Light-flooded paths E-Book

Christiane P. Simon

• Herausgeber: Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 425

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

How Inspiring! Ray and Chris love their life together and fulfilled their dreams despite an incurable cancer. After Rays death, Chris experienced a fascinating journey from mourning to healing in Bali, the mystical island with a wonderful tropical nature, friendly relaxed people who live their spirituality.

Leseprobe

“Look! The flowers are showing you:

Through the darkness they grow upwards, seeking the light.

There they open up to show their characteristic beauty.”

Christiane P. Simon

Table of Contents

Preface

Dreams!

Live like you’re bringing heaven to earth!

Making the most of every day!

Enjoy being together!

Close together until death!

Busyness distracts from the pain of separation!

Chaos in the world of feelings!

Following the inner voice! The journey to Bali

Looking for a place to relax!

Express your emotions!

The inner voice says: Take a break!

Nature heals!

Backsliding!

Something worse comes!

Grief and pain find ways to process!

In conversation with God!

The darkness fades - Light shines through it!

Open for wonderful encounters!

Preface

Dear Readers,

to heal my grief and dismay over my husband's death, I faced many profound experiences. I want to take you along on my healing journey, which includes my visit to the beautiful island of Bali.

My husband Ray and I had a worry-free life, which we both enjoyed for many years. Up to that day, when we got his diagnosis of “you have cancer.”All of a sudden, our life as we knew it was upside down. Within minutes of the diagnosis, our carefree life came to an end. Suddenly I was challenged with unfathomable challenges. For me, his perishing up to his death was very moving and profoundly life-changing.

I want to challenge the Reader to answer the following questions for themselves:

What should we do when our life gets out of control? When all of our future aspirations and dreams come to a halt. What's our initial reaction when we have to face an incurable disease? Additionally, when somebody we deeply love gets a death sentence or, worse, dies? I believe the first reaction for many is helplessness. Many of us fall into an emotional hole.

Do we ask ourselves how we should continue living our life? In my own experience and after the diagnosis's shock wore off, my reaction was to get moving and moving out of my helplessness. This active approach to deal with my grief reminds me of the story of the frogs.

As these two frogs did, when they fell into a bowl of milk. Having swum around a Bowl, they realized that the bowl's edge was too high and steep for them to get out unaided. The first frog, realizing that it was useless to waste his energy by continuing to swim since that would not get him out of the bowl, gave up swimming and drowned. The second frog persevered, refused to give in, and gradually the milk turned into butter until the frog could use it as a foothold to jump out of the bowl.

The moral of this inspiring little story? Those who don't give up and persevere may be in for a pleasant surprise!

In my book “Light-flooded paths” I recount the cancer diagnosis and its far-reaching consequences. Here is my story:

Quite unexpectedly, my husband Ray was diagnosed with malignant colon cancer. I was taken aback and shocked by the diagnosis. Yet, somehow our everyday life continued. Ray decided to follow the doctors' recommendations for his care. With that decision, he struggled through chemotherapy and many aggressive chasms, including many hospital stays.

Despite the procedures' brutality, we did our best to live everyday life. All we had left was hope, and the promise of a better result, even the audacity of full healing, crossed our mind.

We started to go on long nature walks, meditated, and used relaxation exercises. We changed our diet dramatically. First, we consumed less meat and followed a wholesome nutritional diet with plenty of fresh vegetables and fruit. We both opted for dietary supplements and mustered up the sheer will to stay positive.

We were grateful for every additional day we received. Moreover, we fulfilled our dreams, travel goals and enjoyed life with family and friends. Despite the exhausting therapies, we relished the years we had left as a couple. Until death would cast the shadow, our primary goal was to live the way Ray wanted.

A few weeks after Ray's death, when I understood his death's finality, I fell into a bottomless pit and had no idea how my future would shape up. During my emotional despair, I listened to my inner voice. I suddenly saw a path of light at the end of a tunnel in front of my inner eye. During a deep mediation, my inner voice spoke clearly to me, telling me to escape to Bali.

At that very moment, I knew that Bali, Rays, and my preferred vacation spot, where we spent so much time together, called me to return.

First, I took some time getting away from the grief and shock. It took some courage to do the first step, but once I made up my mind, I was on my way to Bali.

During my time away from civilization, I learned many things about my life and myself.

I like to share some of these experiences with you. I hope they will come as close to your heart as it did to mine.

In Bali, I kept to myself and lived a very peaceful life. Every morning I went hiking through the beautiful nature of the tropics.

“Again and again, I rested to enjoy the view of the rice fields. Whenever I stood before the light- green colored rice fields which were glistening in the morning sun, my heart jumped for joy. I would take deep breaths and felt how my body filled with happiness.”

The Balinese culture centers on spirituality, ceremonies revered, and rituals to connect us to an unseen world. Balinese practice is to receive, send out, and hold in, symbolized by incense and fire, water flowers, and rice. Its believed that the art of gratitude purifies and reconnects us to the divine world.

