My friend and neighbour Joyce died last night. She was only 69. She had spent many years gradually becoming less mobile with arthritis. She had a mastectomy years ago for cancer. She died following contracting a kidney infection in the summer and being hospitalised. During her recovery she contracted two further infections and had a stroke.
She was blissfully married to her lovely husband for 30 years. She loved children but was never able to have any herself. She and her husband loved and doted on my children and were loved back by them. During the last few months her husband did everything for her and told me he loved doing it. He had been denied children in his life and it was a pleasure to him to do some caring. Rising at 5 in the mornings to wash and dress Joyce, do her hair, rub cream into her skin and apply her makeup. She always looked lovely.
She could barely move or walk for the last few months but it was a point of pride to her to prepare the vegetables for dinner each night. When I visited she would always haul herself up from her chair to go and pour my wine herself.
She used to sit and cry with me. Why? Not for herself. She cried because when she was younger she imagined that in her retirement she would spend her time driving the old people around, to their lunches and hospital appointments, and now she was not able to do it.
Never a trace of self-pity, even though she was in so much pain, and denied so many things.
Lovely Joyce, doesn't she make you feel lucky for the life you have?
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A friend to make us all remember how lucky we are.
6 replies
anorak · 13/09/2006 08:34
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