A final letter to family and friends from Clive
The view from the edge of life is different and often much clearer
than the way that most of us see things
This is a quotation but, ever dilatory, I did not note its source. I hope that the academics present will not take too many marks off for this. It arose from a healing session with Reverend Tanya, a most remarkable human being who it has been my good fortune to meet in these last weeks.
These few weeks since the diagnosis have been ones of reflection and of coming to terms with the situation in which we find ourselves now. They have been valuable times and I am very grateful to have lived through them. When I first heard of my terminal illness the overwhelming feelings were emotional. Strongest of these was the intensity that that developed between Julia and myself, taking our love to new levels and making us realise what a powerful bond this was. If there is anything that you can take away from our experience, let it be this: contemplate life without your loved one, and how you will survive, for it is you who must do this. Having done that, cherish them anew. Cherish them anew, and from new heights of love and wonder.
After the emotional turmoil, gradually it was possible to admit two more rational thoughts: first, that things could have been so much worse, and second that here was a time to try to set a few things in order.
Not that these two thoughts appeared spontaneously. I have had so much help and support from so many people that to try and list everyone would be like reading the acknowledgements pages in a lengthy research paper. Top of the list, of course, is Julia, but I am also so indebted to John and Alice, her parents, who gave so much time and lavished so much care, that even for someone who is supposed to be able to string words together like myself, whatever I can say becomes quite inadequate.
Distance is a major obstacle. My beloved sister and brother-in-law came over twice. Other friends who I never thought to see again came thousands of miles (and almost didn't make it back, in one case!). All of these visits were blessings and I consider myself very blessed by them.
What wonderful writing I have had from so many people! Letters to treasure, letters in which people told truth, sometimes of their perception of me in the distant past, sometimes more recent. Letters, poems, images offering recollections of great beauty and joy, often from very private, half forgotten moments of my life which touched me so deeply that it is impossible to pass on, but which revealed an observation of myself which I never realised was so evident, and all the more valuable for that.
And then, the constant flow of cards and emails, expressing care and love: thank you for every one.
When I was a student in England we had a student welfare officer who informed us sternly: 'One out of three people on the planet goes to bed hungry. It's up to you to change that.' We have, of course. Now the figure is close to double that. We have not done well in many areas and I am sorry that I leave my life with so many evident injustices and serious inadequacies far from resolved. I was born in wartime and I die in wartime. Bombing people out of their homes was a special feature in my infancy. This year in this country [the USA] twelve million homes will be foreclosed. Making anyone deliberately homeless should be unthinkable. What possible good can it do? There is little point in cataloguing other examples of the web of cruelty in which we seem to be caught up. Will it be forever thus, or is it possible to envisage a world where there is sufficient work, there is sufficient food; there is sufficient opportunity for the redevelopment of a sense of community and mutual tolerance?
Thank you for coming here today. Go in peace.