My mourning, disappointment, and even anger toward God expressed themselves creatively. Something inside of me changed. Although I had gone away from it all, many friends around me supported me. My experience in coming to terms with my mourning sums up in two basic statements:

Every darkness is flooded with light. The inner potential of each human being contributes to the healing.

Each person and their way through life are different. The ways others have gone cannot be copied or replicated. They serve as impulses, as inspiration for one's way. I captured the essence of my experiences in my book.

Each person is unique. Each of us experiences joy and pain very intimately. Each of our lives life paths differs from others. Coping with the loss of someone we love is one of life's most significant challenges. Whatever your loss, it is personal to you. Whatever the cause of your grief, though, there are healthy ways to cope with the pain that, in time, can ease your sadness, and you come to terms with your loss. You find new meaning and eventually move on with your life. Grieving is a highly individual experience.

There is no right or wrong way to grieve, and it depends on your coping style, life experience, faith, and how significant your loss was to you. There are no one concepts that fits all. There is no comfortable road map or instruction manual through coping.

Throughout my grief and experience searching out a path toward the light, I learned this:

It is well worth taking responsibility for your life. Develop your potential. It’s worth it.

Ask to confer with the doctors and medical personnel. Become part of the conversation and trust your intuition.

Live purposefully and mindfully. Take care of your body, your spirit and soul. Fulfill your dreams, even during dark times.

Love yourself and others. Ask for forgiveness and forgive others.

Grief is your way and spirit. Believe and trust in the process even though doubts. Know that God holds you and carries you. God is with you.

Dreams!

Growing old hand in hand

“Hey, that tickles!”

My hand wiped the blade of grass away from my nose. I had nodded off to sleep. In my husband’s arms. At any rate I heard his voice just by my ear.“

Do you know what I’m hungry for, my dear?” No, I had not been expecting this question. I blinked hard, sat up and looked at him enquiringly.

“Gulai Kambing.”

I ignored his culinary excursion and tried to distract him. “What? Here on our comfortable wooden bench you are dreaming about food? How unromantic!”

Like a cat, I cuddled up to him and began to purr gently. He did not seem to be enthusiastic about that. My dear husband simply could not stop thinking about Gulai Kambing. There was nothing I could do about it.

This somewhat warm spring afternoon had the effect of driving us out of our flat into the open air. Wanting to absorb the first rays of sun, we strolled hand in hand through the castle’s extensive park, looking in amazement at the first rhododendron flowers following their circular paths, the small yellow and white flowers pushing their way out of the cool earth towards the light and the fresh light green leaves of the sturdy deciduous trees.

From the top part of the castle’s park, we surveyed the vast lawn, with a slight downward slant, dominated by the ancient oak tree with its deeply scarred bark and projecting branches. We lay relaxed on wooden benches, which were just wide enough for two. For people who liked each other, as we did. Ray had pushed his arm under my head. We looked up to the sky and contemplated the small stratocumulus clouds on the gentle blue sky, which the mild wind of spring seemed to be blowing about.

“The bench is just tailor-made for us”, I could just hear myself saying, yet in the course of gazing at the clouds drifting by I must have nodded off to sleep. Until the blade of grass that Ray was using to emphasise his unusual request was tickling me on the nose.

“What makes you think of Gulai Kambing?” I asked, certain that I could not divert him from this subject. “We only eat that when we’re on the island of Bali.”

“Yes, I drifted over there with the clouds,” my husband said with a smile, looking up to the sky dreamily. “I’m simply longing for it just now, you know. I can taste the small, juicy pieces of soft meat that have been cooked in coconut milk on my tongue and smell the different varieties of spices.”

“Are you serious about that?” I was not sure as to whether he was just pretending and started to provoke him a little.

“Why don’t we go home so you can cook it for us? We must buy the meat, possibly lamb instead of goat. Then we’d need some lemon grass. The other ingredients we’ve got at home.” Indeed, Ray thought it was a good idea.

“Oh, that is practical,” he said and went through the list of ingredients.“We already have coconut milk, chilies, garlic, ginger, cardamom, cumin, fresh curcuma and cloves at home. I wasn’t at all aware of that.”

Amazed, I turned my head and looked into his face.

“Apparently, you haven’t stood in the kitchen for rather a long time.”

Ray’s thoughts had gone even further. They were on our favourite island, in the Kopi Bali Restaurant. With his mind’s eye he could see the steaming Gulai Kambing on the table in front of him. “This food, Chris, is just heavenly. Delicately soft, the spices surrounding my tongue and the after-taste of a fresh lime.”

I sat up, slightly tilting my head to the side and mistrustfully observed the expression on his face. Ray smiled dreamily, his face gazing into the vast expanse of the sky. His mouth seemed to be chewing something tasty. Obviously, my husband was in another world.

We usually went to our favourite restaurant, Kopi Bali, with our friend Suryani and her family. She had six sons and over twenty grandchildren she was very proud of. Yes, she even wanted more grandchildren.

I remember one of these meals at the restaurant exactly. Suryani and her son both ordered Gulai Kambing. As this dish was not familiar to me, I asked what it was. She looked at me significantly, rolling her eyes.

