Please take my hand

A best friend’s husband, a death sentence received only two years before; my model and ideal, of the kind of man I hoped to find for myself. Strong, handsome and cheeky as hell, there was teasing that she had better be careful or we might run away. A father to the toddler who got the best of them both and a lover to the women, like a sister to me.
A deep belly laugh shared over a joke, cascades into fits of hysteria. The laughing makes me giddy and a child again continuing with aftershocks that erupt through my body, hurting my cheeks and leaving a satisfied calm in its wake.

An evening spent shrouded in cancers reek, momentarily broken by magic. The memory leaves me feeling that it only took place, to make up for the devastation, which would follow his death. My special gift to be hoarded and recalled when the injustice of what was happening consumed me. The best of the best, of the memories we had. A rush of love and compassion, in an instant, fills my heart to the brim. Simple profound love shared in the easy going way of friends. The feeling anchors me to the earth. I never felt alone because I had them. The love between all of us made the pain of the diagnosis tolerable. While we had hope we had something, a rallying of mates, desperately trying to create buoyancy from the sinking reality of what was to come. A human life raft feebly attempting to stay afloat, so we might bring them to safety. It was all we could do; keep kicking, so we did.

Between rounds of surgery and chemo there were mercy dashes to cook food and do washing, in the hope it would provide some comfort, when there was none. Ferrying between hospital and home, heavy with the knowing, of what was to come. A stream of changing medical staff made me want to scream Do something! This is my friend and you have to do something. Her brave gorgeous boy reduced to a number, in the never ending line of suffering. It was the two of them facing this goliath alone. Fierce, proud and desperate, she took on the job of pharmacist, nurse, breadwinner and solo parent. Surgeons where stood up too and specialists challenged on behalf of her love. Then she became a widow.

I stand beside her later, as he is buried in the suit they married in, bought new just one year before. Gutted and heaving at the heartbreak and loss, the voice in my head growls at me to toughen up and hold it together. My hurt isn’t a fraction of hers and I will never know her pain. Memory of Mum’s words replay in my ear. We are all going to die babe. You have to accept that and just be there for your friend. It’s all I can do now, so I will.

Claire