Things Gina would have...

As I've already written, we have anniversaries galore to cope with.  This time last year we were in London. Gina had undergone reductive surgery and had been told that the cancer had been removed. We had hope. Later came the caveat that there was a small area that the surgeon couldn't touch. Still, radiotherapy, chemo and immunotherapy would "mop up" any cancer that might remain. The surgery had been brutal and we would spend a total of three weeks down in the Hammersmith AirBnB before returning to Glasgow. By that time, Gina could walk a little and was beginning to eat. It seemed like the beginning of a road to recovery and it was; for a while.

I'm not sure what a psychologist would say about it but... To anyone but my close family, I must appear to be on top of things. I tell everyone "I'm fine", which at that moment may be true. But the problem is it doesn't take much to suddenly not be OK. And it's not just the times that the grief swells up and sadness takes hold. Other negative emotions are always on the brink too. Anger, impatience and irrationality are also there waiting to bubble up. At a time where we all need to show some understanding to one another, self-centredness often gets in the way. I must try harder. The grief I feel at Gina's loss is actually a mix of emotions. There's the personal loss of course; knowing we'll never hear her voice again, be able to hug her or feel the pride of seeing her achieve new things. There's also the anger of the injustice of it all. Then there's the sadness of knowing that she will never do all the things she wanted in life, denied the...

Gina would have been home in Preston today. She was more or less vegetarian but made a few exceptions, one of which was lamb at easter. Today we've had family round and we've had the lamb but there was something missing.

 As I've already written (see "Away"), what we've discovered, is that we feel guilt whenever we smile, laugh or enjoy absolutely anything. It feels disrespectful to Gina, to be capable of "moving on" in any small way. Yes, we know Gina would want us to miss her, but she would also want us to enjoy the life she was denied. She'd want us to make more of our lives than we would otherwise have done. She'd want us to travel, to enjoy nice things and be happy. If only it were that simple. Richard E Grant has, it seems, covered this in his podcast. He lost his wife and talks about this phenomenon. I need to make time to read/watch/listen to the podcast. Perhaps it will add some perspective.

 Apologies. This may be a long one. The human brain is cleverly wired to notice differences. Changes in the status quo. It notices the things that are out-of-place, but ignores everything it is accustomed to. We never notice the cardboard box of who-knows-what, in the corner of a room, which has no business being there but has been present for so long that it's no longer noticed. Unless it's pointed out, gets in the way or brought to our attention for some other reason, it just doesn't register. Perhaps grief is a bit like that ever-present cardboard box. The contents don't get any easier to deal with, but as time goes on, as it becomes a familiar feature, maybe we'll feel less compelled to open it up quite so often. That's the hope.  The difference though, as I've already written about, is that there are reminders everywhere. The box seems to spring open when you least expect it. You bump into somebody you've not seen for a while who asks how you are, o...

Gina would have loved to have had a garden of her own. She talked about it as recently as last July, when she seemed to be recovering and there was a glimmer of hope of some sort of future ahead of her. She talked about wanting to move out of the city to a house where she could have the garden she always wanted. Gina and Greg's home was full of plants, but there's only so much you can do in a city-centre flat. One of the difficult decisions that has to be made when dealing with the loss of a loved-one, is what to do with their remains. We discussed scattering the ashes, perhaps in St Andrews, but when it came to it, we didn't think we were ready for that. We were offered the chance of having some of the ashes embedded into jewellery of some sort, but that really wasn't for us; nor was the idea of keeping the ashes in the house somehow. So, this is where Gina's ashes now lie. In a stone urn, in a sheltered but occasionally sunny part of the garden. I can't claim ...