“Enak,” she said, “try it.”

“Delicious,” I repeated, turning to Ray, who had been listening attentively, “if Suryani thinks we should try it, then I’m going to order it, too.” Ray nodded and did the same.

“Mm,” our enthusiasm knew no end. The small, mildly spiced pieces of meat almost melted on the tongue with an indescribable, intense taste.

From this time on we always ordered the same: Gulai Kambing. We made no secret of our enthusiasm for this excellent dish. That seemed to spread over to the others at our table, who, after Ray’s order simply added “Sama”, “the same”. Sooner or later, we were known as “the Gulai Kambing family.”

My memory of this stimulated my organs of smell and taste. Now I was also smelling the many kinds of spices in the liquid the lamb was slowly cooked in. I gave Ray a light push.

“Your enthusiasm is spreading over to me, too. Just as we’re lying here and enjoying the view of our dreams.”

My husband was unimpressed by my demands and continued dreaming, gazing into the endless scenery before him.

“Wouldn’t it be wonderful, my darling, to lie in a hammock beneath Bali’s sun? Under coconut palms and luscious green tropical plants?”

This drew me into his dreamland. With a deep, dreamy sigh, I answered: “That would be fantastic. And then, in the evening, in a circle of friends, we have our Gulai Kambing in front of us smelling delicious.”

I cuddled up to his side, gave him a light kiss on the lobe of his ear. Ray turned round towards me and murmured temptingly:

“Maybe we should go back there soon?”

“Would be nice!” I nodded to him expectantly. “Then our dreams would come true.” I laughed out loud.

To my surprise, the scenes of an impressive cleansing ceremony came to me again.

“Ray, do you remember the cleansing ceremony Suryani invited us to?”

“Oh yes,” Ray smiled to himself. Not knowing anything about it, we had accepted. Ray laughed again.

On that occasion, we arrived almost punctually at Suryani’s house. That was unusual because you do not have to be punctual on Bali. It is all right for any appointment to be postponed for anything up to two hours. They are so flexible. For this reason, we were surprised to find Suryani’s husband, Cok Alit, waiting for us.

“The others have already set off for the High Priest’s residence.” He pointed at our Sunday western clothes, which apparently were not suitable for the occasion. Ray and I looked at each other in surprise. Indeed, we had not thought about temple clothing at all.

Cok Alit asked the house servants to dress us in the right clothes und in a few moments we were standing on the terrace in our underwear, like dummies in a shop window, waiting for temple clothing.

We did not arrive at the Priest’s residence punctually. But although we were somewhat stressed, we sensed on entering that something special was certainly happening in the temple in the High Priest’s house.

“The Pedanda is descended from the highest Hindu caste, the Brahmin caste,” Cok Alit explained to us while we were driving there.

Indeed, we were immediately deeply impressed by this High Priest. He was radiant in a way we had never experienced before. Round his waist, he had a white cloth with gold threads in it, as a sign of purity. On his head he wore a tall hat like a turban with golden embroidery. I was filled with awe at this holy person sitting in the lotus position, completely absorbed in himself, despite being awake and concentrating. In one hand, he held a gold-coloured bronze ladle, which he used to draw water from a golden bowl. With his other hand, he held a golden bell, which he rang constantly to send his words from the old Indian Vedas and the Upanishads up to heaven.

Ray and I did not venture to go any further and followed the cleansing ceremony from a distance. After a short time, they signalled that we should come forward. Yaya stood next to us. He translated the Priest’s words. We took our cue from him for the whole cleansing ceremony. We rather helplessly followed the ritual somehow.

Later on, while talking about our experience, we both said we had been fascinated in a way we had never experienced before. It was difficult for us to explain this.

“Perhaps it was the mist from the incense or the constant sprinkling with holy water or the constant penetrating sounds from his golden hand bell?

“Yes, I can’t explain our enthusiasm any more today. But when I look at the photo on the shelf at home, we seem to be staring absently into the camera.”

An American psychologist took the photo, who was also at a cleansing ceremony for the first time, because Suryani had apparently invited various friends to come to it. Straight after the ceremony, he had come up to us and asked if he could photograph us. Probably he thought we were rather amusing.

“That was certainly one of our most impressive moments on Bali,” Ray kissed me gently on the tip of my nose, “perhaps there will be more of them on our next trip there.”

I nodded agreement, cuddled up to him again, took a deep breath and knew at this moment how our common experiences united us. I was drawn out of my thoughts by a few drops of rain on my face.

“Hey, it’s raining!”

“These few drops won’t do us any harm.” Ray had also been startled by the raindrops, but they did not seem to impress him particularly. He was quite right there, as the rain cloud moved on quickly and left behind it cumulus clouds, white as snow with the sun shining on them.

“I think the idea the town council had of putting a wooden bench for two in the upper part of the park was splendid,” my husband reflected on our comfortable place and put his arm under my head again. I enjoyed the closeness and could feel the spring season deep inside me. Ray must have felt that way, too, for he whispered into my ear softly:

“I would like to grow old with you, going on together hand in hand, and,” he added after a short pause, “go on a lot of journeys together.”

