Four rosy apples
Hanging on the tree
Four rosy apples
Hanging on the tree
But the wind blew one off the tree
And now there’s only three
Three rosy apples
What shall I do?
- Traditional
October 17th – November 8th 1996
A pair of meetings in Canada loomed, and I flew back across the Atlantic for two lightning trips inside three weeks.
Calgary looked fantastic in the cold autumn sunshine, with the maple leaves turning gold and the first hesitantly blobby snowflakes falling.
Hermione helped at home whilst I was away, and Jenny had miraculously escaped from the house to buy me some especially thoughtful birthday presents – a golf net, since I couldn’t get out to play now, and a pruner for the garden.
I could see that Jenny was becoming more and more tired.
She tried to time her painkillers so she wasn’t drowsy whilst driving, and that would leave her feeling sore and uncomfortable each evening.
The doctors suggested that she switch to morphine, which would more easily address the pain without affecting her so much. In fact, it made her drowsier than before. And in that one moment, that was the end of driving, and that was the end of her working, too.
One day whilst I was away, another of the drugs reacted badly with Jenny’s system, and she was sick non-stop for a whole morning until Julie, our District Nurse, could administer an anti-emetic.
By the time I returned from my second trip to Canada, having lost my luggage, bought a complete new set of clothes in Calgary and had five hours’ sleep in three days, Geoff and Jenny were both exhausted, too, and it took all of us the whole weekend to recover.
That Sunday, I snatched a few hours to plant hundreds of new bulbs in the garden.
I could see that the next spring might be Jenny’s last, and I was determined to make a real show for all of us to remember always.
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6 responses so far ↓
nichole3 // May 13, 2008 at 2:33 pm
Roads,
How awful for Jenny to have to suffer that way and I know it will get worse. Reading about Shadowslands present agony in nursing her terminally ill husband is also quite sad. I am glad that she is connected with you. I have a sister-in-law that is at the point now that Jenny was at. It is just all so very sad.
I am glad that you took some time to plant all of your bulbs for the next spring. There is always a few moments for beauty in the midst of such suffering.
Nichole
Roads // May 13, 2008 at 7:32 pm
Thank you, Nichole, and I’m so sorry to hear about your sister-in-law. I dearly wish we could solve the problem of cancer, but it seems we’ll have to wait a while yet.
You’re right that I’ve looked at this story again recently, seen through Shadowlands’ eyes. It’s hard for me adequately to explain just what a desolate and lonely place this is to be.
People will insist on saying some odd and tactless things at times like these. Hearing that they are sure your husband/wife will be alright and that God will provide the answer if only you can pray hard enough are just two amongst many such comments.
But of course, it’s hard for anyone to know what to say, so you can only forgive them and be grateful that they aren’t facing the same kind of catastrophic certainty.
Worse still, events like these put a huge strain on relationships. We snap and we can fight at times, simply because we are raging against the fading of the light.
An awful kind of disconnection threatens to open up then - between a life that will end and a life that goes on.
These are tough themes to explore, but my contention is that they affect many lives caught up in such terribly stressful and agonised times.
I’ll come back to say much more about all this shortly. In the meantime, many thanks for your thoughts, and all best wishes from London.
Author // May 16, 2008 at 8:47 am
Beautiful writing, full of pathos.
Sometimes I wonder how we cope with these situations …. but somehow we do, and we survive. And reading autobiographies like this makes me realise the immense inner strength that we don’t even know we have - until we have to draw on it.
Spring bulbs - small moments of beauty during a harsh season of life, and death.
Roads // May 17, 2008 at 12:01 am
Thank you, Jan. Inner strength? Yes, I think we all have it, for times like these.
The planting of spring bulbs each autumn is a gesture of faith in the future which we all make each year. It seemed especially poignant then.
marielsgarden // June 3, 2008 at 5:07 pm
Hi Robert,
You’d know something was amiss yet you do your best to remain hopeful. But also you’re so tired dealing with the here and now that you’d never really see it coming till the last. Then, it’s almost like just another dream scene till you finally hear that terrible sound of the world crashing around you.
I know it was difficult for you to write about this then. Thank you for your courage and great love.
Blessings always.
Roads // June 3, 2008 at 11:58 pm
Thank you, Bong. Was it difficult to write this story? I wrote the first draft a while ago now, but yes, it was. I wept. Many times. That’s to be expected, as you know so well.
I’m so glad if my writing is helpful. Right now it seems like down and down, but the very fact that I’m alive and kicking and thriving every day is proof that the story goes up again before too long.
I hope that gives you hope that you can get through this, and you most surely will.
It’s true to say that you never put these bad times entirely behind you. Finally, one day you pick them up and sweep them all along forwards with you once again. That’s all you have to do, and there is no other way out there that you need to find.
All best wishes, from Edinburgh in Scotland today, and spirits up.
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