Today is a week from the day that myself, the other friend who made our group of three, and the family, will mark the death of my friend and celebrate the gift of her life. I will call this friend J.
My tears are residing just under my eyeballs awaiting any opportunity to spill forth. I don’t like to restrain them, but I do need to maintain my responsibilities of adulting. I feel deeply sad that I will never get to sit with J again. How I loved over a decade of the three of us sitting together, chewing the fat while inhaling high fat fodder.
I feel extremely sad that I will never again get to feel the warmth and love of her presence or her hugs. She wasn’t a typically English hugger, by which I mean she didn’t attempt one of those weird hugs where people try not to actually touch you or where you part hug after half a second for fear of being too affectionate or unreserved. J was one of the best hug givers in my life. The last time I saw her we had a super long hug; proper style. I read somewhere that to benefit from the healing properties of a hug you must maintain it for a certain number of seconds. As a ‘big’ rather than ‘small’ picture person, I can’t recall how many seconds are required so I like to go long!
On that day, I didn’t know that it would be the last hug we would ever have in person. We did attempt to meet again but the cancer had ravished her body so rapidly that she was never well enough for another visit. I’m grateful for that last hug but as with all those I have loved and lost, I long for just one more; one more hug and one more of everything else we ever shared. It hurts that this longing will not be fulfilled. And now when my gorgeous ball of ginger fluff comes looking for a hug, I try to put down what I am doing and give him my attention. For we never know when a hug will be our last.
My heart hurts and so does my body. Not just from all the painting and furniture moving as I change my house from top to bottom, but also from the distress of grief that my body holds. As another friend remarked to me, as I have the living loss of estrangement from my family, my friends are my family and their deaths all the more pertinent.
In recognition of all this, yesterday was the day of my monthly treat of a massage. What an absolute gift from God my massage lady is and not just for me, as she is offering a special treat of £35 for a one-hour massage in February – ask if you want her details. I can’t recommend her enough.
Anyway, yesterday my poor knackered body and weary soul laid down upon her heated bed where she draped a soft, snuggly blanket over me, put on soothing sounds and began to massage me with oil. I find healthy, safe, human touch to be such a powerful source of healing. And for the first time I was introduced to a massage gun – I did not know these even existed before that moment. B told me she usually reserves this for big men but on this occasion my body was so incredibly knotted that she got the big guns out for me!! It was divine. For the body cannot lie and knows all the stress and distress that it holds whether recent or historical. And that massage was just what the Doctor ordered. At least the soul, spirit and body doctor, otherwise known as the Almighty. (access free to all without waiting lists)
I reluctantly dragged myself up and home where I gifted myself to a period of ‘being’ with a break from doing. A friend recommended the film Resistance about the true story of Marcel Marceau who transported many children to safety during the horrors of the Nazi regime. It took all of about ten minutes of watching this before I had to reach for the ever-present tissues. Children deserve to have their innocence preserved and protected rather than ripped away by human brutality in whatever form. Having just passed the 80th anniversary of all Holocaust related, I was horrified to hear that some young folk are believing b/s that none of this existed. I know that all of us can be drawn by denial as a way to protect ourselves from tragedy, but really?
Anyway, shortly after getting all cosy and comfortable, settled and snuggled with Monty while being a bit snotty and a lot sad, I was snoring! It was so wonderful to give in to what my body so desperately needed.
Grief takes energy on every level whether to contain it while carrying on must occur or whether to let it have its way when time allows. Death and loss cause our hearts to hurt and as with every other type of healing, the internal resources required to heal, take energy and need extra rest to recover. I haven’t given myself this, so to rectify it, I’ve put an immediate ban on everything other than the essentials. I have a wonderful window of responsibility-free time which is in touching distance and I want to get there without collapsing first. And as writing is how I process, voila …
I did prioritise time out to celebrate a friends birthday though because friends are my family – these are the people I do life, loss and love with. And another family/friend sent pictures of her beautiful little new-ish human. Those at the start of life are such a tonic for all things end of life/general life crap.
My friend J was family to me and I will always be grateful for her ability to move towards me and not away, when I was suffering. While we also had fun together and talked about much, she was there when I lost contact with my personality, humour or ability to conversate. Such a precious friend. Such a monumental loss.
I remain grateful for my other friend who made up our group and for the gift of sharing our memories, experiences and loss of J. We will dedicate time next week to the place where the three of us spent so many happy hours together. There we will acknowledge J in any way that is meaningful to us. And then we will go to the official celebration of her life. But before that we are going to see the film about J’s beloved Bob Dylan. I’ll take plenty of tissues!
Once I am in my ‘space-to-be’ window, I will see what words want to come forth to convey my experience of J. I didn’t get to say goodbye in person or tell her what she meant to me or how I valued the gift of her. And so, I am planning to speak on the day that we celebrate her life as my way of acknowledging and honouring her.
Death, loss and grief are painful. But it remains true that the only thing worse than grieving, is refusing to grieve. Sometimes it is remaining connected to the pain within our own hearts, that shows us that we are still alive. And for as long as God grants me, I am all for that.
My thoughts and prayers are with you and all the family…🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏❤️xx