His words sounded honest. They fluttered right into my heart and left there the wonderful feeling of a deep relationship. I showed my unconditional agreement by squeezing his hand.Encompassed by a cloud of well-being, we remained silent.

My thoughts turned to Ray. I experienced him as an honest, reliable, credible and respectful person, whom I trusted implicitly. He had the talent of always looking at the person he was talking to and adapting to that one person. Others valued this quality of his, too, and Ray had a lot of friends. In comparison, I was not able to listen as patiently as he was. I was temperamental, with a big portion of the joy of life, was talented in different areas, creative, and was able to stimulate others sometimes. But as I got older, I had developed more peace and inner balance. Ray and I supplemented each other well with our different characters. He kept me in balance and I stimulated him.

“My darling, I am looking forward to travelling with you for many years of our lives.” Looking into the sky, I saw cloud formations that I interpreted as being for us.

“Do you see the cumulus clouds? I see two figures in them that seem to be going in the same direction with each other. Just as we are.”

Ray watched me with a smile. My creative interpretations were just starting.

“And look, there is a third figure ahead of us. Perhaps it’s Noe.” Ray burst out laughing. I sensed that my imagination was making him cheerful.

Ray’s daughter from a previous relationship had inherited certain good qualities from her father. She was just as likeable, open and friendly to everyone, could keep her distance or equally well express her opinion.

Experiencing both of them together was great fun. Unfortunately, these occasions had become rarer after Noe had passed her Abitur (A-Levels), as she loved travelling, too, and went out with friends in her spare time.

“You are right, it really does look as though three figures were flying in the same direction. Look, the wind has already changed our figures. What a pity!”

With these words, my husband sat up and looked as though he now realised where he was.

In front of us, there was a slightly downward sloping, extensive lawn with some old trees on it. The sun was shining on the first succulent, light green leaves. A wonderful sight! Like a picture book. In front of the whitewashed red sandstone castle, there were wild-looking, dark green bushes, forming a strong contrast in colour.

“The Lebanon cedar is peeping over the castle wall. Do you see it?”

“The biggest Lebanon cedar in Germany,” Ray added.

“Come!” I took his hand, pulled him up and started to run downhill, over to the cedar with its spreading branches.

“How mighty!” he called, his arms around the trunk, “certainly six metres!”

“As I stand in front of this tree, I am conscious of the mightiness of nature. How small we are and how short-lived.”

I tried to imagine what stories this tree could tell from the course of its long life.

“Noe has phoned to say she’s coming for the weekend.

“Oh, how nice!”

The days up to the weekend flew past. We were glad when she arrived by train. I had prepared the meal.

Chatting, we sat round the dining-room table.

“Just imagine, Noe, Dad is dreaming of the Gulai Kambing in the ‘Bali Café’. I think it’s time to plan our next trip!”

“Have you got any definite plans? I would so much like to travel with you. When do you want to set off? This year?” Noe’s love of travel was stimulated.

“I would love to pack my travel bag today. Unfortunately, I can’t do that now in the middle of the semester. There are still a few exams coming up.”

She paused and pouted at her father. He raised his shoulders. “Another time, Noe.” Our daughter seemed to be comforted. Her mood changed.

“I can well remember your first trip to Bali. It was in the summer when I was going to Ijssel Sea with our teenagers’ group. Can you remember? You were anxious about the long flight to Indonesia and hesitated to book it.”

“Yes, that’s right. We were simply afraid of the unknown. On the one hand, the huge land of Indonesia was enticing us, on the other hand we were afraid of the long flight. As a precaution, we decided to the tourist island of Bali first, before continuing to Java and Sumatra.”

“Among the tourists of Bali, we wanted to get acclimatised and to get used to the foreign culture.” Ray added.

“That’s true. After that decision, the journey into a completely unknown land was easier for me.”

“And on your return, you hardly said anything about your experiences on Java or Sumatra. You just enthused about Bali.” Noe grinned to herself. In my thoughts, I was on my first trip to Bali.

“Yes, it was amazing. This island fascinated us from the first moment. The really special Hindu tradition, the way they lived their religious lives quite openly, quite different from the other two islands that are more under the influence of Islam.”

“I thought the Balinese were unusually friendly and open. Do you remember, Chris? People kept on talking to us, asking us our names, where we came from and where we were going. At some time or other, we started asking them. In this way we learnt a lot of interesting things about the life of the people on Bali with their particular Bali-Hinduism.”

“Don’t forget that we sought to stay with families so that we could participate in their everyday lives and tradition.”

“That’s right. Now I can remember that. We had settled down in the residence of a Balinese family, were sitting on the terrace in front of our room and watching their family life. And because life in Bali happens almost entirely outdoors, we observed a lot.”

“Then it was all new to us,” I said, turning to Noe, “I felt enchanted by the everyday life and the religious life. Everything was so new. The smells and sounds, too. In the evenings, the rhythms of the gamelan orchestras hovered over the island.”

