It's a difficult time of year for me, my thoughts constantly filled with the memories of how much my husband suffered, although he never complained. Got angry once, but apart from that just accepted everything the illness inflicted on him. I say illness. But it wasn't just the lymphoma and all the failed treatments for that. There were the opportunistic viral and bacterial infections attacking when his counts were low, and the high doses of antibiotics with their very unpleasant side-effects; and as though that wasn't enough, he caught MRSA twice. No wonder his body gave up eventually. For more than two and a half years he battled bravely, but those last five weeks were particularly difficult - for him, for me, for our children, for our families. And to add to all this, the heat. That coupled with the stress and the nights of broken sleep nearly finished me off, never mind him. At times I thought I wouldn't make it, that I would leave him to battle to the end by himself.
The heat, the intolerable heat, brings back the memories of that distressing time, brings them back sharply into focus. I do try not to think about it too much. I want to think about the times when he was happy, and oddly enough even in those nightmare weeks, much of the time he was still happy, when he still had hope, and the man was such a star, that even on his last day, after everything he'd been through, he was still joking, still making us laugh. Focus on that. Focus on happy times. That's what he wanted. Try not to be sad. Try not to cry. It's difficult though, particularly difficult at this time of the year.
