The last time

I wrote a while ago about how I wished I'd recognised all those 'last times' which passed me by; the last time Ash reached for my hand, the last time he commented on how I looked, the last time he put his arm around me just for the pleasure of it, the last time he made a decision, the last time we talked about the future ..........  All those last times which went unheeded but last Monday I knew from the minute we left the house that it would be our last holiday and I would never have guessed the knowing would make it so sad.  The three months (almost exactly) following the diagnosis I went through life feeling as though I was hanging on by my fingertips and that if I even for a minute lost focus I would go into free fall.  However life went on and that feeling, much to my amazement, went away to be replaced with a determination to get to the other side of this with my sanity intact.  Last week nearly undid all that hard work and I realised it's been a long time since I've felt so sad.  Holidays have been a focus and a passion of mine ever since we went on our first family camping trip to France 27 years ago.  At first it was the three of us then we joined friends and sometimes it was the three of us and sometimes seven, then the children grew up and didn't want to come so it was the four grown-ups or, frequently, Ash and me having an adventure of our own.  So many places, so many different combinations of people but always something to look forward to, somewhere new to go and now it's come to an end and left me, for those few days away, with the feeling once again that I was hanging on by my fingertips.  We survived and I wouldn't have missed it for the world but do I wish I hadn't known it would be the last time?  Probably.

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