“That must be a super experience, when you are sitting outside and there is music coming from all directions.”

“Imagine, Noe, the Balinese play without any sheet music. Isn’t that fascinating?” added her father enthusiastically, “They learn what they play by heart and pass on the sequence of notes to the next generation. The fathers let their sons sit on their laps while they are playing in the orchestra. And so, they learn the rhythms and tunes from childhood on.” Ray’s enthusiasm was obvious.

“You should have done that with me, Dad. Then I might have become more musical.” She laughed somewhat provocatively because her father was not all that musical. But I had something else I wanted to say.

“Do you know what also fascinates me on Bali? The sweet perfumes all over the place. No, not just from the numerous blossoms and flowers, but from the sacrifices that they place on joss sticks. The smoke carries their prayers to heaven. Several times a day, the Balinese put small sacrificial gifts on palm leaves in front of their houses and on temple steles. Noe, when you walk along the street, the smell of all this goes through your nose and lifts you up onto a cloud.”

We were wallowing in our memories. It just spurted out of us. “Yes, the Balinese live out their religious traditions in public, their temples are open on all sides, the processions are on the street. Everyone is invited to celebrate with them, all the tourists, too. That’s fantastic!”

“Is it because of the warm climate?” wondered Noe, making a connection with our Christian culture. “Our services are behind closed doors. Hardly anything finds its way outside. I think that is rather a pity. I also think that the entire spirituality is now absent from our Christian faith. I miss that. Our services are so dry and serious.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “Among the millions of tourists who are enthusiastic about Bali’s temple festivals, are there not countless Christians, who like the colourfulness, the creativity shown in dances and masquerades? I would like that, too. Did that give you ideas, too?” Now Noe was inspiring us.

“You could be right, Noe. But what we love about Bali is the combination of spirituality lived out in public, lovable people who include us in their lives, the warm weather and the tropical nature.”

“I understand. It’s the combination. Not just the living faith. What a pity that I can’t be with you on your next trip because of my approaching exams. Isn’t it simply unfair that they’re in the vacation?” She looked up accusingly, but seemed to reconcile herself with her fate quickly, as she nodded to us: “It’s OK for you to go on your trip!” And so she put an end to the subject of Bali.

“Oh dear, with all the talking we’ve forgotten about our meal!” We had planned as a celebration meal Frankfurt green sauce made with eight different herbs, hard-boiled eggs, yoghurt and sour cream. Our substitute for Gulai Kambing.

“That tastes as good as it always does,” Ray praised the meal and helped himself to another ladle full. Noe and I nodded in confirmation, our mouths being full, and continued to enjoy the meal.

“Frankfurt green sauce with peeled jacket potatoes seems to be our favourite meal,” I said while clearing up the empty pots and pans.

“What about a games evening?” suggested Noe, while I was putting the crockery into the dishwasher. I turned round and saw Ray standing there, simply beaming. He was as fond of table games as his daughter was. I did not like them so much.

“I would play Scrabble with you,” I suggested.

“I’ll start,” answered Noe promptly. She fetched the game out of the living-room drawer and distributed the letters. “School. I’ll enter eleven points. It counts double!” she joyfully proclaimed with a smile and a look that showed she was feeling certain to win.

“That’s not bad for a start. You seem to have good memories of school,” I laughed. It took a moment for her to realise my remark was intended to be a joke.

“Dad, it’s your turn.” It took time for Ray to find a suitable word. “Countries. Noe, write sixteen points down, it counts double.” He turned to me: “And which word will you find?”

“Countries, people, adventure – what can I find that fits?” With my letters, I managed to find a short word:

“Turn. Only twelve points, but it also counts double.”

Our game was long and drawn out. After almost two hours, we declared Noe to be the winner.

“The way you do that is really admirable. You have a talent that nobody can beat, Noe,” was our opinion and Noe beamed with joy all over her face.

Live like you’re bringing heaven to earth!

Suddenly everything is different

“Life is just beautiful,” said Ray, beaming with joy, contemplating his breakfast plate, which had a fresh buttered pretzel on it, with a slice of boiled ham and a tomato, fresh from the garden, cut into four.

He was perfectly right. It was Saturday. The day that we liked to organise to be a pleasant one. Usually, we cycled into town after spoiling ourselves with breakfast. We strolled around the market, bought bread and vegetables from the farmers, and finally indulged in a cappuccino at our favourite coffee shop. Usually, our friends joined us.

“What more can we want?” I thought repeatedly as we sat together chatting.

At the breakfast table at home, we played soft classical music as a background. I had a good look at my husband as he was enjoying his breakfast and repeatedly looking into the daily newspaper beside him.

“There’s a certain charm about getting older,” I thought, looking at him lovingly from the side. Ray was good-looking. Especially now, with a fashionable haircut from his recent session at the hairdresser’s. The slightly mixed shades of grey showed he was aging. Both of us felt vital and young, but occasionally I noticed we were getting slower with everyday things. This made everything more comfortable, but it gave me the impression that we were getting older. Time and again we talked about our approaching retirement. We agreed that we would put in for retirement at the earliest possible time, because we wanted to travel to make our dreams reality.

