The retreat

 The Daffodils and Daisy contraction

My friend Irene reminded me of something that happened which I’d forgotten and I’m really pleased she did. I want to remember everything. A bunch of us went away for a long weekend, after a Jill’s diagnosis. I really hoped it would be a weekend away, but very understandably Jill was obsessed with cancer. She kept hugely detailed notes that she shared with her GP, for example. She talked about it a lot. On the final morning, I couldn’t stand it any longer, and I dragged her into another room and I completely lost it. I yelled, which is quite rare for me, and unheard of me to do it to Jill, but I did. Can’t really remember much of what I said, but I do recall pointing out that although she was the one with cancer we were all affected by it, especially me. Up until recently I would have castigated myself over it; I shouldn’t have said anything and just swallowed it down. But I’m trying to be kinder to myself, so Im trying to rework my brain a little.

The amount of stress that I was under was insane. We knew she was going to die, just not when or how. I had to keep it together for Jill, me, the families and friends. I’ve already talked about lying to all of them, and maybe I should or shouldn’t have, but I did what I thought was best. I also had to work as well, to keep money coming into the house. I have no idea how I did it, quite honestly. Well I do, I had no choice, and had to stay strong for Jill. I usually just tried to take the emotion - fear, terror, panic, despair etc and put them into a locked box in my mind. It’s what I did when I was a kid, and the brain always tries to revert back to what it knows, even when it’s not the best choice. So that’s what I did. Sometimes though it was all too much. But only once did Jill really see it, twice at most. (I say that, but she learned to lie too) and it was at this holiday break. But I’m not going to blame myself. I wasn’t having a go at Jill, just at the cancer. And I think she knew that, but it was still a shock for her I think. But I’m just going to say that I’m almost awestruck at my own strength of mind. Which sounds a bit pretentious perhaps but I’m all for trying to change my thought patterns, so let me cut myself some slack here. I am quite frankly amazed that I remained sane to be honest. I could also say “but others have had much worse, you’re nothing special” which is to try and negate the value of my own thoughts. So sure, other people have had awful things that happened to them, but their suffering doesn’t impact on mine, there isn’t really a ranking system when it comes to grief. So I’m not going to beat myself up about how I reacted in an impossible situation. I wonder if this is what it’s going to be like after the retreat? Being able to take a positive position instead of a negative one?

This is perhaps going to be a bit of a meander tonight. The phrase that I use quite often “the irony is, the chosen never know they are the chosen” comes from the book “Daisy Jones and the six” where the band manager is reflecting on life with a mad seventies rock group. I just like it. Jill liked flowers. Roses, freesia and daffodils were her favourites. She also liked houseplants as well. We had loads in our previous house, but had to leave most of them behind, no space.

After some initial difficulties with politics Jill settled into life at my parents. She did have a room in a flat in Deptford but we didn’t get on with either of the other two guys who lived there, so we only went there when we absolutely had to stay overnight. I’ve been back there once or twice but while I can remember the layout of the flat I can’t identify exactly where in Deptford it was. So at my home was where we stayed, just commuting into London to go to college. Jill had my room, and I slept on the floor in my younger brothers room. My parents really freaked out at the idea of us sleeping together under one roof. It was… irritating. Both Jill and my father were from the north, and that banded them together against the southern army! They liked playing cards and would sit in our dining room night after night, usually playing crib. I’d play some of the time, then go back and watch tv with my mother. It comes, even now, as a shock to think that I’m the last of them alive. (Obvs excluding my younger brother who would have been asleep during the card playing.) Jill did try and call them by their Christian names, but it didn’t feel comfortable to her, so she switched to “mom and dad”. That spelling is deliberate by the way, since that’s how she pronounced “mum”. When Jill was learning massage she did my mother quite often and they had many hours chatting during sessions. They got on together really well - on one occasion we all went on holiday together down to heaven, otherwise known as Glastonbury of course.

I only recall Jill and my mother clashing 3 times. The first was when they initially met, and it was over politics. The second was when my mother told her that she’d broken my dad of his northern accent, and the third time was when my mother’s only comment on my first ever published book was to tell me where there was a typo. All in defence of things she was protecting; her beliefs, my father, and me. She didn’t lose her temper very often, but it was quite impressive when she did. She was most angry in defence of me I think, and my mother apologised. Jill wasn’t much of a fighter, as I’ve said, I believe her mission in life was healing. She certainly calmed me down, and as well as being my dopamine hit she was also my solace. If I was with her, I was at peace.

Jill also got on well with my colleagues at my two places of employment, the British Council. She’d come to all the parties, both at work and not at work. I remember at one Christmas party one of my rather starchy colleagues and Jill were in similar outfits. We were stood next to each other and I rested my hand on her bum, only of course it was owned by said colleague. I was mortified, but Jill thought it was hilarious, as did colleague. A few times when I was doing overseas trips I was able to tag Jill along with me. Hungary, Egypt, Singapore and Malaysia I think. Once or twice she would sit in on the courses that I was running and she’d be chatting to participants at breaks, much more at ease with them than I was. She could just do that, it’s a gift that’s always eluded me. When I worked for SilverPlatter, a cd-rom publisher she also got to know lots of my friends and colleagues there as well. This was at a time when our counterculture interests were really intense and people were interested, so they already knew Jill by reputation!

You can’t, and shouldn’t try and measure love. Love is whatever it is, for whoever is involved. I think it’s the only thing that’s important. That and helping people be better people. But I will hesitantly think that the love we had was different. We were in every sense soulmates. When I looked at Jill it was like looking in a mirror. We shared everything, always wanted to be together, could communicate without words, could sense each other, and always put the other first. We were each others best friend, advisor, confidante, everything. It was lovely having all the many friends we had, but if we had had none, it wouldn’t have impacted us. We were quite literally, each others everything. And as I’ve said, our love was unconditional and absolute. I would have done quite literally anything for her, and she for me without hesitation. I have been extremely privileged to have been in love with other women during my life and it’s lovely and wonderful and all the good things. But it’s different, as it should be. But the difference I think is that we would always be two different people, and that’s the opposite of what Jill and I had. It sounds fanciful to say it, but this is for me, so I’ll say what I like, but we wanted to become a single soul. If we had been able to, we would.