The cards are here. They have a photo of Herself, smiling , happy and comfortable. She’s wearing an outfit that she loved. In the original picture, she is surrounded by her brothers and sisters. We were all gathered for a family wedding some years ago- her siblings, nephews and neices, her children and grandchild.
There’s a simple prayer– one well known for dealing with rubbish situations, and a poem that meant a lot to her, especially after the old man died. The design is simple and colourful, Christian, but not too traditional. We think she’d approve.
I thought choosing the cards would be the hard bit. But choosing a picture of a happy Herself, and prayers that she liked, was not too difficult. There are lots of pictures of her smiling. Hundreds of happy, cheerfully captured, moments.
Now I have a box of double cards, single cards and bookmarks, sitting here. Just sitting here. They’ve been here a week. Loads of them. Suddenly, their distribution doesn’t seem like an administrative task any more. Instead, it’s a reminder of the wrongness of it all. If I send out the cards, I’ll be acknowledging that Herself is dead. Well, du-uh. We all know that. Even I know that. I think I even believe it, sometimes. I just don’t like the thought of confirming it.
Terminal illness takes so much from a family. We’re still dealing with it. Like all my admin, it’s a work in progress.