⁇ 15:33 The bell that no one wants to hear
It was a call on Friday afternoon at 15:33. I was just preparing a kwis beer tasting. In a few minutes my afternoon changed from light to heavy. Since then, I've been trying to write down everything that happens. Not to get pity, but to keep my head and heart together. These blogs are my way of understanding, sharing and showing how I deal with this, sometimes seriously, sometimes with humor but always really.
“Life does not call in advance to ask if it is convenient.”
The Unexpected Flower Offensive
There are weeks when you barely lift yourself out of a chair and still hear the doorbell every day because someone wants to deliver love in floral form again. If you ever doubt whether people are involved with you, get a nasty diagnosis and the world suddenly becomes one big card rack. It is touching and sometimes almost comical how many flowers, messages and small gestures end up in the house. You try to thank everyone, but sometimes it remains a tired, grateful nod towards yet another beautiful gesture. It does well, even if sometimes it's more than you can wear.
“Attention can be overwhelming, but it always lifts you up a bit.”
⁇ The capacity of the silent hero
Something happened today that took my breath away. A card came in for Sylvia, not me. Someone saw what I see every day. She carries the burden that is never on paper. The logistics, the worries, the conversations I can't handle, the silences that need to be filled and the moments when I sink and she stays up for both of us. The ticket was small but the recognition was great. My great love deserves that light, that word, that looking at her instead of me.
“The strongest people are often the ones who speak softest.”
⁇ A body with its own agenda
My sleep is a mess. Nights are whimsical landscapes full of waking up while the days seem to have desires to plan naps that were never on my agenda. That alone makes it harder to get my energy together. But yesterday started surprisingly well. I felt like, yes really, diving into the garden with Sylvia. Do something normal. Just earth under my nails instead of worrying in my head.
But after a short visit to the pharmacy and the supermarket I lay out the rest of the day as if I had run a marathon of sixty meters. It remains bizarre how something everyday suddenly feels like an expedition for which you need provisions and sherpas.
Perhaps the most confusing thing for me is this: Why am I not recovering better? I had no complaints about the cancer when it all started. By now, I should have had my throat surgery repaired fairly well. There is no evidence that anything in my body is going on right now. So where does this lack of recovery come from, this pain, this hoarse voice that likes to linger as if he wants to become a permanent guest? It feels like I'm trying to lay a puzzle of which a few pieces are secretly disappearing.
“The hardest part is not the pain, but the lack of a clear reason.”
⁇ Light from unexpected angle
In between all the inconvenience something special came in, something that we still can hardly comprehend. A gentleman gave us a large amount of protein-rich food that his wife, unfortunately, no longer needs. It's enough to probably help me through the entire treatment period. A huge worry less. And honestly, the stuff is expensive, so the relief and gratitude are great. You feel at such moments how people wear each other, sometimes even after they have lost their own battle.
“Gratitude adapts effortlessly to any refrigerator layout.”
⁇ A small visit in a small world
My world is small for now. The boundaries lie somewhere between bedroom and living room, with the coffee maker as a symbolic border area. That's why Irma's visit to Sylvia felt surprisingly big. No spectacle, no big gestures. Just warmth, conversation, presence. The kind of person who walks in and unnoticed makes the room bigger.
“Sometimes one voice is enough to stretch silence into hope.”
⁇ For now
For now, this is where I am. I hope that the next few days will bring a little more breath and a little less stuttering in my throat. Until then, I'll do what I can. Taking rest, smiling where I can and clinging to the idea that light is sometimes heavy but never pointless.
‘Heaviness may have light. And light sometimes weighs surprisingly much.”
English (UK)