Elaine wrote a wonderful post - "You can't have everything." Go read it. It's perfect.
I've mentioned before that my husband was essentially given a terminal diagnosis just over a year ago. At the time, well-meaning friends and family said, "you must be so pleased you had your big trip last year," referring to our three-month trip* to Ireland, UK, and Portugal. At the time, that was TOO SOON! His life wasn't over. But they were acting as if it was. And as symptoms had appeared on our trip, maybe we could have got treatment sooner if we hadn't gone. I felt and feel real guilt about that. The trip's wonderful memories were not a silver lining to learning how sick he was, and that treatment would never be "curative." The trip was a reminder that it may have made his condition worse. And of course, I was grieving then. I still am.
The "aren't you glad" comments felt similar to the "at least" comments about early pregnancy losses ("at least you weren't further along") or "at least you have each other" or "at least you can travel" when we knew we'd never have children, or "at least you could afford IVF." Comments like "at least" need to be timed better. When loss is new, or imminent, it is not a comfort. It is a little dismissive. It's not going to make us feel better. Even if it makes the speaker feel a little better. And I know the sentiment behind it is well intended. But it definitely made me flinch. Ouch.
We were told during treatment that he would have a "healthy period" and we should make the most of it, and decide what we wanted to do. We went on another trip** - this time to his bucket list destination of Egypt, and then a cruise through the Straits of Hormuz to Singapore. Of course, everyone now is saying what perfect timing our trip was. They are right. We were lucky, in a year when very little has felt lucky. But there was grief and there were good-byes as well as joy.
We're now at the stage where we have accepted the ending is coming. We've been talking about our lives, and in particular, our travels. Travelling together was our great love, our great interest, and yes, our great expense! In the years after learning we would never have children, we intensified our travels. From 2002, between ectopic pregnancies, through to 2013, we travelled internationally every year, sometimes twice. That's nothing if you are in the UK or Europe, or even the US, but quite an achievement if you live in NZ, where a seven-hour flight is almost considered "short haul." We had some wonderful wonderful trips. Some were adventures, some big long road trips, some were "blobs on the beach" as we called our tropical beach holidays, depending on our energy levels. After 2013, our travelling slowed for a few years, with health issues and elder care issues, though we still managed to fit in several new countries in 2017 and 2019, COVID caused a glitch for a couple of years, but even then we managed to have a great tour of NZ when overseas travel was out of the question.
We took these trips because we didn't have children, and the trips from 2004 through to 2013 were deliberate responses to our No Kidding status becoming permanent. They were not just consolation trips. They were trips we had chosen to sacrifice when we decided to try for children. Because of course, if we'd had children, we knew we wouldn't be able to "have it all" either, as Elaine said. Every choice includes a sacrifice too. And knowing we couldn't have children, we decided to make the most of it.
So now I can admit that yes, I'm glad we had our three-month trip in 2024. I couldn't say that this time last year. But I don't flinch thinking about it now. Well, not all the time. Not badly. Yes, I'm glad we went to Egypt last year too. And yes, we are both very glad that we were able to enjoy those trips together, that we have all those memories of discovering over 65 countries (mostly) together. "At least" we travelled earlier, before retirement.
And now our world is more limited. So I take advice from Elaine's post, and embrace the little things, that together make something big. We are doing that now. Today's was a coffee and a sausage roll together from a local shop.
We couldn't have it all. We knew that. We couldn't have children. And we're not going to have an old age together. I am very much feeling that now. I especially feel it as I watch another family going through a similar process, but with the support of two adult children. But that was our life. We couldn't have it all. But we have had a lot. After not having children, we made the choice to accept it, and live. And our life together is not over yet.
* I write about it here - My 2024 Travels - though I've only got through Ireland for perhaps obvious reasons.
** I've documented some of the trip on A Separate Life where you can search "What I did on my holidays" or just click here.

Dear Mali,
ReplyDeleteWe are thinking of you both and holding you in our hearts during this incredibly difficult time.
Both my husband and I are very grateful that we had the chance to meet you in person; it means a great deal to us.
We’re holding you both in our thoughts and prayers and sending you love and strength.
Klara
Sending you so much love. It sucks that the lesson that nothing is guaranteed is whacking you in the face. I also feel like you didn't know what you didn't know on the European trip, and it's so hard not to judge yourself and feel guilt over what you know now, but you didn't then. Which is to say I hope that circular, rambling logic helps you let go of that guilt, even a little.
ReplyDeleteSausage rolls sounds amazing. Living in the now sounds like a good plan. I'm so sorry that shadow of grief is omnipresent. Thinking of you, friend, and hoping for lots of sausage roll moments while you can have them! 💜💜💜
Thank you for writing and truth telling. It helps.
ReplyDeleteHi Mali. I'm thinking of you. I love what everyone else has already commented and echo their love. I'm sorry you and your husband are experiencing a terminal diagnosis. I'm glad for the big things like your trips and especially for the little things that you get to share every day. Hugs from across the ocean
ReplyDeleteDear Mali, I wish I could send you a physical package filled with comfort, love, strength, and whatever you might need at the moment. Please know that both your husband and you remain in my thoughts.
ReplyDeleteFocusing on the little things can help, but sadly it does not take away the hardship. Considering your circumstances, my post almost seems cynical. So I am even more amazed that you could take something positive from it. You have always been a role model for me who walked a similar path years later. Thank you for your presence, even in difficult times. We will be here if you need us, too.
Much love from Switzerland,
Elaine
Oh, Mali. there's not a day that goes by that I don't think of you and your charming man and our laughs together. A beautiful flower, a cheeky bird, a sweet treat or or a glass of wine always conjures your smiling faces. I read your post today after Klara sent me a note. Your post made me long for the old days of blogging freely. I started a new writing space (linked to my initials). Your soulful thoughts prompted me to sit down at the keyboard and work through some rusty blogging skills. Thank you for always being a source of inspiration. Hugs to you both!
ReplyDeleteI don't believe anybody has or can "have it all," and not all at the same time. But we can enjoy what we do have, knowing that tomorrow is not promised to any of us (a lesson that becomes more and more clear to me as time marches relentlessly on). Much love and huge (((hugs))) to you both.
ReplyDelete