are being made daily, in the treatment and management of the many and varied cancers.

But first, they need to catch it.

A year ago, I had a chest x-ray following an infection. It was clear.

I wasn’t well last winter and it left me not feelng right. Without COVID, I would undoubtedly have gone to see my doctor months earlier. I was already having scans in March because of the pain. We thought it was my back,  because I have a lot of spinal damage about which I have already been told nothing can be done. So, not wishing to add to the burden the virus was putting on the NHS and our GP’s surgeries, I left it. That particular pain got steadily worse, culminating in my emergency admission to hospital, six months later… and immediate relief when they drained all the fluid from my chest cavity.

It is, I think, fair to say that people were, on the whole, being ’discouraged’ from bothering doctors, even while we were being told to take emergencies to them. I am afraid that for many that fear of ‘bothering’ the health service unnecessarily will linger. While it is undoubtedly a good thing that many minor problems are being addressed more appropriately and with more personal responsibility, it does worry me that many who could be helped have and will slip through the net.

That six months wait has probably cost me dearly.

If you are worried about your health, regardless of the problems and chaos  that COVID is causing, please contact your health service provider, through whatever means seems most appropriate, from talking to your pharmacist, to online services or a telephone call to your surgery. Don’t leave it until it is too late.

About Sue Vincent

Sue Vincent is a Yorkshire-born writer and one of the Directors of The Silent Eye, a modern Mystery School. She writes alone and with Stuart France, exploring ancient myths, the mysterious landscape of Albion and the inner journey of the soul. Find out more at France and Vincent. She is owned by a small dog who also blogs. Follow her at scvincent.com and on Twitter @SCVincent. Find her books on Goodreads and follow her on Amazon worldwide to find out about new releases and offers. Email: findme@scvincent.com.
This entry was posted in Brain injury, cancer, health and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

162 Responses to First, catch your..? #cancer

  1. I will write privately.

    Like

  2. The last words my mother said to me was: “Get regular checkups.”

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Sadje says:

    It is important to get a diagnosis early. I pray that you get the miracle

    Like

  4. CarolCooks2 says:

    I pray that you get time, Sue to fulfil the important things on your bucket list..while I also pray that somewhere in the universe someone thinks that 2 miracles are on the books for you…xx

    Liked by 3 people

  5. willowdot21 says:

    You are right Sue. This present situation bis difficult but Drs and surgeries are there, hospitals are there and people can and must still use.
    This is so like you to use your situation to encourage others to seek help. Bless you.

    Liked by 2 people

  6. Pingback: Glimpsed | willowdot21

  7. Willpower is important, believe in miracles. I will pray for you. Lot’s of love and blessings.

    Liked by 1 person

  8. floridaborne says:

    Both your son and you are impressive fighters.

    You’re correct — intuitively we know there is an expiration date. We don’t want to believe it until we can’t deny it. We want to believe we have a eternity of time to clean those cupboards.

    Liked by 1 person

  9. Hi Sue. It is almost unbelievable how Covid 19 has affected so many people who have not contracted the virus. I agree that probably too much emphasis was put on ‘not overburdening’ the NHS during the peak of the pandemic’s first wave, but other people who have serious health problems have become more ill and died because of it. I am so sorry that you are one of those victims

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sue Vincent says:

      I’m blaming no-one but myself for that, Kim. But, having seen how many people have had necesary treatments paused or cancelled, tests, assessments and diagnoses delayed, it does make me wonder how many covid-‘related’ deaths and how much suffering could have been avoided.

      Liked by 1 person

  10. TanGental says:

    Oh dear, how that resonates. My father lost years because he neglected to admit to the urinary problems hiding his prostate cancer. I’m a zealot now about checks. But i learnt because of his example. That’s hard to think about. And yes, the hurtling bus might be round the next corner so let’s all embrace the now wow moments and not assume there’ll be more. Deep stuff Sue. Now, let’s go and empty a cupboard starting with those manky ****** tennis balls

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sue Vincent says:

      Taking your lifein your hands calling tennis balls manky around here, Geoff… even though that is probably the politest word for the One Ball… 😉

      My late partner did pretty much the same… and his very elderly GP treated him for infections without testing for the bladder cancer that was eventually found. So much is put out there about regular testing, I do wish more would take up the opportunity when they can.

