The friends you make in hospital, if you do make a true friend, are the sort of people that will stay with you for life. They are people that have been by your side through the darkest of days. They are the people you soldiered with, that you battled in the trenches of life with and fought for survival every day with. They picked you up when you faltered, and you them, you supported one another through the unbearable and came out the other side and you still managed to remind each other what it is to laugh.
I’m not a proper grown-up- I don’t have things like a mortgage, maturity or health insurance.
I will trill out the party-line; “I am blessed to live in a country that has free healthcare.” Sure, aren’t there women in America giving birth on the doorsteps of hospitals for the want of health insurance? Feel free to continue adding to this sentiment for as long as you please.
I may not be a proper grown-up that has health insurance, but I am a proper grown-up that’s worked and paid taxes from the age of sixteen. Apparently, those taxes pay for things like state pensions, government chauffeurs and our public health care system.
What do you do to grieve three losses at once, and all of them so different? Over the last few days I've lain in silence and put my hand on my heart, waiting to feel it beating, and, of course, it is, always. I'm still here. But they are gone and they are not coming back. They. are. not. coming. back.