“What will it be like when we’re no longer working and can decide without any restrictions how we will spend our time?”

“Then we won’t just go on short bicycle trips, but on long ones as well,” Ray laughed and got absorbed in his paper again. But I did not drop the subject.

“I really can’t imagine what it would be like having all the time in the world. Not thinking about going to work the next day and preparing for it, just living for work. Instead of this, planning our own time as we like, travelling without any time limits. Then we will be able to meet friends and relatives at any time, not just at weekends. We’ll be guided by our own inclinations.

We’ll go to the theatre, to the ballet or to the opera. No, not just near here. My darling, we could go to Stuttgart, to Munich, Berlin or Hamburg.” And I added with the wave of the hand: “Oh, we’ll certainly think of various other things, too.”

Ray was only listening with half an ear. But on hearing the word “travelling” he looked up from the paper. “Yes, what I’m looking forward to most of all is travelling together, no matter where. Not only in Germany or to South Asia. I’d like to get to know the African continent, too.”

I was not so keen on travelling to Africa but did not say so. Instead, I suggested: “It would be best to plan more distant journeys first. We’re getting older every day. Who knows how long we will still want or be able to travel?”

“Well, we haven’t reached retirement age yet.”

We kept on talking again and again about our retirement when we would be spending time without end together and living out our dreams.

In January Ray went skiing with his friends he regularly played cards with. Just before that he had had his “annual check-up”, as he put it.

“And how did it go?” I asked curiously when he came home.

“The doctor recommended that I should have my liver examined more thoroughly. He saw some white spots.” Noticing my inquisitive look, he added: “That’s certainly nothing to be worried about, my love.”

As my husband drank truly little alcohol and did not seem to be at all worried, I trusted his statement and gave it no further thought.

Every evening Ray telephoned me and told me about the fantastic snow conditions for skiing, a good atmosphere in the group and his lack of luck in the evening card games.

And a week later all four members of the skiing party stood in front of our house, waving. I had cooked a strongly spiced goulash soup to help to build them up, which they praised above all else. During the meal they gave humorous reports of their experiences, each trying to be funnier than the others.

Before we went to bed, I asked my husband: “Have you told your friends about your appointment at the doctor’s?”

“No, there was no reason to say anything.” Ray still seemed to be optimistic and not at all concerned. Not even when further examinations were necessary because there was still no clear diagnosis. In due course, there were results. Ray was given an appointment for consultation in the nearest big town, where he had had his most recent examinations.

“Will you come with me?”

Not expecting anything in particular, I agreed to go with him. Ray was still expecting positive results. But when I noticed that we had been summoned to a department with a surgeon as its Lead Consultant, I was overcome with a most uncomfortable feeling, which increased when the secretary said:

“Please take a seat. The Lead Consultant will soon have time for you.”

“What does that mean?” Irritated, I looked at my husband, who seemed to be asking himself the same question. In the meantime, we were talking in subdued tones. Each of us grabbed one of the magazines from the table in front of us to while away the time spent waiting for the Lead Consultant.

At last! The consultant came along with a swing, carrying a pile of folders under his arm. After a friendly greeting, he ushered us into his consulting room, pointing at two comfortable chairs in front of his desk.

“Please be seated.” He introduced himself as a reliable expert in this field, with many years’ practical experience at a well-known university teaching hospital.

That only served to increase my worries, because I was afraid, we would be hearing something unpleasant.

“Why does he have to give us this prelude?” went through my head. I was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. In an attempt to calm down, I felt for my husband’s hand. It was rather clammy. He looked attentively at the man in white who was about to give us the result of the examination.

“In your intestines there is a tumour.” Then, to soften the blow, he added: “That is not really bad. That often happens.”

My body became rigid. Only one word stuck in my head: “Tumour!” Ray had cancer! Two sweating hands came together.

The doctor went into further detail and we hung onto every word he spoke.

“Unfortunately, your tumour has already spread and formed metastases in your liver. But there are not many, and they are only very small.” He paused for breath.

I held my breath and felt dizzy. “Go through with it!” an inner voice called to me. Yes, I would do that. Stand at the side of my dear husband. His arm touched mine. I felt the pleasant warmth of his body. Yet, at the same time, we sat rigidly on our chairs.

“Your metastases are distributed over the whole of your liver. That is not advantageous. One larger metastasis would be easier to remove.”

The surgeon noticed how rigid we were and was trying to speak in a softer voice while explaining the medical facts. “The liver has the unusual capacity of regenerating of its own accord after an operation. It can grow back to its original size. That is why it is an advantage if the metastases are only in a small area, which, unfortunately, is not so in your case. But, as the metastases are so small there, is the possibility of using other methods to get the better of them.”

So, there was hope! But was it real? Was it a light on the dark horizon suddenly appearing to us? Ray’s diagnosis was cancer of the intestine with multiple metastases of the liver. Now we were informed. But it had not registered, not even in our heads. I felt that I was looking at the wrong film. We could not accept this diagnosis. I still held firmly on to Ray’s hand. I had probably pressed a dent into it. Silently, I turned my head towards him.

