Postscript(85)

She follows my gaze. ‘That’s Olivia. My sister gave her to me,’ she explains. ‘I find that if I name plants, I’m less inclined to kill them. Kind of like what people do with kids.’

I laugh. ‘I had a plant once named Gepetto that died. It turned out he needed water more than he needed a name.’

She chuckles. ‘How can I help you, Holly?

‘Thanks for your time. As I explained to your PA, it’s not a personal visit.’

She nods. ‘I recognise your name. I’m familiar with your podcast interview, I recommended it to some of my clients, those in grief and those who are terminally ill.’

‘I’ve been working with some of your clients: Joy Robinson, Paul Murphy, Bert Sweeney and,’ I swallow hard, still grieving my friend, ‘Ginika Adebayo. I recently discovered that they learned about my story in a group therapy session with you. My story inspired them to write letters for their loved ones, and they came to me asking for my help, to guide them.’

‘I apologise for that imposition,’ Maria says, frowning. ‘Joy responded so positively to you sharing your experience, and came into the group session bursting to discuss it. It triggered a great discussion, of how they could best prepare themselves for leaving their loved ones. I encouraged them to keep in contact with each other throughout their shared experience; some did, some didn’t. It wasn’t until Bert’s wake that I learned about him leaving letters, and I thought it was a one-off until I spoke with Joy recently.’

‘You were at Bert’s wake?’ I ask, horrified.

‘Yes,’ she says, smiling. ‘That little boy didn’t make your job very easy for you.’

My cheeks heat up. ‘That was a botched job.’

‘It was a lot to ask of you, to place the envelope in his actual cold dead hands, but I’m not surprised by Bert.’

We laugh and when we calm, she says. ‘I was sad to hear of Ginika’s passing recently. She was a young woman with great spirit. I loved hearing her opinions, she cut through everything. I wish the world had more Ginikas.’

‘Or just the original would do.’ I smile sadly.

‘And her little girl?’

‘In the loving arms of her guardians. Friends of mine actually, I saw her last night.’

‘Is that so?’ She studies me. ‘Is this letter-writing still continuing?’

‘That’s why I’m here. The letter-writing has a name.’ I smile. ‘It was named The PS, I Love You Club by its founding member Angela Carberry, and I want to honour her and the other four original members by continuing the club. I’d like to continue assisting and guiding the terminally ill with their PS, I Love You letters and I’m hoping you could introduce me to others that I could help.’

Spurred on by Gabriel’s support and his encouragement to grow the club, I found out about Maria Costas from Joy. As the doctor is the root of all of this, I thought it would be natural for it to bloom from here.

‘Is there a financial gain for you in this club?’

‘God no,’ I say, insulted. ‘Not at all. I work full-time, this has all been done in my free time. I’m not looking for money, just more people to help.’ Feeling misunderstood, I continue my passionate plea. ‘I realise that this concept of letters isn’t for everyone, but I’ve learned that there are those who feel compelled to leave something behind. My husband was one of those people. In the beginning, seven years ago, I thought my husband’s letters were all about me, but throughout this process, I’ve learned that it was as much for him. It’s part of the journey in saying goodbye, preparing for the journey to end. Part of keeping house, part of wanting to be remembered. I don’t work from a template; everybody’s letters need to be individual, and in order to figure out how their letters would best assist their loved ones I’ve had to spend some time with them and observe their relationships. Ginika was with me up to three times a week, sometimes more. If you’re concerned about my intentions, I’d like you to know that they are completely honest and well-meaning.’

‘Well,’ she says brightly, ‘you certainly come from an honest and passionate place. Look, you don’t have to sell the idea to me, I encouraged Joy to share it with the group, remember? How to live knowing your time is limited is the terminal palliative phase that you’re addressing here, and I believe that it’s an imperative part of their journey. I can see that you’re thinking of the needs of both the patient and their loved ones, and while there are obvious privacy issues with me sharing my client list with you, I have no issue recommending your podcast to people I counsel,’ she says.

‘But.’

‘But,’ she says, ‘terminally ill patients are vulnerable, faced with the threat of early death. Patients with dysfunctional mindsets are sensitive and need to be dealt with sensitively.’

‘I’ve spent the past six months dealing with terminally ill patients sensitively, I’m aware of their mindsets. If you had any idea what I’ve been through with them, not to mention, the experience I have with my husband, who I cared for throughout his long illness—’

‘Holly,’ she says gently. ‘I’m not attacking you.’

I breathe in and let it out slowly. ‘Sorry. I really don’t want this to end.’