10th June 1986- When your Birthday
stood alone, it waited of late, like some sum started long ago that would
soon be completed. 10th June 1986 - 27th March 2001. And
now the sum is finished. It adds up. Your last day has come and
gone. The dates look tidy on the page... just as the hall looks tidy
when I open my front door. Tidy, but not so homely.
The last biscuit crumb has been swept from the carpet, the last toy hidden
out of sight. In the kitchen, Terry Wogan has escaped from his
hiding place inside the radio. He finishes the sentence started years
ago. The words and music break the unearthly silence, but make no
impression on my thoughts. A bright rectangle of fresh carpet in one
corner of the room, reminds me where your bowls always stood on an old plastic
mat. Under a counter there's an oval shape impressed into the carpet, where
your basket always sat. I try not to look.
On wash-days, soft black fur-balls still stick to wet white washing. I
am loathe to pick them off. I gaze at sofa covers, hoping to find them
rumpled, but they remain unmoved. No cushion has been pawed into a
comfy place to rest a head. And when I sit, my lap is empty... my hands are
still.
Your collar and lead now rest on top of your pedigree form in a desk drawer.
The drawer stays shut. As I walk alone along roads we used to
walk together, I wonder... 'What shall I do with my hands?' And if
I pass a stranger now, I ask myself... 'What shall I do with my eyes?'
So we avoid each others eyes. No words, no smiles. I'd forgotten
that.
When I turn the key in my front door, my heart reminds me that you won't
be there to greet me, but my eyes look down to where you'd be,
regardless.... My brain sees what it wants to see first, an empty space second.
The past tense struggles, but stays rejected by my mind. So what
else can I say except....
With Love.
