Dear David,
I talked a lot about you yesterday. To a bereavement counsellor, and to a good friend of yours. After a two-hour session with the counsellor, I felt compelled to phone Helma. She was with you in the hospice, but by then you were unable to speak or see. It took a great deal of courage for her to come on Saturday morning after I phoned her because she just lost her husband of 41 years, your good friend Hermann, at CMC’s hospice two weeks before. I remember how much it affected you to know your friend had finally passed away after a long illness, and you were astounded by the fact that she phoned you right away. I wanted to give her the opportunity to see you one last time, since it had been so long, and you spoke so much about them. I never got the chance to meet Hermann, but it was as if I already knew them.
It was the best idea of the morning. I agonised over letting other people see you in the hospice, especially when I knew you didn’t want people to see you sick. People wanted to say goodbye, but maybe I was under too much strain to shoo them away. I didn’t want to be selfish with you.
Having Helma there helped me, and I think you knew it, although you couldn’t speak. I whispered in your ear, “Helma’s a lively one, just like you said!” — and I am certain I saw you blink fast and move your chin in affirmation. She sat with you when I was dealing with people outside, and I felt better knowing she was with you. Helma said watching me swab your mouth for hydration was like watching herself two weeks earlier. It was painful for her, but gratifying at the same time because she knew what I was going through, and she was helping me help you.
You’re so right about Helma’s cooking, too. She made me the best dinner I’d had since Tosca cooked for me the week before. I had the biggest appetite in ages. No wonder you were over at their house so often!
I told Helma how attached you were to the blue housecoat she made for you. That it’s falling apart from constant use, but you wore it all the time when you were sick and would never replace it. She beamed.
Oh, and I met “Kitty”. Hugh has much to learn from Kitty about how to use the litterbox, even though he’s had nine more years of practice.
I told Helma how much you raved about her cooking, and her textile handiwork. And how much you admired Hermann’s attention to detail with the plane modelling and jewellery-making and dental instruments and his many other interests. I told Helma how often you passed along stories of Hermann in Germany during WWII, and she pointed out “David’s seat” at the end of their kitchen table and how you were the perfect gentleman all the time — to the point where they couldn’t tell off-colour jokes in your presence for fear of making you blush. (more…)