      Liked by 1 person

  11. joylennick says:

    Dear Sue, For someone who loves words, they are remaining elusive at present…The right ones I mean! I know that you and your son are made of hardy ‘stuff ‘ and it will stand you in good stead, but, as I don ‘t pray, wish with all my heart for a miracle. Meanwhile, that cupboard awaits…. Hugs xx

    Liked by 1 person

  12. gmvasey says:

    Glad to see you did….. Your words are so important to so many….Much love.

    Liked by 1 person

  13. Wise advice, Sue, that I’ll take to heart. ❤ ❤ I think you're right that many of us are putting off "bothering" our healthcare workers. And I'm glad you are feeling healthy and sleeping more comfortably despite everything you're experiencing. Hugs.

    Liked by 1 person

  14. Cathy Cade says:

    My work colleague’s wife was told how lucky she was that they had caught her cancer early during a routine smear test. A year later nobody was telling her how lucky she was and she died just before my colleague was due to retire.
    I went to New Zealand last year to see my youngest daughter through her radical hysterectomy after what had been diagnosed as endometriosis was found to be stage four ovarian cancer which had fused her ovaries and covered her stomach lining with tiny tumours ‘like scattered rice’ – as well as other, larger tumours.
    Just after I arrived we went for her scan following her third round of chemo – the op was loosely planned for the following week. The scan’s results showed no change in her tumours whatever.
    This (apparently) meant that she had a different kind of ‘slow-growing’ cancer that didn’t respond to chemo. The downside to this is that is that there is no cure.
    Further tests found cancer in a lymph node, so she didn’t have that hysterectomy (and the rest). It wouldn’t have solved the problem, would have taken six months to recover from and might have stirred things up further. (I would have been kicked out of NZ after three). For now, there are drugs to manage it. Until they stop working.
    We all feel immortal until we learn differently. Over 70, you develop a different relationship with Death as your close friends and family develop life-threatening conditions, undergo life-changing surgeries, or die. You feel your own symptoms making themselves known and know they won’t really go away again – or not for long.
    You’ve learned to live with the knowledge that one of your children is a dangerous driver, a stepson has a dangerous job and another has danger-seeking tendencies. But you don’t expect your youngest to be living with Death at the age of 35. Jen’s positivity never ceases to amaze me, and I am so grateful for it. Because there is nothing on this earth I could do to help her.
    Keep finding positives – however ironic – because every little does help.
    Good luck with chemo – Jen hated the way it made her feel, and was grateful she didn’t have to finish the course. Even those first three sessions took her hair (I gather it depends on what chemicals you get), but she loves the curly mop that has replaced it.
    Here’s hoping all your results are positive ones.

    Like

    • Cathy Cade says:

      Sorry – didn’t mean to go on so long… but you know better than I about living with the limitations of what we can do for our loved ones.

      Like

    • Sue Vincent says:

      Watching your children suffer and being unable to help is such a hard thing to do. We, as parents, ‘should’ be the ones… but it doesn’t work that way and we don’tget that choice.
      There are so few things you can say as none of it makes anything ‘better’. I am glad your daughter is finding the positives…there are always some to be unearthed…
      I wonder if my ever-curcly (and now very fluffy) hair will grow back straight?

      Liked by 2 people

      • Cathy Cade says:

        It may not desert you. Our neighbour (breast cancer) never lost all hers but when it thickened again after chemo it was curly for a while – Jen decided to shave hers off when it started coming out in her hand. (That must feel creepy!) She had her friends around for a shaving party and videoed it for Facebook and her blog. She rarely wore her wig – mostly wore woolly hats. What is it they say? Hope for the best and prepare for the worst.

