Hindsight

I keep replaying that last weekend in my head, isn't hindsight a wonderful thing? It's not just that last weekend either. Every second of every day is filled with thoughts of you, of things we did in the last five years, conversations we had and mostly signs that were there for so long telling us something was wrong.

Thursday night you had a night out planned with the boys. I didn't want you to go, after the results, the hospital, I was so worried but you were adamant. Off to the Claude you went with the boys from work, a pub you spent many a wild night night in during your younger days and you had a fantastic night. I picked you up early, you were tired but in good spirits.

The weekend went from bad to worse. Friday you were not so good but had planned to go and watch Wales play Samoa at the stadium with some of your family. It was to be a first for you and you were absolutely not going to miss is. Ten minutes before your lift arrived you collapsed, you recovered fairly quickly but you clearly were not going out. All I saw was a bad turn and knocked confidence, hindsight is screaming other things. Now I can see you were fading fast.

The night improved when your son visited, it was to be a night of fun and frivolity, the last ever, although we didn't know it then. You were positively glowing, it was clear how much it meant to you to have him here and say the things you had wanted so long to say. It was pleasant and fun, a few drinks and an incredibly upbeat evening.

Sunday we were supposed to be heading to Amsterdam for a few days, one of the many things we had planned but by Saturday it was clear we weren't going to make it. You needed help and the wheelchair just to get to the bathroom and you were far too ill to go up the stairs. The doctor came and the most useful thing he could offer you was a hospice place, we asked him to leave. You struggled through the day and it become clear your illness had moved to the next stage. Hindsight doesn't agree though, hindsight tells me you were dying before my very eyes.

Sunday morning and we should have been heading off for our next adventure. Instead my parents visited and helped me turn the dining room into a bedroom. You were so distant all day, hardly said a word. Your son was coming and you were waiting for his call, when it came it was to say he couldn't make it, you didn't show it but it was clear how upset you were. Throughout the day after the call you kept asking when he was coming, you had forgotten that he had called to say he couldn't make it and kept forgetting over and over. I made a mental note to buy you a notepad, it became clear that your thinking and remembering abilities were really being affected by the tumour yet still I didn't think I was about to lose you.

You slept well on Sunday night, I came and checked on you several times and it was nice to see you so peaceful after weeks of being unable to sleep. Hindsight, of course sees things differently.

Monday the doctor came, you told him you'd rather be dead than in the pain you were in. He prescribed morphine. Simple, you'd think but then I had to leave you to collect the prescription and hindsight knows that you spent your last two waking hours alone while I tried to find a pharmacy that stocked it, what a nightmare.

You took the morphine and slept, it was nice to see you so peaceful. I kept thinking that if the pain was under control and you could sleep, even if you weren't well enough to be up and about we could bring the fun to you. I told myself that tomorrow would be a better day.

I checked on you several times throughout the evening and at midnight when you still hadn't woken I sat with you for a while, just stroking your hand, I was hoping you would wake, we always said "I love you" and kissed goodnight but you never woke. I decided to sleep on the sofa so I was close to you if you needed me. I only thank God I didn't leave you that night.

I don't know if this is a normal way to feel, in fact I don't know anything for sure any more.