On blistered feet
There’s a word I keep hearing in the messages people send me about you:
Grace.
.
Which I think would make you laugh.
Because
by your own admission
and I think those that know you best would agree
you’re more goofy
than graceful.
.
But what I think they mean
and if I’m right
they’re right
is that you have navigated this diagnosis
this disease
with dignity.
.
With smoothness or elegance of movement.
With courteous good will.
Bringing honour by your attendance.
.
You live it with grace.
.
We were married when you were 30.
At 32, you gave birth to our son.
At 33, you went back to work.
At 34, you gave birth to our second son and our daughter at the same time.
At 35, you went back to work.
At 36, you began the perimenopause.
At 38, you became an Executive Director.
When you were 40, we went into lockdown
and you ran your company from our hallway.
In the May of your 41st year, we moved house to live near the sea.
A year later, at 42, you were diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
The brutality of the last two years I have laid bare in the words of these posts.
.
How elegant you render all that effort.
.
Now you’re at New Adventures we watch a lot of ballet.
Each time we do
I’m astounded anew
by the brawn that underpins
the beauty.
.
The
perspiration
and perseverance
it must take
to achieve
such poise.
.
In your life
as in your ballets
grace glides
on blistered feet.
Previous > On Coping #25: No more pain | Next > On Coping #27: Forever a force
On Coping is my story of surviving on the sidelines of cancer. It begins in 2022 with On Coping #1, written the day after my 41st birthday. The day my wife Imogen, the mother of my three children, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. It’s the story of what happened next. Read from the start.
What comes through so clearly in all these posts is the love you have for each other. And the strength and grace Imogen has show in all of her life. Some day your children will want to read these posts. They’ll be able to see how much their parents loved each other, and how much they are and were loved. That their mother gave so generously and bravely of her love, kindness, and courage in her life. Making the best ending possible, with as much love, kindness, and courage as can be, even though that fact that there is an ending now is the worst thing possible.
Thank you for reading Alex and for sharing such specific appreciation of the words.
It hadn’t occurred to me that the children would read the posts but of course you’re right that they will eventually. I’m relieved to hear you say the love is as palpable in the words as it feels in my body.
Hearing the experience of the last few weeks and months reflected back in your message is an important reminder that, although we had so little control over what was happening, we did manage to find comfort in how it happened.
As you say, Imogen was surrounded by kindness in her final weeks and though what her body experienced was nothing short of brutal, her heart and her spirit were soaring on all that love.
A small solace but a solace nonetheless. x