        Liked by 1 person

  15. trentpmcd says:

    Too many of us do put off going to the doctor’s office – just something nobody likes to do. Don’t know what to say, except to continue to fight to have more of those healthy days to go out and look at the world one again with fresh eyes…

    Like

  16. Patty L. Fletcher says:

    Reblogged this on Campbells World.

    Liked by 1 person

  17. Helen Jones says:

    Oh Sue. I suppose, as Aslan says, we are never meant to know ‘what if.’ But oh, I wish things could be different.

    A powerful message, too, about the importance of getting things checked. Thank you for sharing and sending lots of love as always xx

    Liked by 2 people

  18. Helen Jones says:

    Reblogged this on Helen Glynn Jones and commented:
    A powerful reminder from Sue that, even though we are the midst of a pandemic, it is vitally important to speak to your doctor if you are concerned about your health…

    Liked by 1 person

  19. Deborah Jay says:

    Such a sensible and helpful message, Sue, and I am in awe of how you are taking things – one moment of anger seems unbelievably calm to me.
    Having just seen a psychologist write a piece about how in the future we will remember this era as one of ‘collective hysteria’, I’m appalled at the consequences of the pandemic, particularly for those like you, who might have gone to your doctor far sooner if we hadn’t been encouraged ‘not to bother’ the NHS.
    I’m having my own issues with it – nothing like yours, but it’s having an ongoing impact on my life. I have 2 arthritic hips. I’m not bad enough (so they tell me) for surgery yet, so when I finally got to see an orthopaedic surgeon 7 months after being referred, I was offered steroid injections to reduce the pain. I am now on a waiting list for a procedure they won’t do during Covid. Goodness knows how long that wait list will be by the time they get up and running again.
    I wonder if he NHS will ever recover.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Sue Vincent says:

      Thew fallout from the pandemic is, I believe, likely to do far more lasting damage than the virus itself. So many areas of our lives ae being touched by it, from our ability to provide for our families, to the way we are teaching our youngest to show affection.

      So little of it seems to make sense…

      Liked by 1 person

  20. Adele Marie says:

    I have lost my two Mums, my Dad and Uncle to cancer and their illnesses were all different as people are different from one another. The time you were in Burghead and we were supposed to meet, we both said we would meet another time and we will. I believe that. Please try and find a Reiki practitioner near you. Doctors say there are no cures for things, but they are only one branch on the tree. I am sending a virtual hug and wish it was a real one. Love ya Sue. ❤

    Liked by 1 person

  21. noelleg44 says:

    Loving and blunt and told with compassion. I am due to see my MD soon.

    Like

  22. The old saying, “There’s always somebody worse off than you” is still true. Inadvertently, you have encouraged many who are struggling with lesser circumstances. Thank you for keeping us posted and for your honest, insightful look at how things are, not how you wish them to be. My small problems are nothing in comparison, and your outlook is heartening. I continue to pray for you and your family. Blessings, Sue!

    Like

    • Sue Vincent says:

      Thank you, Alexander. I don’t think it is ever fair to compare problems… when you are in the middle of them, they are always huge and hellish…and different for everyone. I am grateful for your prayers. x

      Like

  23. Jim Borden says:

    you seem to be keeping a positive attitude…

    Like

  24. You are amazing: clear, concise, and caring as always. You are right about people not wishing to bother an already overstretched NHS because of COVID, but they should if they are concerned when health issues are not improving or ‘not the norm’. Keep positive Sue. Virtual hugs and positive energy by the ton being sent your way.

    Like

    • Sue Vincent says:

      Thanks Di. It really does worry me how many people may be risking their health. I waited… I knew there was ‘something’. But, well, it’s only a bit of a chesty thing… you can’t bother them for that etc…

      Like

      • I know, and we don’t like to waste the GPs time, not that we can get to see one here as a rule anyway. The healthcare where we are sucks.
        I had a cough and put it down to changes in temperature. Hubby pushed the point and I got it checked out, this was before Covid hit, and my X-ray was clear. So many routine check ups have been pushed to the back burner, but then so have some treatments. I have my mammogram next week (2months later than normal) the first after my surgery last year and I’m more nervous than I’ve ever been. Apparently if I have a problem or concerns with the right side, I have to make an appointment to see my consultant as the mammo is only for the remaining breast and nothing else. There are no follow ups now.
        So many people have worse things to worry about, and I don’t like to make a fuss. I am so, so sorry this has happened to you.

