The bath

I like baths, so did B, but I read some advice a while back that if you are feeling down or depressed it is better to take a shower. I didn’t understand this at first, but I get it now. A shower is stimulating, you have to stand and move about. A bath is relaxing and it is easy to let one’s mind wander.

This morning I was feeling quite positive. This surprised me when I compared it to the previous week, but don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. I realised that I didn’t even think about B until I got into the kitchen (it’s usually much sooner than that!). I didn’t get up until 8am, which is unusual, but I didn’t have to be out until 11.30am so I decided to have a bath. I was listening to the radio and a man was explaining why he felt it was important to tell his story having been treated for penile cancer. Stories are so important, but this made me wonder who I tell my story to. Obviously, anyone who wants to can read it via this blog, but I realised there are only one or two friends who I am able to share my story with properly, who are able to listen, empathise / understand and share / bear my grief (perhaps, this is why I write). It is a very great gift to be able to do this for someone. I have learnt that all I / a bereaved person wants to do is to talk about their loved one and how they feel because of their death, and this is what helps them to heal, but I also know that it is generally easier not to. I don’t want to upset people, or be a spreader of doom or gloom, or embarrass them or make them feel awkward. Anyway, thinking about this man’s story led me to think about my own story, and the thing that reared its head, again, was B’s last week!! I thought that I had resolved all this in my mind (and most of it I have), but I realised that the one thing that still upsets me is the fact that he was agitated, and I wonder what caused this.

B was not a person who shared his feelings. There was once a point in his life, before we married, where he was experiencing some neurological symptoms and there was a realistic concern that he could have some debilitating disease. In the event these fears turned out to be groundless, but the only comment he made to me about it was that he had reconciled himself to the possibility. This is also how he dealt with his myeloma. He didn’t talk about it. The problem is, I wonder what caused the agitation. My heart goes: ‘Was he frightened? We talked about what dying is like, (I explained to him how it was usually a gentle process where you become more tired and sleepy, gently slipping into unconsciousness). Was he afraid to go to sleep?’ This so upsets me, even though it probably isn’t rational. My head goes: ‘He became delirious during a hospital admission (generally the case of delirium is unknown), there was a propensity there; I know his U&Es (urea and elecrolytes) were up the spout; terminal agitation is not uncommon’. I will never know the cause, and I know that B would not want me to get hung up on it and, anyway, he was settled on his last day. But that was the hardest thing about B’s death, that I ‘lost’ him due to his confusion and agitation a week before he died, and I hadn’t expected that.

So, all in all, I wish I’d had a shower!