Our Neighbour Anne

Pondering on the cycles of life and how we relate to them. A special tribute.

May 08, 2024

Welcome to The Feel Good Life! A newsletter about health, emotions and all aspects of what makes a good life. Join me, Dr. Mariana, as I explore the intersections of life and medicine, from East to West, from North to South, bringing together the best of our world and our humanness to help you discover your own feel good life.

Back in June 2023 I enjoyed a few months in Scotland.

I left my beautiful Barcelona on a hot summer morning, ready to embrace the fresh Scottish summer life. As I landed in Prestwick Airport near Glasgow I met with my partner who was eagerly waiting for me. A day later I was greeted by his good neighbour friends with welcoming hugs and hello’s. We all clicked right away, specially her, Anne.

Anne is a beautifully interesting, 60-something English-Sottish-Spanish lady. She carries a pixie haircut with different shades of turquoise, just like her eyes, like her energy and her soul. She hugs me right away while saying: “Oh, you are THE Mariana! What an absolute pleasure to finally meet you, dear.” I felt heartwarmingly welcomed. She is just something else, I could quickly tell.

From June until November (when I’d fly off to Costa Rica), Anne and I shared lots of deep talks, coffee chats and beach walks in the lovely seaside town of Troon, on the west coast of Scotland. Anne quickly became a friend, a confidant, someone I could trust right away, with ease and peace. The feeling has been utterly mutual and this has pleased my heart so much right from the beginning. Being able to talk life, vibes, energy, while feeling understood and seen has felt so magical, so special, so unique.

That’s the power of Anne.

Anne is an architect by profession. She also plays the bagpipe and the piano. She’s a mix of mystical, whimsical and shy, combined with a most welcoming energy. She’s an absolute artist, a creative, a sensitive soul. She knows it well, as well as the struggles that come with being this kind of human, just like her and just like me.

With every talk, we have always felt mesmerised in each other’s presence, even over just a quick smile when bumping into each other on the street or at the supermarket. Anne is most definitely a beautiful force of nature, thirsty for life, for calmness and joy. Her past struggles moulded her into this amazing being that I have been able to witness, and I admire her for it.

November 23rd arrived and it’s my time to leave Scotland for a bit after six refreshing months. Here I am giving my good-bye hugs, as emotional as I get every time. I can’t help it, I just feel terribly emotional with farewells, even when I know we’ll meet again soon.

Or so we think.

Anne hasn’t been feeling well through these months. She thought it could be her mind playing tricks on her. She’s been no stranger to mental health issues, and she suspected that the excessive tiredness and the memory clumsiness could be related. I tried to guide and comfort her from my medical expertise, while she also made the point to get checked by her local doctors.

We would Whatsapp from time to time to catch up and say hello. Since I left, she kept feeling somehow unwell. In December she finally got a doctor’s appointment, however, no test results yet to know if something was going on. It was a long wait.

January arrived with the hardest news of all: a brain tumour. February followed with the second hardest news: a no-treatment, conservative diagnose. Anne’s health began to decline.

She sent me a Whatsapp voice note around that time. A sweet catchup hello with a raspy, slow and broken voice. As I was listening…it just hit me. I knew then I’d probably never see Anne again. I broke into tears…my heart broke and was taken aback for a few hours while the shock happened. I remember the exact moment it hit me - while on a family trip in Costa Rica, waiting in the car for my brother to come back from the grocery store. I stood frozen, saddened and speechless.

March came and with it, our birthdays. Anne, our neighbours and myself, we all share the same birthday week, just days apart from each other. We couldn’t believe it when we learned about it! We felt truly magical all of us right there. Something about this tiny neighbourhood family felt unique and specially made for this moment in time.

I wasn’t able to celebrate our birthdays in person as I was abroad, but we all had a short and sweet online gathering through video call. There was Anne, sitting at Michael and Helen’s living room, with a somehow swollen look and a raspy voice, yet smiling, singing and beautiful as always with her shinning mermaid hair. We all sang happy birthday out loud together.

April soon arrived and I got ready to fly back to Scotland. Anne had now been admitted in hospital. Family and friends could visit whenever her health and mood allowed. My partner was able to see her once. Me? I was definitely hoping for the best, yet my heart knew it would be difficult.

I landed in Glasgow on April 17th…just as Anne took her last breath.

I couldn’t hug her goodbye this time. I only have the memory of our last hug back in November, when she was enjoying life as usual while expecting her doctor’s appointment to get checked for recent health annoyances.

It’s been 22 days now since my arrival and her departure.

I go in and out of the flat daily, and I sense the strange feeling of Anne’s absence through little details everywhere. Her car parked right outside the building, feeling like we’ll bump into each other on the way out, or her lovely decorations on the shared hallway between our flats. Her physical presence is gone, but her gentle unicorn energy is everywhere, as calming and sweet as always.

It’s a surreal experience, that about life and death. Not something we’re taught naturally, at least in the West. It’s still an enormous taboo. My travels and explorations have shown me how other cultures deal with the passing of beloved ones. Always a new experience with deep awarenesses. Same goes for the way in which we deal with death in healthcare facilities and as healthcare providers, each with our own personal touch. So much to share and learn from each other in this world.

There’s absolutely no certainty on how much time we have here, but what’s certain is that we change, things change, people change, circumstances change. Flow might not feel natural, specially when there’s pain involved. But maybe, just maybe, we can slowly learn how to accept and emotionally regulate ourselves through these cycles of life.

Yes, life is a complex road. Joy and pain live together with us through the entire journey. Acceptance then becomes vital. The moment we accept and make amends with our journey, something unlocks within, allowing the hope and the love to flood in. The present is truly all that we have, and what we create in the present is what we will always carry and remember. As cliche as it might sound, it’s true.

A good old friend once told me that all we must do in life is create memories.

He explained: “Every single moment, you can create memories. So choose to create good ones and as much as possible, because that’s the best we get. That’s what we take and what will matter the most no matter your age.” His teaching imprinted something in me ever since.

Anne’s passing still feels surreal, but as we prepare for our final earthly farewell, I’m only grateful for this experience and for her beautiful presence in my life. For adding to my inner conversation and to my soul’s growth, for helping me be more aware and intentional on how I want to continue to enjoy my life. This might be one of the shortest friendships I’ve ever had and yet, one that touched me deeply and for good since our very first summer hug.

Thank you forever, dear Anne.