Celia

 

Celia finally succumbed to her cancer at one fifteen this morning.

Yesterday, Henry, our middle son, and myself had lifted her from her bed at home with its beautiful views of the Suffolk countryside and sat her in a comfortable chair. Most of the morning she had chatted with the nurses and doctor from the surgery, those from Macmillan, and family and friends.

Just after lunch, we lifted her back into bed and she fell into a sleep induced by the morphine she was taking.

Except for a one or two brief moments, where she spoke lucidly and calmly, she did not really wake up until she passed away.

It has been a short but difficult illness for her as she has visibly declined day by day and even hour by hour. At the end of September, we’d had the wettest holiday of our lives in Valencia and she’d walked miles in the rain with no ill effects. Six weeks or so later and she could hardly walk up stairs. For the last two weeks even that had been impossible unaided.

But she bore it all with a massive bravery and very few tears.

Now she is gone and we must all carry on without her.

For some it will be harder than others, but then she would not want people to dwell too long on her passing. They must remember all of the good times and handle problems in the same sympathetic and practical way she always did.

I sensed that in some ways, Celia was overwhelmed by all the cards and messages she received and I thank everyone for what they did. She never felt that so many could feel so much for her.

Celia has donated her body to medical science and for this and other reasons there will not be a conventional funeral. Arrangements have not been made as yet and I will advise people in due course.