Hello, my dearest.
I pulled your camera out of the bag this morning. The lens cap was missing. When I looked at the shots on the card, I realised why. You took them on the 16th of November 2010. We’d driven to Kingscliff to stay at a nice hotel for a night, trying to have a little break in the week before your whole brain radiation therapy started. There’s a series of shots of a kite surfer at the beach and a couple of sunset shots. That’s it.
The lens cap is missing because the next day – 17th Nov – you had your second seizure while we were at Fingal Head. You’d taken the cap off to take a photo of something, then felt too ill, then lost track of what you were doing. I was trying to pack your gear up to get you back to the car when I realised the seizure had already started and I needed to call an ambulance. I never did find the lens cap.
It made me cry, just holding your camera. I know it’s the same model as mine, but yours feels different in my hands. Heavier. More you. I can’t believe Nov 16th was the last time you took a photo. I feel so sad because I know you lost your passion for it, and other loves, as the cancer took hold of you. Even though I have more than 22,000 shots of yours to sort through, work on and display, I feel they aren’t enough. I’m sorting through my own collections, wishing I had more photos of you, of us. Whatever I had, it would never be enough, because no matter how many images I look at, they aren’t like having you back. They can’t hug me. They don’t laugh.
Forced myself to go to the house to start scanning photos of you from the old days when I used film. I’ve been putting off anything that involves preparing for your memorial. I think I’ve been setting it up as a farewell, and that isn’t something I want to do. I need to think of it in a different way or it will be too hard for me on the day. For me, it needs to be a day to celebrate how much I love you, how wonderful you are, not a goodbye.
I did treat myself to new monitor. That weird water stain effect on the Acer I bought for your PC a couple of years ago had worsened and the menu kept popping on screen for no reason; very annoying. I thought, what would you do? Answer: buy a new monitor. I picked up a very handsome BenQ 24-inch HD model for $260. Seems to work nicely. Spent some time getting it set up, had lunch, then scanned several hard copy shots before realising the flatbed needed a good clean and it was time for me to leave, so will have to re-scan again tomorrow.
Spent the evening with friends. Enjoyed good food, great company and lots of laughter. Missed you terribly every minute. Talked about you – healthy, happy you, you with cancer, dead you -because you’re my leading topic of conversation and I don’t want anyone to think they shouldn’t mention you, or death, or love, or normal life, fun things, or happy memories. We had a good time. It was almost like you’d been unavoidably detained; you’d be along a little later, or another time perhaps? Almost.
I managed to drive home – Mum & Dad’s, that is; almost drove to the house before remembering to turn left, not right – without crying. Not the same as being happy, just a bit less sad for a while.
Love you, my sweet. Hoping to see you in my dreams.
You're gone 