The last ten days were marked by an aggregation of difficult news and instances of exemplary kindness and consideration. Heartstrings were knotted, tugged at, wrenched, torn, mended. There’s nothing for it but try and tie it all into a neat little bundle: a sudden death; the cooling down of a friendship; the Council’s cutting of services, depriving me and others of support, and those who slog away in the sorely underpaid and undervalued caring professions of income and employment; anything this government said, did, kept silent about; a hospital nurse who made room on the floor, sat by me where I lay, and calmly explained what was happening with my heart; a support worker who came when the sudden onset of aggressive symptoms – after I changed insomnia meds – got a bit much; a friend who travelled early on a Sunday morning to spend time with me and arrived with a huge bag of homemade foods – breads, cheeses, winter stews, parcelled and portioned for easy access; the care packet my mom sent from the motherland; a night with six hours of unbroken sleep.
Maybe what pleases me most is the pale yellow polenta cake with blueberry dots my friend baked, not just because it looks and tastes yummy, but because I can share its delights with the lovely people who come and help me. Almost gone now.