        Like

  25. Reblogged this on pensitivity101 and commented:
    Sue says there are some conversations you never want to have.
    She is one amazing woman who is having just that kind of conversation with us, her readers, friends, and everyone who knows her. Our thoughts are with her and her family every day

    Like

  26. Goff James says:

    Thanks Sue for the update. Tough and wise words from a tough lady; a fighter and writer. Time is all any of us have, the amount unknown. Keep writing (when you can): keep fighting: keep positive: keep loving: keep smiling; keep safe. Sock it to them!!! Best Regards.

    Like

  27. Annette Kalandros says:

    This strikes such a cord with me. So many times we say we will treasure those we love, value every moment of life, but we don’t. No one wants to admit that we each have “an expiration date.”
    I pray that you will have much more time and exceed all expectations of when your expiration date will arrive. My thoughts and prayers are with you.

    Like

  28. It’s a serious message you wrap up in humour. We all ought to be stricter with ourselves about getting different bits checked over. We do it for the car, after all!
    You made me smile about the cupboards. It’s what my mum did, had a blitz as soon as she got a diagnosis. I hope you have to keep working at keeping those cupboards tidy for a long time yet 🙂

    Like

  29. lbeth1950 says:

    Having had a sick child, as you did and I did, changed my outlook when I got a cancer diagnosis. My daughter was twice brought low with cancer and another terrible illness and thankfully survived both. When I so feared loosing her, all I wanted was for her to recover and live to raise her children. My endometrial cancer was treated and I am doing well, but I am still more grateful for her life than mine. I know God doesn’t bargain, but had I been offered one, I would have gladly chosen her life. I am grateful for her survival, and happy for however much time I get. Peace.

    Like

  30. Praying for another miracle… . ❤ Thanks so much for reaching out–for the courage and compassion shown in sharing your story, Sue. 🙏 xo

    Like

  31. Sue. I have no words. Just caught this post (missed your previous ones as I’ve not been online much). I’m thinking of you. Sending love and light. 💗

    Like

  32. memadtwo says:

    Your honesty and clarity are inspiring Sue. They have at least noted the higher death rate here of non covid illness that parallels rhe covid deaths, although they haven’t done enough to make sure people have access to proper care. Our time is always fleeting ,but yours has taken on a sharper focus. I hope it expands the way your travels always seem to do. Sending hugs,
    K.

    Like

  33. Last month I lost a really good friend. Her daughter had called to say things were not going well and I flew down to see her immediately. I asked her if she needed anything to be done. She felt prepared. I told her that the pain of losing my mother when I was 23 could have been different I think if I had known she wasn’t coming home. That being said, for months, years, I always looked for some sort of letter that she had maybe written to me, telling me how much she loved me or was going to miss me. I never found it and I didn’t realize until losing my husband then my son that the thing that hurts the most is not having that specific note…So to my friend and to anyone else I say just write one note to the people you love. It is a piece of you they can hold onto because although memories never go away and are always precious, something tangible could mean just a little more.
    I’m sorry you are dealing with this and I cannot begin to imagine what you are feeling or thinking. Someday I may be in the same position and will hope I am able to leave my loved ones this one simple token. Of course your beliefs are yours, I only speak from the point of view of the person mourning so many losses.
    I pray for peace for you and as much extra time as you can have.

    Like

  34. Eliza Waters says:

    Oh, Sue, these are hard words to read, and I imagine they must have been even harder to write. Your level-headedness is an inspiration to me, though I’m sure you have your daily ups and downs. As they say, “You’re keeping it real.” I’m sending you and your family love and virtual hugs. ❤

    Like

  35. Widdershins says:

    So, what are your thoughts on cleaning the bottom of the fridge? : )

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  36. Your comment about how C-19 has cost people dearly is very valid, Sue. I read a medical article that clearly stated that more people have died in the UK due to late treatment of existing conditions or delayed operations than died of Covid and this figure will continue to rise. I am so very sorry. You had mentioned pain in your post on and off for a long time but I assumed it was your back as you suggested.