“How can I help him?” This question went round and round my head. “If only I could cancel this verdict.”

I desperately asked the doctor questions. I cannot remember what questions they were any more, but they were full of hope that these dire results could be improved on. Ray also seemed to be going along with this, for I do remember bombarding the surgeon with questions. Unfortunately, we did not manage to change the results of the tests.

“Your cancer of the intestine is not the problem. It is in the rectum and operable. We can also operate on the liver. But before that, I would like to recommend that you go to our chemotherapy specialist. Find out what he recommends. He is most competent, with decades of practical experience, and familiar with the latest research from all the further training he has had at an international level. Ideally, chemotherapy could have the effect of completely removing all your metastases.”

With this, he gave me the motto: “We will get the better of the cancer.” At first, I just thought that, then I said it quietly to my husband. This hymn of hope inside me made me more relaxed. I squeezed Ray’s hand and gave him an encouraging look. And indeed: he nodded back encouragingly. We were ready for the fight.

“Together we’ll succeed.” I took a deep breath, which everyone heard. The chief consultant responded to our positive impulse and finished the consultation with words of encouragement:

“So, maybe the diagnosis sounds terrible in the first moment. Yet we will bring things in order. You are still fit; you have the appearance of being strong. Something like that is always an advantage.”

“We are starting the fight against the cancer. We will win it!” was our battle cry in the following days. That made us strong and welded us together. Indeed, it encouraged us. Externally at least when we were together. Yet deep down inside, things were rumbling, especially when I was alone, I felt an inner unrest, I was afraid. My thoughts turned back to the time when the surgeon had given us the news about the cancer, and I had stared at him dumbfounded.

I did not tell Ray about my anxious thoughts; instead, I cheered him up when he seemed to be gloomy, talking about our victory over the cancer.

One evening I was overcome with thoughts of doubt. I was suddenly no longer sure we would win the fight. I remembered the time when my brother had been diagnosed with cancer. That was when we were living in the same house. One day I was very much aware of the way he was walking with slow steps when I saw him coming up the short path to our house. He kept on stopping for a rest. I went out to meet him and asked if everything was all right.

“Chris, I’m on my way back from the doctor’s. I’ve got lung cancer.” In his words there was deep mourning combined with a dismal hopelessness. I heard these words in my ears as though they had been spoken the day before. But since then, more than a decade had elapsed. Then I had suspected that something bad would happen. I knew that my brother needed my support. Also, because his life partner had died a few years previously. He was still suffering from the loneliness. I then researched on the internet for more information about lung cancer and found out that the average survival time was two years with this kind of cancer. And that was the way it went, too. The two years that he was still alive were punctuated with doctors’ appointments, tests, and chemotherapy at a special clinic fifty kilometres away. My brother followed implicitly all the doctors’ directions, always hoping this would lengthen his life.

Ray’s cancer diagnosis aroused in me the memory of my brother’s cancer, the illness, and his early death. And also, the memory of my sister’s husband’s early death from a cardiac infarct.

“And now? Is it my husband’s turn? May Heaven help!” But Heaven did not seem to be helping. I prayed, I begged God: “Why, God, why must my husband have this terrible diagnosis? Let this cup pass us by! Please, heal him!” I did not want to give the appearance of having doubts when I was with my husband. He needed the strong side of me, speaking words of hope and healing. His behaviour changed with the diagnosis. He was more reflective, frequently tired, even exhausted, often sitting in an armchair absorbed in the newspaper or a book.

Our slogan “We’ll get the better of the cancer!” remained. That was a help. It united us. Partially. The other side of the situation, however, the sadness, the despair, each of us carried alone, inwardly. I became increasingly uncomfortable when I thought about the diagnosis.

“Perhaps we ought to talk to each other, perhaps I ought to admit to my mixed feelings and not always show myself as the strong one who is always in a good mood.”

On one of the following afternoons, I ventured to start an honest conversation.

“You know,” I began hesitantly, “your cancer diagnosis has made me feel rather insecure, it’s really floored me. Somehow, I’m in a condition of shock, afraid of the future.” So, I had blurted it out. I grabbed Ray’s hand, not wanting to look into his eyes. When I did look up to him, I noticed tears in his eyes, which had their effect on me, so that tears were dropping onto my jeans, leaving dark blue stains as they dried. In a few minutes, I regained my courage. “We’ll keep at it, man!”

Relieved, Ray followed the thread of my words. “We’ll succeed, my dear. Now I feel healthy and full of energy. Besides,” he paused and said with a grin: “Besides, we want to grow old together.”

That was our start signal. I jumped up and called: “Come, let’s cycle into town and drink a coffee.”

My love followed me. “How delicious, with a Havanna cake.”

Quickly we got ready to cycle enthusiastically to our favourite cafe.

Noe informed us that she would be coming for the next weekend. She was not yet in the picture. Her father had simply told her about various examinations. He was planning to tell her about the diagnosis himself.

