Where to start…
So here I am. Sat in a hospice next to my gorgeous 21 year old boyfriend who’s losing his fight with cancer.
If someone had told me 5 years ago that I was going to meet someone, fall in love, care for them through serious illness then watch them die, slowly and painfully, all before I properly got into my 20’s? I would’ve walked away from someone who could think up such a twisted thing.
And yet here I am. Drinking honey and camomile tea, constantly. I think it will get me through this. I never really drank tea before but now it’s all I do. It’s become a comfort. An obligation when offered. A necessity.
I wanted to start writing for a long time. On the bad days I couldn’t face reliving it. On the good days I’d convince myself I didn’t need to get it out. Today is okay. The doctor confirmed that once again we’re looking at days. I haven’t cried for 72 hours and I feel like something must be wrong with me. I stay by his bed as long as possible, sleeping over, helping to wash him, filling up his water glass… Every stolen ‘I love you’ is precious and I wonder if it will be the last time.
But again. I do not cry. Maybe I’ve come some way towards acceptance? Maybe I’m in denial?
Or maybe just a little bit of both….