Loss is something that everyone goes through. Before I left to come to the UK to have an adventure, my mind began to fill with hypotheticals and things I would miss out on while I was away. It’s inevitable to think about loved ones who are sick and the possibility that this could be the final time you see them.
My family experienced such a loss yesterday. My Dad’s youngest sister, my aunt Katie, finally succumbed to that insidious disease, cancer. He got to see her and say goodbye before she departed this world, and for that I will be eternally grateful. I feel so far removed from my family right now. The full physical distance of those 15,000kms of separation, feels so prohibiting.
It makes you feel acutely aware of the fact that you simply cannot hug them, and physically care for them.
The rational side of my brain tells me that my Dad is not alone, he has Mum, he has my brother. His whole support network is still around him. But I can’t help shake the feeling of utter uselessness. That I cannot provide the support and care that I so desperately want to give my Dad. The small things, like going for walks, making him breakfast, cups of teas, dinners. All these actions of love that we take for granted each and everyday. Where we display without words the love we have for these people in our lives.
I knew that when I moved to the other side of the world, that my interactions, my relationships with my immediate family members would be different. That it would require more of a concerted effort to communicate than that which you take for granted when in close proximity.
Yesterday I began to feel a sense of selfishness. That despite the strong gut feelings, that I would not see Katie again, I left anyway. It’s felt like the biggest sacrifice I’ve made. I’ve chosen to pursue my own life at the expense of being present for the ones I love in times of need.
When Dad rang and told me, the news completely gutted me. You get to a point in your relationship when you can tell your parent is trying to be brave. It was so physically hard to listen to. I knew that Dad was doing it for me, he felt he had to be strong for me. But I know that if I was there, he wouldn’t have to be strong. I know we would be able to cry together openly, without the pain of distance between us.
Going forward
I still feel as if I’m in the twilight zone. My body is here in the South Welsh countryside. Yet my heart and mind are on the other side of the world. I’m finding it difficult to reconcile both worlds. I’m hoping time and walking, immersing myself in nature will bring back my fledgling equilibrium of normality.
As for my gorgeous Aunt, Katie, I think it might take a while to sink in that she’s no longer here with us. One day, I know I’ll be doing something, and I’ll hear Katie’s laugh in my head, I’ll see a dessert that she’d love. Then I will know that she isn’t really gone. That the loss being felt now will be replaced with remembrance and the love that absolves the sadness.
