Not a question at all, I just needed to share. I am currently sat next to my partner (now husband) of 20 years in hospital as he dies of cancer. This is completely out of the blue, having only found out he was so poorly a couple of months ago, and we are both too young to be going through this (I am in my late 30s, he is in his early 50s). It is scary and lonely and so painful to watch. The sense of injustice and unfairness is really strong and so difficult to come to terms with, and I am so scared of being left alone without him.
I know there’s nothing you can say to make this better or easier, but I thought you would understand more than anyone else that I know.

Dear Emma, 

When our son, Arthur, died, it felt as if the world had suddenly turned against us. Everything seemed malign and treacherous, as if something had gone terribly wrong at the centre of things. To try to understand all of this, I instinctively turned to language. I thought that if I could articulate the terms of his passing, it would help me make sense of what had happened, and I could begin to rebuild my life. I wrote, talked, and sang my world back together, and over time things improved. Through The Red Hand Files, I became practised at speaking comforting words to others from the other side of the void. 

But I have long worried about the value of this. I have worried that my urge to draw poetic meaning from our losses might sound hollow, even offensive, to someone newly caught in the rawness of grief. Emma, your letter is so honest that I would hate for my words to become an unwelcome deflection from the awful reality of your situation, because what you express is wholly appropriate. Pain is not poetry, it is pain, and sorrow is sorrow, and terror is terror. There is little I can say to soften this. In this respect we are all helpless. You are so young and what is happening to the two of you is, by any measure, an affront. It is, as you say, unjust. 

With that in mind, Emma, I want to say that, for me, these feelings of injustice did change over time. What once felt like a question of fairness gave way to the recognition that these feelings are universal, that each of us, sooner or later, will stand at the edge of the abyss and stare into it. The shocking realisation was that the abyss I was staring into was love itself, and that the condition of that love was loss, with loss the way of things. I have found that the longer I live within this common loss, the less alone I become and the greater my love for the world grows.

I reread your words, Emma, and they are so clear and true. I see them as a love letter of the deepest kind, a woman of courage measuring her love against the vastness of its tragedy. I wish I had words to comfort you. Perhaps there are no words, except to say that all of us who read your letter can feel the love you have for your husband, and for a while we sit with you, in recognition and love.

Love, Nick 

Ask a Question