escape (to) the country

Getting around London is easy, but saying goodbye to a dear friend is not. I’m so glad I was able to visit Mary last weekend. When I learned two weeks ago that she had terminal pancreatic cancer, I immediately checked online for flights. Then I realized she might want privacy at this difficult moment in her life, so I sent a card asking if I could see her. No longer living in London, Mary now lives with her daughter in Cranleigh, a beautiful village in Surrey. I’ve watched countless episodes of Escape to the Country and in a way I got my own sort of escape—I got to leave the US behind for a few days and not think about all the horrific things the current president is saying and doing. Unlike in Canada, UK news doesn’t lead with reports about Trump, and what a relief that was. Other than spending over two hours in line to clear Customs at Heathrow, my weekend getaway was lovely. The delay at Customs made visiting the British Museum impossible; it was chilly on Friday morning so I got a cup of cocoa instead and then took the train to Stratford to meet my friend Adrienne. She took me to lunch and we discussed gentrification, the royal wedding, and the Windrush scandal. Then I took the Tube to Waterloo Station and got a commuter train to Guildford followed by a bus to Cranleigh. By that point my phone had just enough juice left to guide me to Mary’s front door. I left my cord at home and so couldn’t recharge, which was good. We had a quiet weekend. On Friday night we caught up and then watched the royal wedding from the beginning; that might have been too much because Mary slept most of the day on Saturday. That didn’t bother me; I tried to make myself useful and spent some time writing and reading. Mary’s friend Christine managed her medication and called the visiting nurse when we felt it was necessary. Mary’s eyes still sparkle when she smiles and she thanked me for coming. She also apologized several times over the weekend, which no sick person should ever have to do. But cancer is humbling, taking away much of the control we’re accustomed to when it comes to our bodies. While Mary was resting, Christine and I shared our cancer stories. Who hasn’t lost a loved one to that disease? Strange to consider how cancer has created so many different communities. When I got home on Monday, I found a voicemail from my aunt in Nevis; she just wanted to send her love on the anniversary of my father’s death (May 26). Even though I talked about him all weekend, I hadn’t remembered the anniversary, which always feels like the wrong word to use. My brother got married on that day, so it is his anniversary. For me? It’s just a day. Watching a loved one die is so painful and as Christine remarked, “Cancer is chaos.” That’s mostly what I remember about caring for my father, but spending the weekend with Mary was the exact opposite. Everything seemed calm and even when we were concerned, the visiting nurses came right away and took control. I’m putting together a care package now and will send it express. Mostly it’s for Mary’s grandkids who understand that she’s sick but not that she won’t get better. Working on a picture book, too, and wrote a poem while I was in Cranleigh. The only hard part of the visit was saying goodbye. I didn’t cry in front of Mary but my eyes were leaking for the rest of the day. My friend Clare understood when I bailed on our plans. Instead I walked through Hyde Park, resisted the carousel but got an ice cream cone. Just walked till my feet hurt and then holed up in the hotel and tried to process it all. There’s no point talking about fairness. It’s cancer. Indiscriminate. Heartbreaking. And yet I left Cranleigh feeling closer to Mary, and Christine offered me a place to stay in London when I next cross the pond. Mary’s daughter got a much-needed break, and I contacted another friend in the US so she can visit Mary while there’s still time. Cancer brings people together, which means we don’t have to mourn alone.