Monday, 20 July 2015

A Rose for my Sister.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Death, bereavement, cancer. 

My sister died last November of cancer. I felt at the time of her death that I'd spent the eighteen months since she told me of her diagnosis mourning for her and by the time the end came I felt mentally numb. I cried at the news and cried at her funeral, but inside I didn't really feel anything much. I'd done my grieving for so long. I'd cried, been angry, railed at the unfairness of it months before her death, now I was done.

The two months following her death were much the same, There was the funeral, followed by the flu from hell up to Christmas, then I had my own cancer scare which only got resolved in the middle of January. There wasn't time/brain space to mourn for her loss. Being totally selfish, at that point I was worrying about me and my kids and oh fuck, could it really strike twice?

Eight months on. God, is it really eight months? Nearly a year? I'm not so numb any more and I find myself being triggered by so many things.

  • Cancer ads on TV. They are relentless. There is no break from them, especially breast cancer ads. I want to slap my hands over my ears and go LALALALALALA. #fuckcancer? Fucking stop shoving it in my face what I've lost (I didn't say my feelings are rational or unselfish). 
  • my phone contact list. I won't delete her phone number because the messages are all I have left.
  • I signed up for Whatsapp. Under her name it says 'available'. I cried for hours when I first saw that.
  • Her birthday. I cried most of that day too.
  • Her name. It's not that common.
  • Crochet. She crocheted a blanket for the grandchild she'd never see,
  • Floribunda roses. Her nickname - a Brown thing.

In a way it's a relief to know that I can still cry for her, although I'd like to be able to stand in a garden centre and not weep at the roses. That will come in time. Meanwhile my garden will be full of beautiful roses in memory of my sister... if I don't kill them with my black thumb.


2 comments:

  1. Hugs you so hard you squeak... *love ya* XXXX

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  2. (((Sue))) My heart breaks for you. My mother was 53 when she died (a year older than I am now) and the first year was a nightmare of not being able to cope with anything at all. It got better after than but even now, 25 years later after the fact there are sights/sounds/smells and memories that will get to me. These days I almost embrace those moments. I only have good memories of my mother and welcome them...now. Like I said, it takes a while.

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