Sunday, August 4

Winter's bitter gifts.

These may not seem like winter's gifts to anyone. However they were our "gifts" however hideous they may seem, and indeed are. The poisoned chalice.

I realise some of my wonderful Blog friends have not heard from me for some time, and that is because my life has turned to utter custard, shite, bullshit, agony, it what you will.

My beloved son, passed away on June 21st, after a hideous death process, from metastatic cancer. He was initially diagnosed with cancer in his foot. A very rare cancer, which is almost arcane in it's existance. No treatment or cure, and very little known about the type of sarcoma.
He had his leg amputated, to supposedly eliminate the cancer, in May 2012.
The next months of his life were to be hideous and gruelling. Full of mourning, agony,  and bitter regret. He never recovered from the shock of the loss of his leg, and he never had a decent prosthesis in the time he spent supposedly healing and adjusting.
He never did heal properly, nor did he, or I, adjust and accept the amputation of his leg.
From all the information he/we gained from the internet, limited though it was, concerning his particular cancer/sarcoma, we knew he would get metastasis, though no one thought it prudent to explain that to my son, when they took his leg.
As it happened he was diagnosed with metastasis in December 2012, and it had spread to his lymph nodes, in his groin. 

I don't really wish to write about the ensuing months of his agony. The horror of his death, begging me to kill him, as he suffered so terribly, when all the palliative care drugs failed. No one to blame, but something no one should ever have to endure.
I was glad I was able to keep him at home, as he had a particular horror of dying in a hospital.

I have days when I am so paralyzed with horror, I just cannot think or function really. I have days when I am almost a robot, on auto pilot. I am numb and frozen, and a grief counsellor suggested this is a protective mechanism my body has, lest the full horror of it all floods my being, and the result would be total insanity.

You may ask what could possibly be a 'gift' from this. It is the gift that my son has no more suffering to endure. No more mental terror, and horror, at his situation. No more pain. No more anguish.

For me it is horror in the memory. But, for him it is blissful, painless release from his unspeakable suffering, both mental and physical.

The song that was played at his service, was "Comfortably Numb" by Pink Floyd. I think he would have approved.

He loved a lot of his short life,he enjoyed so much music and fun with friends,  though he despaired at the "last days of Rome" nature of life as it is now. A part of me is glad his suffering and endless struggle  with ethics and 'real life' are over.

Who ever wants to lose a child. A baby that was carried and formed in your belly. It is wrong, ....wrong.