Category Archives: chemotherapy

May23

Fundraiser Day One

Posted on May 23, 2015 by MeRaw

Saturday 23rd May

So here we are, the first day of raising awareness of testicular cancer, and money for the charity Checkemlads, in memory of you. We didn’t really want to get up and get going this morning, as the whole reason for this fundraiser is your passing.

The hurt is still so raw, you are in our thoughts constantly, so many reminders all around that make us catch our breath, or shed a tear.

Many people gave their condolences and spoke of you, saying they missed seeing you walking around the town or beaches.

We had a big life-size photo of you placed on a pillar, and it was as if you were watching over the proceedings. I do wonder what you might have been thinking. I hope we have done you proud.

We escaped for a couple of hours when my sister took over the selling of the raffle tickets. We left the noisy, crowded supermarket and came to see you. The cemetery was peaceful, with the sun trying to break through the mist. We talked to you, and cried for you, and told of our love for you.

Our emotions seem to rollercoaster up and down of their own accord. In one situation we put on brave faces, speak of you and our adventures together fairly easily. But when we are alone we fall to pieces. The world just seems to come to a halt, and we don’t know where we are going. We cannot see the way forward. Without you.

We remain with you for quite some time, return home to freshen up, then drive back to the supermarket to continue selling tickets and talking about you.

At the end of day one, we have raised a considerable amount of money. Hopefully tomorrow we’ll do the same all over again.

Your legacy is going to be amazing, but I still wish you were here.

I miss you.
I want a cuddle, a hug, a smile, an ‘I love you’.

xxxxx

May22

Preparing for tomorrow

Posted on May 22, 2015 by MeRaw

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Friday 22nd May

We have spent much of the day preparing for your fundraiser tomorrow.
And we have so many bittersweet feelings.
We are doing something good in your memory.
But we really wish it was not so.

I wonder what you would have thought?
All this fuss, just for you.
Maybe you would have shied away.
But we feel we need to raise awareness of this awful disease.

We miss you my darling.
The pain is permanent.
Love you forever.
Beautiful son.
Angel baby.

May21

Betty

Posted on May 21, 2015 by MeRaw

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Thursday 21st May

Ten weeks.
Seventy days.
Thursday has come round again.
And you have a new neighbour.
Betty.

You used to love play-acting, role-play, drama, pretending to be someone else. Sometimes you would be a little old German lady, a loud, shouting Chinese man, a Scottish granny, or West Indian Rasta man. You liked to think you spoke the lingo, with demonstrative gesticulations. One of your favourite names for an old granny was Betty: Bettieeeeeee, you would say over and over again.

Well, today she was buried next to you. A lady called Betty laid to rest. A spray of beautiful orchids had been taken from one of her wreaths, and gently placed in front of your cross. A tender gesture.

Another Betty with whom you identified was Betty Boop. You made a point of searching her out when we visited Islands of Adventure in Orlando. Many a time you would queue up for a kiss. And she did seem to fuss over you for a little longer than anyone else. She certainly did make you feel loved.

And we sure loved you with all our hearts.
Fly high with Betty.
Laugh, giggle and have fun together.

Darling Angel son xxxx

May20

Remembering ~ Good times #3

Posted on May 20, 2015 by MeRaw

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Wednesday 20th May

We have been asked out to dinner by an old primary school teacher of yours. She taught you when you were seven years old: twenty three years ago, wow. And she still remembers so much about your time in her classroom.

One of the after-school activities I signed up both you and your brother for, was Disco Dancing. A dance teacher came in once a week, and you learnt all sorts of complicated routines. About fifty children, almost all in sync, danced away for a couple of hours in the school hall. It was so good for your balance, motor skills, discipline and memory.

And you had such fun! You were the first boy in the school, over the years to gain Bronze, Silver and Gold medals, followed by the Blue Ribbon, (International Dance Teacher Award). I remember Chain Reaction by Diana Ross, the Lambada by Kaoma, Saturday Night by Whigfield, and Eye of the Tiger by Survivor.

Once a year you took part in the dance exam, jostling for space with all the girls getting dressed up, made up, glittered up, and there you were in your PE kit, ready to go on and perform.

You loved pop music, and were forever listening to hits on You Tube.

One of the last memories I have of you and your music, is when you came into the room, holding your tablet with one hand, the other, swinging in the air, whilst wiggling and sashaying to Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. You did make me smile.

I miss hearing your music. I miss your knowledge of songs and names of artists. But really, I just miss you xxxx

May19

I really miss you

Posted on May 19, 2015 by MeRaw

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Tuesday 19th May

Today I had a follow-up telephone call concerning grief counselling.
It has been decided that I will attend a four week, Cognitive Behaviour Therapy course, called Stressless.
It is a talking therapy, that tries to help you change the way you think and behave, to treat your depression and anxiety.
I don’t know if it will help me, but at the moment I’ll give anything a go.

All I know is…

I
Just
Miss
You
So
Very
Much.

Everything would be fine if you were back here, living your life, carrying on as normal, and we were taking care of you.
But now, our lives will never, ever be the same again.

Sweetheart.
You certainly made our lives so enjoyable, and right now, we just don’t know how to adapt to your not being here with us.

