Headlines of the death of an Irish athlete have hit me hard again. Stage 4 bowel cancer, dead within a year of diagnosis. All the questions with no answers. Feeling vulnerable thinking one more article may just hold the key to something I need to be thinking and feeling to feel better. But I don’t.
Through the the numb of the morphine, there are no platitudes that will make it feel ok. Make it go away. Bearable. There is no getting to the end, other than the inevitable. No bell to mark a new step, a new stage of hope. This is it to the end.
I’ll keep living day by day conscious that this existence however it may be allows me time with my love. Time to move, to breathe and see the colours of the world remind me that with or without me life will go on.
If you have any answers, share them with me please…
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