“I’m driving to the station to fetch Noe.” Father and daughter appeared at the kitchen door. I could see how happy they were to see each other again after some weeks.

“He’s not said anything to her yet,” was my impression and went up to Noe to give her a hug.

“How was the journey?”

“All went wonderfully well. The trains were punctual.”

“Well, the supper is already on the table.”

“It’s always good to eat,” she said, picking up the ladle and sniffing at the pumpkin soup.

“I added freshly squeezed oranges and a little coconut milk.”

“Delicious, it smells so fruity.”

“Well, I love it when you enjoy it, Noe. It’s nice to have dinner together.”

The sad news came, as it were, with the dessert. Ray told her about his examinations, emphasising the doctor’s encouraging words. “We’ll bring that in order.” Noe reacted somewhat calmly, seeming not yet to have grasped the extent of her father’s cancer.

“And why should she?” I thought to myself. At the same time, it became clear to me that I wanted to talk to her alone, because I sensed that the therapy in the near future would make it necessary for us all to stand together. After Ray had adjourned into the next room for a rest, I sat down next to her.

“Noe, Dad has told you about his diagnosis. This kind of cancer can become a difficult process. We should be prepared for that. Dad may well need our special support quite soon.”

Noe was silent. Looking into her eyes, I wondered whether my words had meant anything to her, as she had not had any experience with cancer. It was different with me: I had accompanied my father throughout his cancer of the pancreas as well as my brother with his lung cancer. Yet I still did not know what we would be going through, as each illness has its own course, and it is not possible to know in advance exactly how things will go with each one. My father and my brother had both died of their different sorts of cancer, although both had had great hopes of recovering and living for a long time afterwards. They relied on the doctors who encouraged them and wanted to overcome the cancer with chemotherapy and an operation.

After all these unwholesome thoughts, I took a deep breath. I did want to betray my doubts and scepticism to Noe. Instead of that, I said comfortingly:

“Noe, we’ll hope for the best for Dad. We’ll fight it out with him, won’t we? It may be that we have a stony way before us. Let us go on it together.”

“Of course. We’ll do that,” she said, showing her willingness to stand at her father’s side. I was relieved to hear her agreement in this way.

“Well, that’s the end of the difficult part. Would you like to drink a glass of wine with us?” I fetched a bottle of bio red wine from the cellar, took a packet of unsalted peanuts out of the cupboard and sat on the couch next to my daughter. We had a lot to tell each other. Until I started yawning. Noe, who thrived in the night hours, was still feeling lively. While I was saying “Good night”, she was getting out her university papers ready to work on them for her next exam.

“That was a really wonderful weekend again,” Ray seemed to be deeply satisfied after he had driven Noe to the station. We hugged each other and each held the other firmly in their arms. “It feels so good to have our small family together.”

In the next days and weeks, Ray and I did not only talk about our hopes; we occasionally spoke about our fears. Sometimes we sat together in front of the computer, researching on the internet on cancer of the bowel with metastases on the liver, prognoses, chances of recovery, forms of therapy. Ray was especially interested in the reports of fellow sufferers, which they had given in the internet.

Whenever we told friends and acquaintances about Ray’s illness they opened and told us about their own illnesses or those of their close relatives. We were comforted to know that Ray was not the only one with this fate, as we had thought just after hearing the diagnosis. Gradually we gained the courage to talk about it and in doing so, the fellow-sufferers gave us further information which they had. The illness was still in the early stages and we had a lot of questions. We gathered information, especially from specialists we went to see together to ask about the chances of recovery. Our hope was great.

The great variety of information that had come our way appeased my emotions, bringing things down onto the level of mere information. In this phase of his illness, I was increasingly able to keep things at a distance, which sometimes went so far that I considered it abstractly, as though someone else had the bowel cancer and not my husband.

“Will you come with me to the appointment I’ve made with the Lead Consultant for oncology?” Ray asked me one day. “The experts in all of the fields involved have considered my case in the meantime. In what they call a ‘tumour conference’. They talk about all their cases, in order to develop the ideal therapy for each patient, and to come to an agreement with each other. My specialist has asked me to come so he can tell me the result of this consultation. I would be pleased if you would come with me.”

“Yes, of course, we’ll go together.”

The day clinic was in a separate part of the hospital.

After a short wait, we were ushered into the chemotherapy specialist’s consulting room. In the meantime, he had become the spokesperson of the group. We were agreeably surprised at his personality and his competence. He spoke quietly and confidently.

“We would like to recommend a chemotherapy as a start. As your metastases are partly very small, there is a good chance of removing them.”

“What an edifying sentence!” I remarked very quietly and touched Ray’s arm lightly. The next sentences, too, sounded positive: “It would be a mild form of chemotherapy. Your hair will not fall out. Please think about it. You don’t have to decide today. Telephone me in the next few days when you have decided.”

“Thank you for the suggestion. I would like to think about it.”

“Have you got our telephone number?” Ray nodded.

While we were still in the hospital corridor, I asked Ray how he would decide.

“I have a good feeling about this doctor. I think he can be successful.”

“What do you mean by that?”