Love you.
Missing you.
Thinking of you all the time.

xxx

May18

More roses

Posted on May 18, 2015 by MeRaw

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Monday 18th May

Whilst drinking a cappuccino this morning in our local supermarket, an elderly gentleman, whom we have gotten to know over the years, just came up and handed me a bouquet of coral roses.
A lovely, random act of kindness.
He’s a real East Ender this man, he just said “For you”.
He wanted to let me know he was thinking of us, as he had often seen our son with myself and my husband. It was a very thoughtful gesture, and tears welled up in my eyes.

The roses were almost the same colour as the ones we left on your grave yesterday.
It seems as if this gentleman knew, with a sort of sixth sense, the exact colour to buy.

Despite considerable wind and rain overnight, all the flowers we have placed with you are looking beautiful, especially Nan’s roses.

I just wish you were here with us, now, forever.

Missing you so very much xxxx

May17

Nans’ roses

Posted on May 17, 2015 by MeRaw

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Sunday 17th May

We collect my mum from the care home, take her shopping, and then have afternoon tea together with my sister.
We then tentatively ask whether she would like to visit you in the cemetery. She hasn’t yet been to see you since you passed away; we thought it might be too much for her. With tears in her eyes, she says she would very much like to see where you are laid to rest.

We buy some beautiful roses and drive her to you. Walking on the grass, up to your resting place, tears begin streaming down her face. Her elder grandson: she loved you so very much. It is upsetting for her, but you are in such a tranquil place, we all feel the peacefulness and closeness to you.

The roses looked absolutely stunning and incredibly resplendent; a pink and coral burst of colourful hues.
We spend time in reflective silence, just thinking about you.
We wish we didn’t have to come here to see you. We wish you were still part of our family life.
You were taken far too soon, and none of us was ready.

We’ll see you tomorrow, lovely boy.
Missing you like crazy.
And no one can comprehend the depth of our grief.
Love you, angel son xxxxx

May16

Remembering ~ Good times #2

Posted on May 16, 2015 by MeRaw

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Saturday 16th May

We walked out to one of the beaches today, where a food and drink festival was happening. It was warm and sunny, flags fluttering in the breeze, people milling around or sitting on the sand. We bought a cold drink and were joined by my sister and our niece.

We began talking about you, as we always do, saying what you would have done, or what you might have eaten (something called The Pig Dog would have appealed to you, I’m sure).

Then somehow, the conversation turned to Sea World, and how you would go off on your own, queue for the rides, strap yourself in, and have fun for hours, meeting up in say, two hours, at a designated spot, for food and drink. You loved Manta, Kraken, Antarctica and Journey to Atlantis.

On one of our earliest trips to Sea World though, you became lost. We could not find you. We searched everywhere for what seemed like hours. I would go one way round the park, my husband another, and when we met up, neither had seen you. We were becoming worried. And then my husband’s cell phone rings. It is the Customer Services desk, and they have a lost child with them, (well, a young man really), and would we like to collect him? Our son could retain and recall many different phone numbers, and certainly knew his Dad’s. (One of his traits of Aspergers included a wonderful memory for trivia, lists and numbers). When we found him, he was sitting in air conditioned comfort, drinking a soda, chatting away. No worries. He knew exactly what to do, by presenting himself as a ‘lost child’, and waiting for the parents to arrive!

A few more rides, some food, then he was ready to leave. He’d had a fun day: we were absolutely tired out!

Another year we came to Sea World, when you were much older, and you asked to attend an evening dinner show, a Hawaiian Luau. You thought it would be grown up and posh. Upon entering we were given colourful garlands, a small glass of rum punch, and then found a table at the front of the stage. You loved the fire spectacle, the lovely Hawaiian dancers and the acrobatic gymnasts.

It was lovely, sitting in the sunshine this afternoon, talking about you, remembering happy times, but my goodness, it does though, makes us so sad.

We talk to you later on in the early evening, as the sun is going down behind the trees in the cemetery. The jets are leaving their vapour trails overhead, and that is a reminder to us: by now, most of our summer holiday would have been booked, and you would be pestering us for the ‘itinerary’, and helping to organise various trips and outings as we made our way down to Orlando from South Carolina.

I don’t know what we will do. You have been traveling with us for thirty years. Everything was planned around you and your brother initially, then he moved on, and we continued to look after you, taking you everywhere with us. It will never, ever be the same again.

I hope you are traveling and soaring high with the angels up there, continuing your journeys.

Fly high, fly free xxxxxx

May15

No thrills

Posted on May 15, 2015 by MeRaw

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Friday 15th May

The thrill is gone, sang BB King, and since you left our lives, that’s how it feels too.
We seem to have lost our sparkle, without you around to tear things up a bit.

For thirty years you were our son, to be joined two years later by your brother.
A family of four. Perfect. Happy. Content.
You laughed, you argued, you loved, you manipulated, you cared, you fought, you played, you learnt.
You were such a huge part of our lives.
We loved you both unconditionally.
We thought you’d have at least another thirty years of living.

Then five months after the diagnosis of testicular cancer, you were gone.
So sudden. Unexpected. We were not prepared at all.
Why should we have been?
We were told everything was going so well.

So yes, the thrill has gone from our lives.
That sparkle is up in heaven now.
Love you forever xxxx