This evening I am thinking about my health.
I have never been seriously ill before but now I’m sure that there is something fundamentally wrong with my body.
I am tired.
I’ve been to a doctor and had the usual tests done – they can’t find anything.
They say I’m fit as a fiddle – perhaps depression?
I know myself, and this body is not mine!
I’ve been praying alot about it, and will go and see some other doctors over the course of the month.
When my Dad died, I could tell that he was sick, but he never said.
I remember I slid in the words ‘I love you’ whenever I could, that I visited my closest uncle and told him that I thought dad was dying.
I wish I had done more. I wish I had had a great relationship with him.
When I found out that my sister had cancer, a year before she died, I knew immediately, that she was dying.
And when my brother also got cancer, I knew too, that he was dying.
I knew these thing, even though I never said. We were being strong.
I wish I had done more.
Loosing these three to death hurts but I know where they are. It’s ok, I’m sure.
What hurts is not loosing them, but loosing the time I had with them while they were around. I wish I had been ready to give more, and ready to be there more and just been more, while they were still around.
This hurts alot.
My mum is past seventy, and now I think about loosing her too.
I think about my remaining sisters, and about Simon.
I think about myself. Have I finished what I came to do? Have I accomplished ANYTHING?
I see funerals, and I see people and I wonder how many will turn out to mourn me.
My deepest wish is that somehow I was successful. Somewhere, I changed a life. Somehow I succeeded in my own.
This week of ANXIETY has been a very quiet one.
All those things that I’m afraid of. All these things that run my life. All this time I waste in fear.
I have felt a deep and unusual calm.
A strange and resounding peace.