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Feb. 13th, 2008 11:05 pmJust days after hearing that the doctor in Norway had told our much-loved friend Ruth that she wasn't dying 'Not now. Eventually, like all of us, but not now.' we've heard that she's asked her sister to fly back from the States because she's ready to die. And she's been talking about what's to be done with her enormous amounts of (literary) research and the music and readings she wants at her funeral service. So I'm here, trying to find a bit of strength to write something about what she meant to me and the girls to send over, and every time I get a funny, happy memory it's drowned out by a wave of wailing that it's not time yet - it's not time.
The sister of another close friend died here in Dublin last week, and my mother was telling me that the parish priest went to the house to give her extreme unction but that it wasn't called 'extreme unction' any more, but she thought it was something like 'the rite for the trip'. I told her then that I hoped it was for the journey rather than the trip, though I suppose trips can be the kind to the sea-side when the weather is perfect, as well as the ones filled with cranky kids and missed train connections or rotten traffic. I wrote to a friend of hers in Norway tonight and he said her imminent death was a hard and bitter thing to accept, but not for her and he's glad of that. As I am too. But hard and bitter is the truth of it.
I might do better on the job of writing about her soon, but for now I'd ask for any reading this who feel they could, to have some good thoughts or prayers for her journey. So many times we waved her off from Dalkey on her long way back to Norway - recently in a snappy little green Honda Civic - wishing her a safe journey.
Two months, three women, all in their sixties, all dying of cancer. Please - go drink some green tea or go for a long walk, or pat a nearby (friendly!) animal - take care of yourselves! Live in mental and physical health until your nineties, all of you, OK?
The sister of another close friend died here in Dublin last week, and my mother was telling me that the parish priest went to the house to give her extreme unction but that it wasn't called 'extreme unction' any more, but she thought it was something like 'the rite for the trip'. I told her then that I hoped it was for the journey rather than the trip, though I suppose trips can be the kind to the sea-side when the weather is perfect, as well as the ones filled with cranky kids and missed train connections or rotten traffic. I wrote to a friend of hers in Norway tonight and he said her imminent death was a hard and bitter thing to accept, but not for her and he's glad of that. As I am too. But hard and bitter is the truth of it.
I might do better on the job of writing about her soon, but for now I'd ask for any reading this who feel they could, to have some good thoughts or prayers for her journey. So many times we waved her off from Dalkey on her long way back to Norway - recently in a snappy little green Honda Civic - wishing her a safe journey.
Two months, three women, all in their sixties, all dying of cancer. Please - go drink some green tea or go for a long walk, or pat a nearby (friendly!) animal - take care of yourselves! Live in mental and physical health until your nineties, all of you, OK?
