You and me
We used to be together
Everyday together - always
I really feel
That I’m losing my best friend
I can’t believe
This could be the end
- No Doubt 1995
September 24th – October 8th 1996
Finally we left for Majorca with Tom and Sal. We stayed amidst unspoilt mountains near Pollensa, and after the pressures of the months before, it was marvellous to enjoy some warm sunshine and good company and just to spend our time playing on the beach with the kids.
Yet somehow I found it difficult to cope. First, William’s cousin Liam fell ill and kept us all awake at night, and then William himself developed a very irritating and repetitive machine-gun kind of cry, which wound me up all day.
I felt that I couldn’t relax, since I constantly had to keep a close eye on all three children around the pool. And there were flies everywhere.
Amongst all of our happy times there, it’s strange how I remember those little problems so clearly. Every baby cries, pools always need watching, and flies come and go, after all. But I think that with so much tension around us, spoken and unspoken, everything had begun to seem more difficult.
And although we needed rest and relaxation more than ever, suddenly those were the last things which we could find. How could we possibly relax, however much we wanted to, with that shadow lurking menacingly in Jenny’s shoulder?
After about a week, I could feel the only-a-week-left syndrome beginning to set in. Jenny was growing increasingly edgy, and she told me that her swollen breast was becoming quite sore.
Over the next few days, I could see that worry starting to wear her down again, and sometimes I would wake deep in the night to hear her faintly crying.
That raked me up inside, of course it did, and I tried to comfort her as best I could, but what could I say? It seemed crazy to say that it would be all right, but of course I had to say that – I did say that.
Eventually she’d fall asleep, and then it would be my turn to lie awake for hours afterwards.
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6 responses so far ↓
Julia HH // April 22, 2008 at 2:59 pm
Oh, Robert,
You did the best you could. Your words, though calm and measured, have this quality to pierce right into one’s heart.
I have this song from “No Doubt” on one of my tape compilations I recorded in the first two years of our relationship (1995-96). I used to put my headphones on and just to get immersed in the music whilst walking around St.Petersburg. This way the number of days before the next time Terry and I could see each other would also dissolve in the sound and time seemed to fly quicker. I now listen to these tapes and my mind drifts back to those never-the-less happy days…Sorry for a digression. Julia
Jan // April 22, 2008 at 6:28 pm
The stress must have been very difficult to handle. Try as we may to repress it in these impossible circumstances - it is hard. Therefore it is hard to enjoy the moment.
Reading how you felt and what you experienced gives me a huge insight in to what it’s like for the “other person” in cancer - the close partner or friend who shares it all.
My case cannot be compared with Jenny’s because I survived - I am still here to tell my tale. But even I can recall that silent crying in the night - and my own husband telling me it would be OK.
This wonderful writing of yours brings it all back - but with a greater understanding on my part. I thank you for that.
Roads // April 22, 2008 at 11:43 pm
Julia - what a romantic story. St Petersburg has to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world to be lovelorn in. Long distance relationships are hard, but they have nothing on bereavement.
Thank you for your memories. As you so kindly say, I did the best I could, but I couldn’t save Jenny, and worse still, I knew I couldn’t save her, just as you sadly couldn’t save your Terry.
It took me a long while to be able to listen to songs like this one again. But music forms an important link with the past and it’s good to take that forwards with you.
Thanks again.
Roads // April 22, 2008 at 11:56 pm
Jan
It’s great that you were one of the lucky ones. Well done to you, and hats off to your husband for supporting you through an extraordinarily difficult time for both of you.
Payter over at Time Pressure was recalling how he lost his temper in the traffic a few days ago, just ahead of his brain operation this week.
Meanwhile Judy at Just Enjoy Him is dealing with the stress of cancer in her own inimitably feisty way through a combination of rage and sheer determination.
However you try to cope with them, the insidiously relentless worry and stress of serious illness within a family can take a real toll on people and on relationships. That is a key message of this book.
Many thanks for making the link with your own story. Although your outcome was happily completely different, I’m sure the stresses you and your husband both faced were extremely hard, all the same.
nichole3 // April 23, 2008 at 12:42 pm
Roads,
I’m glad you and your family got to take the much needed vacation even though the shadows of more suffering were lurking. You are a very kind and caring man to have comforted Jenny through the physical and emotional pain she experienced.
Roads // April 23, 2008 at 1:04 pm
Thank you, Nichole. I did my best, and there was no more that I could do. And yet, it was nowhere nearly enough.
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