    Like

    • Sue Vincent says:

      So did I, Robbie. Unfortunately, the back was only part of it.
      The casulaties and fallout from covid will be far wider reaching and far sadder than we are ever officially told, I fear.

      Like

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  38. jenanita01 says:

    Reblogged this on Anita Dawes & Jaye Marie ~ Authors and commented:
    Amazing and inspirational post, Sue…

    Like

  39. Jennie says:

    You are one of many who did not think their situation was dire enough to see a doctor during the peak of Covid. The numbers of patients who put things off must be staggering. I would have done exactly the same thing. BTW, my sister is the only person I know (besides you) who never lost her hair during chemotherapy – and she is a redhead!

    Like

  40. dgkaye says:

    Great advice Sue. Undoubtedly this year will leave many more casualties than just the Covid – because of the Covid. No, it’s not the same doing telehealth calls as it is in person letting a doctor hear us breath with a stethascope as #1. Telling symptoms on phone at least can help get scheduled for further testing. I missed my ‘physical’ physical 2 months ago. Chatted with doc, was sent for my heart echo and bloodwork then followup. The best in these times I guess. I’m praying for you Sue that these therapies you’re enduring will keep you feeling better and with us much much longer. Hugs ❤ xxx

    Like

  41. I’m so sad to read Sue. And it is true – going to the doctors is such a hurdle. I recently found a large lump in my left breast and went to the doctors. They referred me to the hospital, I sat through mammogram, scan, examinations waiting for an answer. It was terrifying, especially as the lump was so large. I don’t know how I had missed it. They said how come you missed this? It’s taught me to be much more vigilent. The news was good, it was a benign cyst, (I’ve had these before years ago,) they drained it and I went home. If anyone is reading this wondering whether to go to the doctor/hospital please go. Whilst I was there, I think one lady had bad news. But, even if it is bad news it is better to get treatment early. Thanks for sharing this Sue. Hopefully someone will read your blog post and go to the doctor and be saved. I hope the treatments will prolong your quality of life Sue. This Covid is a bastard. Sending love, and hugs. Marje x

    Like

  42. Ritu says:

    I just pray that you get your time, Sue.
    Lots of us need you 🥰
    I’ve been having investigations since last November. Only now, 12 months later, I’ve been sent a final set of investigative test appointments, which I’m anxious about going to, but I know I need to…
    You’re right. Covid-19 is here, yes, but so are other ailments, and, if you need to be seen, you need to be seen.
    Hugs to you 🥰🥰🥰

    Like

  43. Thank you for sharing your story Sue, with such calm and grace. It is important for others to read and apply to their own lives and from the comments it is clear that some are taking steps to get checked despite the current barriers. I am sure there is room for two miracles in your life, if ever anyone deserved that it is you..♥

    Like

  44. Gwen M. Plano says:

    Oh, Sue, my heart goes out to you. I am in treatment for breast cancer, so I have a glimpse of what you are facing. Time, family, life… rest heavily in one’s mind and you’ve expressed that so beautifully in your post. You are a blessing and I pray for miracles to accompany you throughout the months and years ahead. ❤

    Like

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  46. barbtaub says:

    “That six months wait has probably cost me dearly.” Nobody reading this post will ever forget that line. And of course, we’re all still hoping for miracles. But most of all I’m lost in wonder and admiration for your clear-eyed eloquence in describing your situation. Those occasionally missing nouns don’t stand a chance.

    Like

  47. My dad is dying from pancreatic cancer right now. Diagnosed in July and too ill for chemotherapy. Very rapid! Last Saturday he was climbing stairs, a few days ago he became bedbound. They say you never know your last time. Tuesday 20th October was the last time he made me a mug of tea. Now he can barely use a knife and fork. Its scary and I keep crying.

