Remembering Dr Monica
Last year I started The Teabag Project. It didn’t really take off … but the idea was to stave off Facebook in that I wanted to use the postal system to communicate with a few people. So I sent off a letter + a teabag and asked folks to brew a pot and then write something; anything. Many months later I received this wonderful reflection on the fabulous Dr Monica Glenshaw.
Thanks Rosemary…
Just over a year ago Monica touched down on Australian soil for a holiday. I always love it when she is here. It is a very happy time. Of course I had plans. We ferried over to Rottnest Island where I had rented a cottage overlooking the Indian Ocean, back to the Perth skyline. Rottnest is an island without cars, so one walks, or cycles, or catches the one bus that makes hourly trips around the island. We hired bikes, with Monica selecting one without gears. I thought it would make the hills much more difficult but, of course, Monica defied that notion, rising from her seat on the inclines to give extra strength and pump to her legs as required. I tried to pace our daily riding so as not to tire her, but she seemed to grow stronger and more accomplished on the bike with each day. We saw birds and dolphins and sparkling coves and white beaches. We had picnics along the way and always had a cider stored in a bag for a lunchtime refreshment. One evening we rented a DVD from the local store – Miss Potter – which delighted Monica. She craved films and, indeed, input that might remove her to another world other than her own for a time. I got her to sit through 2 hours of my favourite show, Big Love, about polygamous mormons in Utah. Viewed on the island, with Monica as witness, the series left me feeling morose and I wondered how I had become so enamoured with it.
On the day we were to leave we sat on a wooden bench again looking out across the ocean to the city. We were eating hard-boiled eggs, Monica’s with ample salt, and bread that we had bought from home. I looked across at her and saw gentle tears. I moved closer but don’t recall saying anything to her. Was it out of respect for her privacy, or my own fear of what she might be thinking? I don’t remember anymore, but I still see the scene these days. I thought she looked and seemed so well during those days in Australia. It never ever crossed my mind that I may not see her again. Did she fear it? Did she somehow know? Did she cry for her lost health?
And now she has been dead for 7 months. So many questions I have for her. So many conversations I would like to pursue. But – this is life now. It doesn’t always go the way we would like it to. It can be entirely out of our control. And I am forced, again, to learn patience, acceptance, to move graciously forward with the inevitable flow of life.
I am grateful for what has been.
There is no other choice available.