Dear Ave,

I saw you go. The weeks in hospital, I knew there was a chance you weren’t going to make it. I told my siblings, I spoke to the doctors. And the last two days of your life, when you turned for the worse, I saw your death process. I saw your skin become mottled, your capillary refill increase to more than 7 seconds. The oncologist arrived that morning and said to consume your inotropes and to ensure comfort. I saw you do the death reach not long after. We stopped the inotropes and 4 hours later you were gone. I listened to your silent heartbeat, I felt your still chest, I felt the nothingness of your carotid pulse. I saw the flat ecg trace. I saw your body develop petechiae and then rigor mortis.

I saw this with my own eyes, but when I came back to the UK, when the whole event had time to catch me, it’s as if I couldn’t believe that any of that happened. There was a lot of self-blame, self-doubt, was I too hands on, was I not hands on enough? My therapist said that it’s a common feeling especially among health care workers like doctors, nurses. Not being able to save your loved one when it’s something you do everyday- the doubt, the guilt, the remorse. Worse of all, looking at all of it through medical eyes- treating and treating and finding out what’s wrong and catching it and trying to get you home. But not taking more time to be still, to listen, to talk to you and spend time with you. See, I knew how it worked because I had seen it all before. You were my special patient. We took it day by day but in hindsight, I felt like I ignored my burnout and your feelings. I was on auto-pilot, and you were too sick.

I walked by the sea earlier and I thought about how it would feel, just to stand on the crashing waves. To be close to life or death. Of course I did not do it- I didnt’t even get to the pebbled bit. But I had that feeling that I wanted to be transported there, where the waves where crashing, and let the waves decide for me. And now its the evening, it’s dark and it’s raining and I’m home, and while washing the dishes that sob came out my throat again, and that feeling of hopelessness and despair, squeezing me so tightly, weighing my whole soul down. And I thought again, what is the point of the future without you? And I thought of dying, but I thought of Tom. His indomitable spirit, his happy, energetic character, and I don’t want to be the cause of any of his pain. And I wanted to write so much about this. About times like this, where I feel so low, and I wonder if this is normal with grief, where the future seems to be something that I cannot hold, when I feel so, so low that all I can do is give up and just feel.

I miss you so much Mama. I was always sensitive, even as a child. Selfishly sensitive. I can only see things from my point of view, and my feelings.

I miss you everyday. Please help me build a beautiful life around yours.

Love,

Hershey