Alone

We have just received a poem from the widow of my American cousin, who died suddenly last year from West Nile virus. It is one of the saddest and most moving we have read, getting to the heart of a loving relationship - and its ending. I reproduce it in its entirety, for all who have suffered loss and are grieving.

Alone

Alone is the saddest word
Even though we know we are separate
We disguise what we cannot deny
By loving and allying ourselves with a partner
If we’re lucky
We tell ourselves we are protected,
No longer alone, joined and safe
We happily live with this delusion
Until we can’t
When, stunned by a bulbous intruder lodged in an artery,
Our partner’s heart ceases to beat
The gurney holds just one
And when our partner slips away
Aloneness settles over us like a fog
We are exposed, defenseless
No one has our back or loans a front
Everyone else seems ballasted
We could say our companion is just travelling
Or busy in another room
But we can’t
We become anxious
We want to flee or hide
We cry at odd times, such as when someone asks,
“How are you?”
It was not supposed to end this way
The final curtain call was a future event
No one would be left alone
What happens when everything changes?
First, there are no tears
Numb, you move and talk by rote
You do not allow yourself to fall apart
You exist in a parallel universe
With your best friend forever gone you write an obituary
Though the person who knows you best
Will never write one for you
You accept that you will die alone
You become a seeker
You ask, “What is the point of being alive?”
You make a list
Your love your family
You like politics, reading, thinking
You find your friends stimulating
You are warmed by the kindness of people
All solid reasons
None convince you
You fear you have lost the will to live
You rant at the random hurt of the world
Still, you get up in the morning
You do this day after day
You do this though the clothes you’re wearing
Are the same clothes you wore yesterday
You feed your dog and look in her eyes
Grateful to be welcomed
You get up because that is what
Your body has been trained to do
You get up because the life force
Pushes you to persist, even when it’s clear
That the point is that there is no point
Yet you decide to keep looking
For reasons to stay engaged
You tell yourself your missing partner
Would want you to do that
But you do not delude yourself
You are tired of deluding yourself
You feel sure that for the foreseeable future
The point of it all has been lost

Betsy Marston

Work continues but in new directions

There is now a hiatus in my work as the immediate work has been moved to Japan.They haven't dismissed me, but are keeping me "available" in case they suddenly need to move ahead. Unfortunately, I am one of the modern brigade on zero-hours contracts, so our income has suddenly diminished; but fortunately this gives me time to do some of the jobs about the house that have been waiting. Some have been waiting for some time.

Last week I repainted the saloon that is Edwin's office, and the downstairs toilet. Now I have the back door to paint. There is certainly never any shortage of this type of work.

Our toilet seat cover had developed an alarming split, after I used it as a seat to pull on my socks. Yesterday we duly went to the local B-and-Q to spend an hour looking for a new one. Most of the time there seemed to be discussing which of us could remember correctly what shape and size it was. We wandered up and down in the company of another woman on an identical hunt, who phoned her partner to ask, but was still non the wiser. Eventually we wandered down together to pay for them, so the woman on the till could tell us both they couldn't change them if they'd been opened. I guess a number of people coming in for toilet seats must be in the same uncomfortable position. At least the manufacturers try to be helpful: their instructions include: "Choice of bottom fixing."

An email in my inbox this morning offered to "Free up your flow." It was unclear if this was cash flow, or if the junk mailers had somehow learnt of my urinary problems. Either way, being spam, I deleted it without daring to look too closely.

Visit to Luxembourg

March 1st, the first day of spring, and I am awoken by a shrill alarm at 3 a.m. to catch an 8 a.m. flight to Luxembourg. Edwin likes to be early for these things, so we arrived at Terminal 3 by 5 a.m. for breakfast. We used the Cathay Pacific lounge rather than the BA lounge as not many people know they can, so it is underused. Edwin had a soup and freshly prepared dim sum. Landing in Luxembourg, we were greeted with a tannoy announcement asking for me to go to baggage handling as they had last my bag, having failed to load it at Heathrow. They promised to put it on the next flight out and deliver it to our hotel.

Colin and Ann at Roodt sur Syre station

We took a taxi to Colin and Ann, but their road was closed by a digger laying concrete blocks, so the taxi dropped us at the foot of the hill. Naturally, Colin and Ann live at the very top of the hill, leaving me breathless by the time we got there, but I was glad then I wasn't lugging a case with me. I have known Colin for nearly 60 years, and was best man at their wedding. Alas, he is now very bad with Alzheimer's and does not know me. I could see the light of possible recognition circling in his eyes with the thought that he ought to know me, if only he could grasp the name - but it never came to him. He is as tall and slim as ever, and looks to a casual eye as astute as ever, but he has a carer in to wash and dress him each morning and can speak but a few mumbled incoherent words. Beside him, Ann who was always tiny looks diminished and tired. She is unable to leave the house without him for more than a short while, for he has a tendency to wander and look for her.  He was also Edwin's godfather, but of course had only a total blank look for Edwin who is now 6'3" of solid bearded muscle and sophistication.

