Camping down in Devon this week. Lack of sensible phone charging is great for the disconnect.
He realised that he had not, until that moment, said goodbye. It was months, or maybe even years, as time had become of little consequence lately, and he’d only just said goodbye. Everyone assumed that was what the funeral was for but she had stayed with him after that day. It was strange really. Her death had drawn them together like nothing else had. No therapy, no holidays, no big gestures. It took the death of his love to show that it was still just that.
He loved her. Of course he did.
But now he was ready to say goodbye. It was the sight of her with another man, in the supermarket, that prepared him for this. It wasn’t really her. He knew that – it was just someone who looked like her, in that she had hair, and legs, and arms, and was humanoid in shape, though sometimes those things weren’t essential. Just the other day she was a dustbin. A large, black dustbin, like the bins one would find in a back alley of a Victorian terrace in the 70s. Why would she be a bin? No one could say. But right now she was a woman, holding the hand of another man. Glancing back over her shoulder with a sad look in her eyes as if to say “why did you let me go?”
It was right there in front of her. Sitting on the desk, with the large label and the excessive amount of sellotape. The big space where the postage paid label should have been. Just waiting to be opened.
It was the same every month. First, the delivery card would appear through the door, “Sorry we missed you. Your parcel has a charge to pay…” Then the long, painful journey to the depot, the search through the handbag for the ID, the acknowledgment that no, she didn’t look like that anymore, and no, the address didn’t quite match. Finally the long painful journey back to the house. It wouldn’t take so long, or be quite so painful if she could take the bus but that was no longer an option.
It was the same every month. Every time her mother remembered her birthday, every time her mother sent her the gift, a hideous porcelain vase. Identical to the one she sent last month. With the same card. Even the same message. As if it was still Sam’s 31st birthday, as it had been all those years ago.
It was the same every month. Her mother forgot so many things. Why could it not be that she forgot Sam’s address? Or the fact her birthday was on the 5th of the month, not the right month, just the 5th day. Or the fact that once, and only once, Sam had made a throw away comment about liking a vase. Sam was pretty sure she wasn’t even looking at the vase when her mum asked what she thought… “How about this for Harry? Do you think he’d like it? I’m not sure it’s quite right…”
But no, those details would never been forgotten.
After a recommendation from a person I know who has better bikes than mine I recently purchased some Schwalbe Marathon Plus Smartguard Rigid tyres for my bike. It hurt a little bit spending around £25 per tire when I paid it but seeing as the previous tyres I had lasted about 150 miles and I had been using the bus for a couple of weeks before hand I realised I had to do it.
However, on the way to work this morning, I did some quick maths… slowly. Because I don’t do anything quickly when I’m cycling to work. With the bus journeys costing me at least £4.30 per day, having used the bike with the new tyres for two weeks I have already saved £43 in bus fares. Which means as of Tuesday next week I will be making a profit from cycling to work.
That’s how money works, right?
July was supposed to be my first Triathlon effort.
I didn’t do it. I decided my disappointment at doing it badly was going to be bigger than my disappointment at not doing it at all. I wasn’t using the thing as motivation to train, it was just making me feel bad about not training.
Today has been a feeling of empty. Made worse just now by being the only one left in an office waiting for a Windows update to finish.
This is the feeling. We’ve said goodbye to a couple of members of the BeyondPR team this week, and today is the day that hit home. Mostly because it’s the first day without them.
Today has been a feeling of empty. Farewell…
For Father’s Day I know I appreciate anything my kids do for me in a homemade kind of way. So for my Dad I decided to sketch a shed to see if the appreciation runs out with age.
I forgot my plan and sealed the envelope before sketching so I had to put it on the envelope.
In between the differences, a light shone and then, nothing. Silence. Just the knowledge that things would never be the same. He turned, took three steps, and paused. For a moment there was hope. But then it was gone.
Looking at the grey outside this memory feels like more than ten days ago.