One Year


It’s almost exactly one year today that we lost one of the most beautiful people this world has ever known. It’s difficult to write this because words are so insubstantial for who Trish was and just how much I miss her every day. It’s a funny thing, this sadness. It’s not what she would have wanted – she was a woman who stood for joy – the greatest advocate for genuine happiness and pleasure from the smallest of things. I found a note she wrote me for my birthday last year – reading it again, I think she knew it was going to be one of the last things she wrote to me. Trishy was above all, a woman of unshakeable faith – something I envied I think. She included this verse, but those who hope in the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint, and she signed it off with the words, ‘fly Sam, fly.’ I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about the moments I didn’t have with her. At Easter time, the whole family was down, and Trishy was at her strongest, but instead of spending time with everyone I was preoccupied with work and other concerns. I didn’t spend any time with Trishy at all though I’ve kept the messages she sent me asking me to come and be with everyone for Easter. This is one regret I’ll carry for the rest of my life because now I’d give almost anything to hear Trishy call me Sam Sam again and give me one of her hugs. She had a way of making me feel like the very best version of myself – somehow purer, better, more capable of goodness; because she only ever saw the best in me. I remember when she first started losing her hair from the chemo – it’s a story that stands out for me as encapsulating everything Trishy was. She had to go and find a wig for the first time, and instead of being sad or upset when retelling the story, she turned it into a beautiful light-hearted escapade during which she charmed the wig maker and found the cheapest and prettiest hair piece in the shop. She told this with such grace, acceptance and humour – she had the best sense of humour. Even on bad days, her faith was strong. She believed right up until the end that she would be healed and she spent long hours conversing in prayer. Even when she was in pain, she never let it show. The last time I saw her, she must have been hurting so much but she said nothing about herself. Sitting small and depleted in her pink dressing gown, she was completely devoted to me – she wanted to hear how I was doing, how my life was – my small gripes about work, my tiny moments of happiness. She was selfless in the most incredible way – and she made you feel like you were the most special person in the world when you were with her. I wish we had gone on more picnics. I wish I’d hugged you more. I wish we’d gone hat shopping together. I wish I’d told you more how much I love you. I wish I’d come that Easter. Mostly I wish I had one more day with you calling me Sam Sam and telling me to fly.

I miss you my darling aunt. x


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