We took them for lunch at an old bakery, where the servers were dressed up in drag or clown's gear for the Luxembourg carnival, but the atmosphere was decidedly un-carnival sitting beside the silent shell of Colin, who once could recite reams of Housman or sing any of a thousand songs from pure memory, holding us in raptures with his classical guitar accompaniments. Ann still drives, and took us to the station to say farewell.

At the hotel, we ate early and I was so tired a fell asleep fully clothed, to be woken by a banging on the door. They had my case, returned by BA, and brought it up to the room. Edwin unfortunately, beside being unrecognised by his godfather, had further bad news: he did not win his election for faculty rep. It was won by some unknown woman who hadn't even put up any posters!

Anniversary dinner

Today is the anniversary of our wedding. Twenty six days since the day snow covered the car to give us a white wedding. We tied ribbons to the car, to give some semblance of a traditional event, but Peter, my brother who was driving us, started the windscreen wipers to clear the snow. They caught the ribbons and blew them off so they fluttered like pennants.

Today is still and warm as an early day in summer. The carpets of snow drops are the finest for years, and still all out, with wild daffodils blooming among the briers, and by the riverbank a solitary flawless crocus was catching the sun.

Wild winter crocus in Clare Wood

We had thought of a celebratory meal out tonight, but decided instead to have romantic fish and chips, and chip butties for Ann with mushy peas. For entertainment, we watched a new video, First Man. Though a bit short on technical detail, it gave good emphasis to Armstrong's character though it did somewhat neglect all the other characters, but I suppose that was only fair in view of its title.

Various visits

Ann at Wicken Fen

Wanting to visit Matthew and Rosie on Sunday, we decided to have an impromptu Saturday night away. Ann found a vacancy in The Lazy Otter at Stretham on the fens and, being members of the National Trust, we used our cards for the first time with a visit to Wicken Fen, an ancient stretch of marshland abounding in drainage ditches and reeds. The cafe was too busy to queue for, being an outstandingly warm February with the schools still off, so we went on to the pub at Wicken which was much quieter, and served a delightful meal.

Only a couple of years ago, Edwin and I walked to The Lazy Otter from Stretham Mill where we'd moored the boat, but now I was tired after a few hundred yards and was glad to turn back for a rest on our bed before dinner.

Rosie and Matts enjoy the sun in King's Lynn

Next day, on to Matts and Rosie in King's Lynn, and a visit to admire their new allotment. More accurately, we could only admire the work they intend to do on an empty plot. It looks big to me, but their enthusiasm for the work ahead is inspiring. Rosie has drawn up a sketch map of where she intends to plant everything, with a wide variety of veg of all kinds, so we look forward to sampling them before the end of summer!

Dumbed down news and spooky Siri

Every day, the BBC News seems dumber than the day before; it seems to be becoming a programme of social awareness, rather than of news. It used to be news from their own correspondents from around the world; now it is the voice of vox pop opinion, and tearful reports of injustice, interlaced with snippets about the lifes of unknown "celebrities" or minor royals.

One reads of continuing harassment and sexual exploitation in the workplace, but in 20 years of working in a huge variety of offices of pharmaceutical companies, I have never seen anything less than respect between my fellow workers, be they people of colour, or with disabilities, or in sexual orientation. Edwin is only 25, yet already he is seeing the next generation coming along, 18-19 year olds are what we might call the "#MeToo" generation; they are more reserved and prudish than the generation of 23-25 year olds, as though the shock waves from the many recent revelations of inappropriate behaviour have served to dampen entheusiasm for innuendo or flirting.

Edwin in the kitchen, talking of some book he'd been asked to cover, said "I don't have the knowledge to talk about that." Siri suddenly turned on and answered him, "No, you don't have the knowledge!" Spooky! His friend in Cambridge has been asked to run Cambridge gay pride this year. It is a big responsibility, but he will manage to act as Edwin's campaign manager. The posters are done now, and very fine too, with a casual b/w picture of Edwin relaxing on campus and extolling his many virtues as a student rep.

I made another silly boobie this afternoon. I thought I had an follow-up appointment with the GU surgeon for the bladder cancer, but when I got there it was the dermatology clinic follow-up for my melanoma! Happily that is OK at the moment with no sign of recurrence.

Jenny Wren's

Another spring-like day, and went to Rodbridge common in Long Melford. They have a tea room there in a converted container called Jenny Wren's Tea Shack, where Ann went while I took the dogs. Unfortunately it had closed at 3pm, but Ann got taking to the owner who agreed to make two late teas in paper cups. As I walked back, I saw a family with two children go up for drinks, but were refused. "Huh!" the man muttered, "It's who you know." They do a wide menu, and we promised to go back to sample it when it's open officially.

Despite the restful day, I still get very tired by nightfall, and am glad to lie in my extendable chair with a warm blanket. Tomorrow I go back to the surgeon for my first official check up, so I await has verdict with some concern, though there is still no blood in the urine.