I sit with you in the hospice in your final days and hours not knowing they are to be your final days and hours and because you sleep most of the time now I don’t know when or even if you’ll wake again so while you sleep I think to myself if only I get just one minute more then I will ask you
How I should be a good dad to a teenage girl when the time comes.
Who I should give your Blundstone boots to.
What I should buy your sister for her birthday.
Where your recipe for ramen is hiding.
When the cat is due her flea treatment.
.
I will confess to you
That I fed the kids inorganic chicken nuggets yesterday.
That last Tuesday I threw some cardboard in the bin and not the recycling.
That this morning I didn’t check all the lights were turned off before I left the house.
That I put away the washing when it wasn’t completely dry.
That I haven’t been flossing despite the promises I made you.
.
I would tell you
How lonely I am in our bed at night without you.
That I’m terrified of waking up every morning for the rest of my life without you.
That I don’t know who I am without you and I don’t want to have to find out.
.
I would beg you to tell me
What I should do with the rest of my life.
Where we should go on holiday this summer.
How I’m going to pay the bills.
If I can cope without you.
.
If I have just one minute more
I will kiss you
and kiss you
and kiss you.
.
Then you wake
scan the room for me
a slight panic in your movements
before you see me and beckon me towards you.
.
And this is my chance.
This is my moment.
My minute.
.
And I say
I’m here baby.
.
I say
Is there anything you need?
.
I say
I love you.
.
I say
It’s okay.
.
I say
I’m here.
.
And you relax
just a little
and drift back to sleep.
.
And so I wait.
For my next opportunity.
My one minute more.
.
Except that I won’t say any of those things.
.
I will say
I’m here.
You’re safe.
I love you.
.
Because that’s what I did.
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On Coping is my story of surviving on the sidelines of cancer.
It begins in March 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.
On Coping is the story of what happened next.
I love this George, in some way I think these words are a vignette of what was mutually needed and what was instinctively given at a moment in time; all the things you needed to ask and would ordinarily have from Imogen, and all the things that Imogen needed from you and you always proffered (I bet over time, and in more worrisome moments, Imogen had her own moving list, but knew you would have it all in hand … maybe not the location of the ramen recipe…).. As for teenage girls, I can only make one recommendation so far, and that is invest in modibodi period pants (unless of course other brands become more effective in time), and make sure they are looked after in accordance with instructions for use … big love x
That's what you said, and it's what everyone would want to hear if they only had one minute more xxx