    Cancer is horrid and heartbreaking, really hope your family are with you and looking after you. Take care x x x

    Like

  48. I believe that six month wait indeed cost you dearly. I have not experienced any delays in treatment during the pandemic – but I do believe there will be repercussions of slowed research, research put on hold, and trials that couldn’t happen because of COVID. The cost will continue to be unmeasurably high as there will be many outcomes that will be indirectly tied to this moment in time.

    Like

  49. uniboobie says:

    Hi I too dismissed by breast lump as a rib, a fatty lump for the 8 weeks since I’d found it. No idea how long I’d actually had it. Diagnosed with grade 3 breast cancer, mastectomy with no reconstruction and now started chemo, I wish I hadn’t waited 8 weeks. I fobbed myself off and was more worried about adding to the pressure on the NHS than myself.
    Hard lesson learnt.
    Take care xx

    Like

  50. olganm says:

    A very thoughtful and necessary call to action. Thanks, Sue, and I hope you are able to enjoy as much time as possible in the best health possible. Thinking of you.

    Like

  51. we pray for you and your family each day.

    Like

  52. So many important messages for us all in this post, Sue. The last paragraph of your post is something I believe many of us know is important, yet some of us still hesitate to do. But the fact you’ve actually written it down and published it will be comforting to many.

    It may seem strange to say this, but I enjoyed reading this post. Why? Because death isn’t a subject, many want to write or talk about, yet it can make things a little easier if we do talk about it. I believe this post will help many of those who read it. It’s certainly helped me. I’ve only told one online friend, but my father recently passed away after a very short illness a few weeks ago. Of course, I was shocked about his death, especially as a few days before he died he had told me over the phone that he’d been planting spring bulbs for us all to enjoy next spring. Now I wonder if he knew something was about to happen because he didn’t say anything about him enjoying the spring blooms. Having now read your post this morning, it’s confirmed to me that I need to sit down and start talking about a subject I know many don’t want to talk about. My father and my step-mother had written everything down about their deaths. The two books they had the information in have gone such a long way in helping those of us left behind. Your post will do the same.

    Take care, Sue. You’re constantly on my mind.

    xx

    Like

    • Sue Vincent says:

      I am so sorry to hear of your father’s passing, Hugh. It does sound as if he may have known and left the bulbs as a final gift… and I hope you will smile when you see them bloom.

      Daeth is such a natural part of life…even when it comes through unnatural causes… but we avoid all mention or consideration of it, most of the time. We don’t want to address the fact that it is one experience we will inevitably share.

      We may fear the manner of death, but I don’t believe dying itself should hold any fear for us and talking or writing about it may take some of that fear away.

      Hugs, Hugh. xx

      Liked by 1 person

      • Thank you, Sue.

        Yes, I agree with what you say. I wrote a post about death sometimes ago and was amazed by many of the comments. Some said the post motivated them to talk about death with their husband/wife/partner/family, while others told me it was too emotional subject to talk about. I learned a lot from that post and this one of yours.

        I hope Ani wasn’t too disturbed by the fireworks last night. I built a den for Toby and Austin, but whilst Austin slept through the evening, all Toby wanted was to be near me.

        xx

        Like

        • Sue Vincent says:

          Ani guarded my ankles under the desk…just making sure they were safe, you know. It is a perfect den for her. 😉

          I have written a good many posts on death and dying over the years. Quite apart from opening a dialogue about something seen as a taboo subject by many, I think itis important to be able to accept our own mortality. As soon as you do, if you can do so in a positive manner, life takes on a new lustre… as do many things with a “limited availability” … and you actively appreciate what you may only have been taking for granted, xx

          Liked by 1 person

  53. MarbellysB says:

    ”The problem with looking well is that people don’t believe that you are not. Or they filter what they hear to make it a happier story. And while that makes it easier to live with, it is not always a useful or even a helpful perspective.” I am so familiar with this feeling and having people constantly remind me that I ”look so well!” makes me feel like a fraud. Thank you for being so honest.

    Like

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