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Old love letter

Dear Darling…

“Dear darling, please excuse my writing, I can’t stop my hands from shaking, cause I’m cold and alone tonight!”

My darling friend, I really wish I could tell you how I am feeling right now but the last thing I want to do is upset you so I have to write, it helps somehow. We are all trying to stay strong and positive for you but it is so, so hard. I know, whatever we are feeling, it is nothing compared to the turmoil that you are going through with your body and your mind. I can’t even begin to imagine how you are getting through every day with that beautiful smile on your face, not knowing what the future may hold. You are incredible to stay so strong.

I can’t tell you how absolutely terrified I am that your lungs won’t improve, that you wont get listed for transplant or that you wont get your call……or ultimately that you may not have long left with us. I can’t even bring myself to use the word ‘D word’, for some reason it makes it so much more real. To even write that has me crying again, I pause to wipe my tears, temporarily allowing myself to let the emotions flow from my eyes and down my cheeks. Someone has hit the pause button for you – pause while you wait for new lungs, pause while you try to keep the strength to fight your way through each day, pause to take the time to try and breathe, as hard as it is!

I know, we have only known each other for 3 years but what an amazing friendship we have had in that time. To even think that you may not be around in the future is crippling me. I think about how I am feeling and then think about your other friends who have known you all their lives, your lovely, large family and amazing husband. I feel so selfish being so upset, after all, three years is a relatively short period of time, right? Compared to everyone else, do I even have a right to sit here bawling my eyes out at the thought of losing my lovely friend?

We may live miles apart but that doesn’t stop us texting all day, every day….we probably send each other 50 or more Whatsapp messages everyday and I can’t imagine not seeing them come through. That little tone on my phone as a message appears, I know it is almost always you and I smile ~ always a message waiting for me when I finish work to ask me how my day has been; the thousands of funny selfies you have sent me at various times to cheer me during my long working hours; and, of course, not forgetting all the hilarious sound bites and videos I have of you singing “Summer Loving” to me just because you were bored; the beautiful tattoos we got together to mark our never ending love and friendship…. The list could go on and on. I am counting down the days until I see you again, just a few more weeks…we have such wonderful times together but I always dread saying goodbye – that sweet hug whilst stifling that overwhelming fear that I may not see you again.

Its 4am now and the emotion gets too much, my thoughts are running away with me and I am thinking the worst. I have to go and hide while I compose myself. Just then, as if you knew, my phone flashes red – you’re awake and needing a friend. I love to hear from you but get nervous about reading your messages, you’re choking again, you can’t breathe, you can’t sleep, you cant stop crying. You’re terrified – the drugs are no longer working, doing nothing to help you improve. I don’t know what to say any more except offer words of love and support. It pains me so much to see the life draining from your little body, to see and hear you struggling for every breath, Cystic Fibrosis claiming every last little bit of energy you have left. I can’t help you and I hate feeling so helpless. I can’t even give you a hug. Being a nurse, I am used to helping people get better but there is nothing I can do to save the life of my sweet friend. CF is so cruel. All you want to do is breathe, why does it have to be so hard?

Please, my darling, don’t give up. We are all here for you no matter what you need, day or night…..if only I could you give the new lungs you so desperately need.

Love you, always.



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