We Do Hear You

They say hearing is the last to go when one dies. I think this is 100% true because it's such a heightened sense when everything else is failing. For months now, I've heard my family through closed doors and walls speak about me. "She said" "Her pain this" "She hasn't that". I both love and hate it.

Love that they care about me so much and are taking such good care of me. But I hate that I have become a problem that needs fixing. I know they'll say that's not the case, but there is no way around not feeling like a burden.

Especially when you see the stress signs on your family. More fighting with each other, but not with me. More grey hairs. Emotional ticks manifesting physically. Lack of sleep. Worry. Depression. It's all to be expected. I would be the same.

But fuck, does it suck to be the one "causing" it all. But I'm not talking about that today. Today I want to talk about what most caregivers probably don't realise, and that is we hear you. We always hear you.

When I'm heavily medicated and having a drugged up nap, I can still hear my family and I hear everything they say. I want to desperately reply but I can barely move. There are things I want to do and say but all I can do is imagine doing them... and my body does nothing.

So if you're a caregiver, take heart in knowing that your loved one hears you. They hear your words of comfort, love and cheer. They feel your hands on them, massaging, hugging, loving them. They are so happy to have you nearby. They wish they could open their eyes and have a whole conversation but they're just so. so. SO. Tired.

I hope this gives others some semblance of peace, coming from a patient. I'm not near the end yet, at least I don't think so. But even now. I hear them. Always.


  1. Shit. You hear us? I thought it was safe to talk crap about you when you are sleeping.


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