I was astonished when Kristen told me one day that her
mother had flung her rosary beads across the room. Liz would sometimes use her
rosary beads several times a day, her lips moving in silent prayer. Kristen
must have picked the beads up, but I have no idea what she did with them. I
never saw them again.
Years on steroids had ravaged Liz’s looks. Once a strikingly
beautiful woman, her looks had deserted her. She had gained several stones in
weight and her face was now moon-shaped. I knew how much she must hate how she
looked, and I believe this to be why she no longer used a mirror when she
brushed her hair. Kristen often brushed it for her now, and sometimes I did.
Liz had always had beautiful hair, mostly blonde - although
she had experimented with other colours during the decades I had known her, but
now her hair was lank and grey and lifeless. A visit to the hairdressing salon
downstairs once a month made little difference, although she seemed to enjoy the experience so I continued taking her.
Her once beautiful eyes were now faded and bloodshot and full of pain.
I asked myself for the umpteenth time what she had done to
deserve this, and why the God she had worshipped throughout her life had
deserted her.
Extract from my book WILL YOU TELL HER, OR SHALL I? A true
story. My story. The story of how I lived with the ten-year terminal illness of
my wife. Available on www.booksthepublishersmissed.com
Twitter: Maximillian19
FB: facebook.com/Booksthepublishersmissedcom
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