Yesterday, at the day our town remembers a severe bombardment of WW2, in which 6 family members died, I wanted to go to the special service.
One way or another we didn't manage to go.
While the day progressed I started to have a strange feeling of doom.
It lasted, until I heard from a mutual friend that one of my best friends of my life, maybe even my very best friend died.
She was a very kind person, too kind to win the battle against cancer.
I feel so very sad.
We met during the pregnancy of son number 2.
Our friendship started quite intense, as my father was battling cancer. He died when my second son was 9 months.
She was there, all along, like we's known each other the rest of our lives already.
We both went through another pregnancy, and it was nice and fun to share our big bellies.
I was pregnant again and lost the baby.
Again she was there with wide arms, little smelly candles and soaps.
And when I finished the journey through fertility with twins, she was almost dancing of joy.
When I had another first balletperformance she was watching and admired me for following my heart to start ballet for grown-ups.
It made her follow her creative urges and she started pottery and making all sorts of wonderful things with clay.
She started a job and we both were caught up in far too busy lives, with children with special needs, men which were workoholics and families who claimed us.
Once a while we had a few hours together, catching up, sharing our innermost feelings.
Sometimes it was like we left in the middle of a sentence and went on talking the very same sentence months later, like we'd never been away in between.
I missed her terribly when I was in hospital with my heartproblems, but was also glad she didn't know and there was no need for her to worry about me. She was still the lovely person she'd always been, but there was often a glow of gloom around her, an understream of depression, of not truly coping with what life throws on our shoulders. So I was glad the girls didn't inform her about my bad time.
When I was well again we saw each other again.
She told she was dealing with breastcancer and could no longer hide it.
We had long talks, sharing our feelings about being ill, about the children, about feeling young in a body that was deteriorating.
Her treatment failed.
She was afraid to talk about death, but asked me how I felt when I was dying.
So I opened up the subject for her.
Told her about my feelings, about the way buddhism deals with dying and death.
A few weeks later she asked me to help her to find her own rituals.
So we tried to create new forms of goodbye, decided on the undertaker and some other funeral arrangements.
I gave her a bracelet in her own colours, so she would always have me near.
I hope I was able to give her the rest in her soul she needed so much.
Like I did, she walked the last part of life alone with her family.
And yesterday she died.
We didn't say a true goodbye, even though we knew in our hearts that the last time we saw each other that it was a goodbye for ever. But I didn't want to believe it then...couldn't.
I gave her all I had for that last part of her journey, and for the travels ahead...
But was it enough?
This afternoon I was sitting in the livingroom with one of my daughters when we heard a sound against the back window.
Like someone knocked on the window in flight.
Birds can't fly there.
So I thought it was my other daughter, knocking on the window to ask us to help her get her bags inside.
Her knocking always sounds different, but nevertheless, that's what we thought.
I went outside bu no one was there.
Nothing was blown against the window, nothing had fallen there...
Maybe it was her, keeping our promise to let the other know where still alive in death.
I don't know.
All I know is that I lack a best friend.
Most of my best friends of life are dead now.
My high school best friend lives very far away,
as does my first love and best friend.
My university friend lives in Belgium,
and I don't think I'll ever see him again.
I feel lonely, and I'm ready to move to Scotland.
Wish something would happen so I can go.
Here you'll find impressions of my life as a mother of a few children with autism spectrum disorder and a person with heartfailure, some critical reviews of what going on in the world, including medical issues and political subjects. And everything else that keeps me busy.
I'm very honest about my experiences with autism, because only that way I can show how much of a struggle daily life with autism can be.
A series of posts
about lack of knowledge,
lack of concensus between disciplines
and the need for a formal diagnosis
with a psychiatric label
to get support for a unique individual
autism and (no) school.
One of our true autism stories Click the image.
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