Many of us (housebound/bedbound) worry about dear ones who are sick, infirm, or struggling, esp. if we live afar. We feel not being there when we need to be, want to be, no matter what the circumstances, as failed fidelity, incurring a debt of love.
I know hardly anything of Mag’s life before she fell ill in 1993. We were witnesses to each other’s ‘now’. There are clues though: when I sent our shoes to the #MillionsMissing protest, Mag selected a pair of dainty black Velours stiletto heels with pointed toes. Imagine her staccato gait – upright and stable! Last year, while Cannes was in the news, she wrote: “May 1991 sailed to Cannes on my partner’s yacht, hoping to complete on 5 million film deal we’d worked on for 4 years. May 2017 achieved my goal of having bed sheet changed, first time in months. Heaven. Happy ME Awareness Day. Love and eternal hope for us all. xxxxxx”
The demise of my ability to read extensively is one of my greatest losses. I try, but pages petrify. A few paragraphs must do me now; some days a couple of lines. It’s an issue many #pwme wrestle with, and contributes to our sense of separation.
#BedFest was quite the occasion. People appeared in PJ’s, crumpled t-shirts, crochet vests, keen to address the wider world; people whose voices are seldom heard, called together by #MEAction and its volunteers to share music, art, photography and multifarious creativity and raise ME-Awareness. We didn’t have to leave the house…
