Sunday, 24 January 2016

A stolen life

I had been wheeled into T12 at UCLH, placed on a ward bed and all I wanted was privacy. The curtains around me were quickly being drawn as I started to have a meltdown but I caught a quick glimpse of a face opposite me, a kind face. 

You were the first face I came across after I had received my cancer diagnosis. At the time, you were just a friendly face I would smile at from across the room. But as time went on, things changed. I am now honoured to have been able to call you my friend.

Although we had known of each other for a little over a year, our friendship only truly blossomed in November. Beforehand, you was a kind face I would smile to and have small talk with as our parents would chatter. After discovering we lived in the same area, we had an instant common ground and your kind, giving parents would offer my mum lifts home from UCLH. In November, we attended FYSOT together and I remember you being completely unrecognisable. You looked amazing! Blood rushing through your cheeks, a full head of hair, even a beard to go with it! You seemed full of energy. It was on this weekend that I was able to get to know you, for you. Your likes and dislikes, your goals and ambitions. You was a great guy with amazing qualities and no-one had or even could have a bad word to say about you.

Your passing was a big surprise to me. I was aware of the bad news you had been receiving recently in regards to treatment but your bright personality always shone through any darkness you were going through. You hid your pain with a big smile. For me, it was great seeing you in this way. But now knowing that you didn't let in on how much pain you were in, saddens me. 

Your the first loss I have experienced at an understanding age, which has enlightened me on the way I deal with grief. I was alone when I found out about your passing and my first initial reaction was to cry. You was my friend, we had only spoken a couple days prior to your passing, it didn't feel real.  It felt like you was still a text message away. Later on that day, I said my goodbye to you. I let out my thoughts and feelings which made me feel better but I also couldn't help but continue to feel sad and guilty. Sad that you had left this earth so soon; you had your whole life ahead of you but a disease snatched that directly out of your innocent hands. I was also guilty that I couldn't have done more.. Seen you more and spoken to you more, even though we started to speak almost every day shortly before your passing. I will always think of more things I could have done for you, but I can't dwell on the "what if's" but instead, appreciate what we did do together.

We celebrated your life beautifully on Thursday. Your generous, kind soul was the center of attention. Something you may not have liked so much beforehand. Sarah thought of a beautiful memory jar idea where we wrote down memories of you, or things that reminded us of you, or your characteristics. We then colour coded these memories and then coloured sand to represent the different memories we had thought of. I can always look at my jar and be reminded of you, where other people will look at my jar and think it is just a beautiful multi-coloured sand jar. This makes the jar more special and personal for me.

We also let off balloons in your memory on the roof top of the cancer center. A mixture of blue and gold balloons which I personally think are great colours to represent you. We each had our own balloon and wrote individual notes that I hope reached you. The notes were tied to the balloon and we all let them go at the same time and watched them fly off into the distance. 

I hope you are resting peacefully now and that your pain has been taken away from you. When earth discovers the existence of another life form I know you will be laughing up there saying "I told you so..".

You ended our last message with 'ttys xx'. I now end this post with.. talk to you soon, Mo. Xx 

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