A year ago today, I felt the world shift imperceptibly to the left.
I went into RD’s room in the morning, but he wasn’t awake. He’d been a little unsettled during the night, but had fallen asleep on his bedroom floor mid play in the wee hours. I went to lift him up into his bed, where he stirred slightly. I saw then that the side of his face was swollen, in particular, one of his eyes was partially shut from the fluid around it. He was floppy and cranky, and I felt that burn of knowing. Knowing something looked like it had changed slightly and yet underneath all had changed fully.
Eyes didn’t sparkle as much. A smile was difficult to form. He was agitated but too tired to cope with it. He didn’t want to play with anything.
By the afternoon, I’d had to administer midazolam: a very potent sedative. It was in our emergency pack of medicines. I’d spent years tinkering with pain relief when RD was unwell, but this was a big change. Nothing else would touch the sides of his discomfort. It worked, but only temporarily. By nightfall, he’d had his second dose. By 10pm, the hospice had called an ambulance to come and get him as I’d rubbed his fourth dose into his gums. Because that’s how you give midazolam. And yes, it is as horrific as it sounds.
He lay in my arms twitching, and resting fitfully as Wolf ran around trying to pack their stuff together. DD was asleep in bed, so we agreed that he would travel in the ambulance to the hospice with RD and in the morning I would drop DD at my parents and join them. I was torn in half. I lay him carefully on the stretcher, answering questions, a quiet panic brewing. Knowing that he wasn’t going to come home, grasping at vestiges of hope that he might. And yes, that was as horrific as it sounds.
All of this still feels like yesterday in a different lifetime. In less than a week, it will be the anniversary of his death.
How a year has passed, I don’t know. Falling pregnant with BD, and wishing away the time until he was safely born eradicated a large part of the year. Looking back, a lot has happened, a lot has changed and yet, RD still feels part of it all. I am petrified of reaching the anniversary, because then what? I’ve relived so much in this year, he’s stayed so present.
In my mind it’s like when you go to the opticians. When they slide lenses into the test glasses, and you have to say whether it’s better or worse. After a year, I feel like the lense is going to make things a little more blurry. The year after, a little more blurry still. The clarity of memory forever altered.
I went out this morning and tried to run away from the funk of these memories. To seek solace in fresh air and breathlessness. I thought about the association we attach to things: dates sit as having importance. Good China for special meals. Clothes for best. But these individual associations will mean nothing to the person next to you.
So next week, on the fifth, I will want to feel like the world has to stop. Just for a while. It won’t though. DD will be doing her second afternoon at school. I’ve planned a little way to mark the anniversary but no doubt nothing will go to plan- we still have a dog, a four year old and a four month old. What’s that adage: never work with children or animals?
I’m going to wear some of my clothes kept for best. We can eat off the fancy plates. I’ll take DD to school, we’ll get the dog wormed. All on this day that will feel like it means everything and nothing all at the same time. And hope it won’t be as horrific as I imagine.