Definition: a grace note is a brief note that functions as ornamentation for the note that follows it, which is known as the main note or principal note. It is non-essential to the melody but enhances the overall piece.
It never leaves you. There’s no balance to the loss equation; just loss and the continued absence of the person lost. There’s an acceptance over time, a slow fade, but the absence never disappears completely and you never want it to. If the absence of someone is all you have left of that someone then you hold fast to it. These are not losses to be cut.
In those final weeks it’s the kindness that I remember now. I have shut away the endless days of waiting without hope, have numbed and blunted the memory of them or they would be too sharp, too raw. The kindness lingers. The pharmacist who would pause and maintain eye contact, acknowledge the implications of the prescription, deal with it without fuss or fluster. The subtlest shift in the interaction signalling that they understood; sympathy and empathy extended in body language and manner where words would be inappropriate. The district nurse extended over a constituency of the suffering that is too large, she is too stretched, but she persists anyway and persists with smiles and good humour when she could be forgiven for giving neither. The astonishing palliative care nurses who attend to you, to us, with grace and gravitas; talking quietly to you long after you can acknowledge them, giving you the dignity you deserve. We called you angels but you were more than that because you were real, not just the idea of unconditional love on earth but the manifestation of it. The Chaplain whose faith I didn’t share but who brought gentle wisdom, never promising or providing answers when it was evident that there were none, but offering solace, comfort, and something as simple as companionship. He offered his faith to you and I know that you did share it. The very definition of a good man.
Later, when the skies opened, rain in a deluge as if to match our tears, I remember the man, soaked to the skin, that took you to a final place of rest. I remembered that today, caught in a brief downpour walking home, cursing at the weather and then reflecting that he, stoical, sure, gracious, made no comment and carried out his unhappy work.
Memory is unreliable and perhaps I have it all wrong but I don’t want a perfect recollection of the most imperfect time. I am comforted to choose to remember the ornamentations consciously and not the pain and terror buried in my unconscious. It is never far from reach, it never leaves you.
The melody we sang was one of terrible sadness, anger, regret, guilt, and trauma. The kind sang that melody with us, stepped us through a song we had never sung before but which they knew too well. They understood where we would falter in our singing and they offered their guidance through the song, offering notes to step us through the melody.
When cancer patients’ treatment is successful they sometimes leave their hospital ward and ring a bell to signal a great accomplishment, borrowed from a Naval tradition. A moment to reflect on hard won battles, emotional and physical, and celebrate a milestone. A ringing cacophony of hopeful notes to replace the silence of despair.
Those weren’t to be the notes of our song, of your song, and that’s the continued and tragic reality of cancer. Arbitrary, brutal, merciless. For those weeks our song was a requiem but one that was lifted and given meaning by the kindness of those around us; kindness that reflected the way that you had always sung the song of your life.
I am writing in July to raise money for a new cancer treatment centre at Great Ormond Street Hospital. They deliver grace notes day in, day out. Fundraising page is here
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