The year since Carol died has on the whole passed more peacefully than I thought it would. So much so, in fact, that I started to worry that I wasn't grieving properly. I miss her, of course, but on the whole I've come to accept reality in a way which might seem a bit cold and matter-of-fact to an outsider. Or maybe I just don't show it much. It all hit me yesterday, though, somewhat unexpectedly, and I'm not sure what brought it on.
When we were given the news of the cancer diagnosis in December 2018 it came as a huge shock. Carol took it in her stride far more so than I did: she said she wasn't afraid of dying. I suppose the way she looked at it, she'd had the proverbial three score years and ten and a good few more besides. We didn't know how long she'd got, and I'm not sure I'd have wanted to know: they can't predict things like that with any degree of certainty anyway. But we were both determined to make the very best of however long it might turn out to be. She was adamant she wasn't ever going back into hospital come what may, and we got one of those Living Will "advance decision" things drawn up for her to say so.I knew, of course that I just had to let nature take its course and I was powerless to influence that, but at the same time I wanted more than anything else in the world to be able to look back afterwards with pride, knowing that I'd looked after her to the very best of my ability right through to the end - as I'd vowed before God that I would do when we got married.
But I reckoned without the truly atrocious treatment meted out to me/us by a combination of Coventry District Nurses and West Midlands Ambulance Service, who both made no bones about the lousy way they thought I was doing the job. Fortunately it didn't cut any ice with the Social Worker we had who was superlatively supportive and went well beyond the bounds of what she was actually obliged to do. But I had to endure some diabolically hurtful criticisms: they just didn't care about my feelings at all. They did their referrals, ticked their boxes and that was all that seemed to matter to either of them.
It became obvious at the beginning of October last year that the end wasn't far off. I could do little more than just sit and keep Carol company, saying the occasional prayer and watching her life ebb away before my eyes. It was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do, and I never in any of my worst nightmares envisaged that I'd one day have to do it. But I did it,. and I was glad I was able to able to be with her, by her side, through to the very end. I'm wiping away the tears now, but I am immensely proud of the way I looked after her through thick and thin, and grateful for all the happy years we spent together - more then I deserved, possibly, but I'm content to let the good Lord be the judge of that.
Maybe in time I can find it in my heart to forgive the District Nurses and WMAS: I'm not normally one to bear grudges and it's not going to bring her back. But for now, if I never have to have dealings with either of them ever again it'll be too soon.
