It seems fitting that the beginning and the end are marked with fog.
It seems fitting that my head is a cloudy fog of mist. Of images, words, sadness, touches. Of a day shared with some beautiful people. Of the dignity and grace with which we helped someone we all loved deeply, go. We are left stunned and shattered at the force with which death crashed finally upon us late on Sunday afternoon, and the realness of his process. It was, as someone very close said - a real death. I cannot trully say it was peaceful. It certainly was not calm for him, despite our efforts to make it so. It was frought. And heartbreaking. And at times horrific. For my husband's brother, though, it is over, and for that we are thankful. Far too soon. But it is over.
We have spent the last 10 weeks caring and travelling with this cancer. We have dropped our lives to be with Paul. Plans made and broken simultaneously, days lived on edge, constantly trying to review where we were in the process, and days spent in vigil with him over the last week so someone close was with him to relieve the anxiety and the fear, have left us exhausted and drained. Misty. And foggy. A fog we would not change for anything - that time has been precious and intimate and I am so priviledged to have been there to the end.
Holding his hand.