I am sitting in KS’s room. His old room, you could say. But actually it isn’t that old. We moved into this flat less than a year ago. I was a bit worried about him as he didn’t seem to have any energy at all. We thought it was a multiple sclerosis relapse at the time. Actually his MS specialist told him last month that there had not been any development in the MS since 2018. The treatment he had had at that time, a treatment that is now discontinued because of the risks it poses, had worked perfectly according to the neurologist. So the increased lack of energy in the past years, the sensitivity to temperature shifts, the bad sleep, the reduced mobility in the hip: it all had to do with the cancer. It has taken Kamalashila such a lot of effort to put this room together exactly how he liked it. Especially since he felt so tired a lot of the time. He had it mostly ready in time for the two-month online retreat he led earlier this year. He designed an amazing wall of cupboards. He also installed book shelves in the alcoves and we spent a few days putting the books up, in some sort of order. He was very happy with the room, although he would keep tweaking it. This seemed to be part of his nature. The wanting to make small changes frequently. To improve things.
After he had put it together according to his wishes, he fell ill. And the irony of it all is that now, of course, this room needs to come apart again. I am slowly turning towards the objects that are now redundant, that will be passed on. Objects that have been gifted. I remember we had a strangely joyful evening on the day he heard his terminal prognosis and he was back home from hospital. We were sitting on the couch here and talking about who was going to get what. I am sitting on that same couch now. Over my head the angel wing plant. It has been flowering abundantly since his death. Perhaps displaying its own kind of grief or celebration. I have never seen it flowering in so many different places. This plant has lived with us since we moved into a flat in West Hampstead in 2010. It is sensitive. When we relocated to London, Kamalashila built a frame out of bamboo sticks to protect it, with layers of bubble wrap around it. It survived the move wonderfully and has been thriving ever since. Some of the many medical people that have been in this room would often comment on that beautiful plant. Some would even make photos. Kamalashila must have spent quite a bit of time in this room feeling low in energy and nauseous. He had basically been nauseous to a degree since the beginning of April. It is strange picking up my life again and being the sole keeper of the fridge and the kitchen. Not having to worry about him not eating, or only eating porridge. Not worrying about the cooking smells. Following my pleasures. Yet this doesn’t give me much joy. Perhaps it will eventually.