The thing is that anticipatory grief makes us all crazy. The day after we got the histology back and had a name for this horrible thing, I broke my favourite coffee mug. And was utterly inconsolable.
If someone met me for the first time right now, they would have such a strange idea of who I am as a person.
This book captures the feeling of hiraeth – the longing to return to a time and place that no longer exists and can never be re-visited. Despite being laced with humour, there’s a gentle thread of profound sadness running through the first two-thirds of this book – Sacha is adrift in her own life, no longer sure of who she is or what she wants.
Beeping. Rustling. Whispered conversations. A prayer in a language I don’t speak or recognise that wrapped around the whole ward like a blanket.
Quiet existence. A tiny pause in the onslaught of terror and grief. Horrifyingly beautiful – the “Ma” (間) or breath before the phrase.
This is a blog about navigating the world when the love of your life gets diagnosed with terminal brain cancer.
