‘Angry nurses and penicillin.’ Smart answer.
‘When were you born?’
‘Why ask me, it’s written on the paper you’re holding.’ Cheeky. Very cheeky, and yet indicative of his good spirits and irreverent attitude. Rex is no respecter of rank, just of people. He is a good man, too good to lose.
He was upset because he forgot the anniversary card.
‘Go home, open up a bottle of wine with Joy and drink to the wonderful husbands in your life. Tell her I love her and thanks for being there.’
Later. The tears are starting to fall. His outpouring of love yesterday was palpable. Love vibrated out to me from every fibre of his being. I am the centre of his universe, his raison d’etre as he is mine. It is so wonderful and yet so painful when I think of what might happen.
The house is quiet. It feels empty. The days seem longer. Rex wanted to know if I would stay here when he was gone. Of course it is our home. I will never leave here. I’m becoming maudlin but where better to be maudlin than in my morning pages. It is here the unspoken fears can be writ large and dealt with, not left to fester. My journal, my first journal is coming to an end. I never look back.
Friday 2/3/01
Everyone’s ringing and checking on Rex, asking if he has any results. Rex thinks he’s okay. He’s decided he feels so good nothing is in him. I’m starting to believe he can overcome whatever he sets his mind to. He looks so well, so strong.
I’m taking in the maps for the trip so Rex can work out the routes for our European Odyssey. It was good having Joy here. She is easy and comfortable to be with. It will be great travelling with them – the culmination of lots of planning and dreaming.
It’s a cool, overcast day, with sneak previews of blue in the sky heralding sunshine ahead. The evenings and early mornings are cooling down leaving behind the heat of summer. Long sleeves are the order of the day.
We received a card from Kerry6; someone who knows intimately what cancer is like. She is still alive. Cancer is not a sentence of death. Perhaps my phobia will disappear now. By having to face it, deal with it, I will learn to overcome my fear. Rex certainly has. He feels good. That’s real. The rest will follow.
I feel better today, calm, forward looking. It’s not a false hope moving through me. It’s a certainty all will be okay. Our lives will change but not in ways that matter. Gregory you are not needed. I will write to you one day, but I think I can do this without you. I have grown. I am still growing. I like this life I am living. I love the man I married. This hiccup is a reminder to me he is not invincible.
Saturday 3/3/01
I feel I have this cushion of protection around me, around us. It’s a wonderful centre of calm. In spite of all that is happening I’m not deeply worried or worrying.
Yesterday I went to the nursery to buy some Grevillea Robustas and autumn trees to celebrate our anniversary. I wanted rich colours and different leaf patterns to break up the greeny-grey colour of the natives.
The garden is my palette. This is where I create, where I visualise what could be. I use trees and shrubs as symbols of people I love. Grevillea Robusta: the largest and most spectacular of all the grevilleas. Perfectly symmetrical fern-like foliage with brilliant orange brushes, a beautiful landscape tree. Stands out in a crowd. The description reads so much like Rex – it is long lived too.
Japanese maples. I’ve loved these trees for so long. Now they will be part of our autumn anniversary collection. Twenty-three years at Number twenty-three. A blaze of colour will come into our lives each autumn, forever a symbol of our love, the colour of our lives.
I love the stillness of autumn. I love the chill in the air, and the slow start to the day. My life seems so full. The future is ahead of me - growth, excitement, planning for gardens, travel, financial freedom plus such good friends and support. We have worked at it, nurtured it, and now, when we need it, we are being nourished and protected by it.
Sunday 4/3/01
Awake early. It is still pitch black outside. The headache has gone, so too the severe pulling of the muscles around my neck and shoulder. It was serious stuff but I took some pills and more pills to stop it getting a hold.
Later. I’ve been to hospital and am home again. Rex looks good again today. There is no sign of a temperature. He’s focussed on getting better no matter how long it takes and is looking forward to our trip. Big smoochie kisses.
I’m still managing to write, walk the dogs, and meditate each day plus eat. I’m trying to look after me so I can look after Rex.
Monday 5/3/01
Just touching him, feeling him, being near him lifts my spirits, lets my spirit fly. I hope the surgeon has good news.
From the bedside at Warringal Hospital
To my beautiful and supportive Wife,
Dear Christine,
Anniversaries may be a yearly thing but on this day (5th March) I can but reflect that we have experienced not just twenty-three years of married life resulting in twenty-three ‘special days’ of celebration, but to be realistic we must multiply this equation by 365.
Each day I spend with you is a bonus and consequently an anniversary and, as we go through life together, and these little speed humps appear, we just take a step back, and appraise the situation, overcome the problem together and move on.
Notwithstanding the results of this little hiccup, we are and will be positive together and come out the other end smelling of roses and remaining as close and bonded as one.
Without your love and support and loyalty I could be blasé about this event but because of our partnership and the true friends around us, we will hopefully have another twenty-three years plus together. Watch out for any runaway bus.
Thanks for being there. I know I am important in your life, as you are in mine, and you are well aware that priorities will be assessed and our future will be based (still) on all the good things we share.
Happy Anniversary to a very special person. Keep on smiling because you do wear your heart on your sleeve/face and I will know if you are concerned.
Love Rex
No card to follow due to circumstances beyond my control.
Tuesday 6/3/01
It’s dark in the mornings. The sun takes a long time to be seen. The whole of the backyard is still in shade except for a few trees touched lightly by the sun filtering through.
Rex looked so good yesterday. He was bright eyed and bushy tailed, so confident all would be well. He dispelled my tears and fears quickly. I’ll take the dogs for a walk soon, and then I’m off to the hospital again.
Wednesday 7/3/01
Painkillers, tranquillisers and wine, no wonder I’m feeling out of sorts. I’m starting to struggle at the moment, needing crutches and crutches are not good, too much, too many. I’m tired. My muscles keep tensing up and pulling.
I
