You are gone from my physical life. A long slope down from health to death over a long period. 19 years from diagnosis and 2 years of decline from the end of Chemo to the palliative care phase in a Hospice.
You are still here emotionally and spiritually. I ‘see’ you every day. Your picture above my desk and numerous pictures on the phone. If you were here I guess you might tell me to get on with it. You aren’t, so I’m somewhat stuck. I want to do things, create things but that memory causes inhibitions. You wouldn’t want this. Yet here I am.
Stuck in a loop of indecision, doing things by rote, not moving forward. Yet I am. I’m moving house, another stressor. I want to be done. Everything organised, and moved. There’s much to do.
Today is 6 years since you drew your terminal breath. You are here with me still. You will be with me until I die in my turn as I must. Memento Mori. That is my status. Moving forward is slow and underwhelming. So one step in front of another.
That basement. The only place left to look. So I take my torch and tread gently down the stairs. All I can see is a wall where the stair turns left to enter the basement. All is quiet as I begin to approach that turn in the stairs, endeavouring not to make a noise. Not a chance. The stair creaks and I hear an answering noise. Just a rustle. Rats?
I stop and listen, switching off my torch. Nothing more. Could I have been imagining the noise. Then it repeats, louder. Certainly not rats. Could be human.
I’m now regretting not waiting for backup. If the presence in the basement is human, then he or she will know I’m there from the light of my torch. The fact that they make no greeting suggests that they are not wanting to be found. And yet. My job is to find whatever is there. I have no choice.
My torch now exploring the turn, just two steps away, I advance and swing the light into the dark basement. All I can see is a jumble of shapes. Furniture, boxes, all the usual detritus of a basement. No obvious sign of sentience.
I step down on to the floor of the basement and sweep the torchlight from left to right. My heart is pounding and I’m seeing things that may not be there. I step forward and into a gap between an old desk and two chairs. There may be a gap in the centre of the room that could harbour a concealed person. I make for it, step after hesitant step.
To my right, I sense movement and swing my torch in that direction. I see a diminutive figure, stopped dead in the beam.
Found you. My turn to hide now.
