“How should we like it were stars to burn
With a passion for us we could not return?
If equal affection cannot be,
Let the more loving one be me.”
― W.H. Auden
I'm losing her.
Every day she's more distant. Every day she's further away. Slipping away, slipping out of my grasp. I clutch her hand, as though by holding her I can somehow keep her here. I can't, though. I never could.
It's hurting me more than I can bear to let on. The weight of responsibility presses down on my shoulders. She's my whole world. I'd be lost without her. I'm nothing without her.
"Love you, Mum." I whisper, my hand grazing her face. As I gaze down upon her sleeping face, for a second I'm 13 again. For a second the tubes are gone, the lines on her face have disappeared, her white hair has turned brown. For a second, just a second, I know her again. And then she's gone.
Aunt Emily tries her best, of course. But it's not the same. Of course it's not. She could never be my mum, and she knows it. We both know it.
I spend my days sitting at her bedside, talking quietly for hours on end. It's the least I can do for this woman, this wonderful, beautiful woman, who has done so much for me. Who has filled up the hole that was torn in my heart when dad died.
I shudder, and for a moment I'm back there. But I can't allow myself to think about that. I'll allow myself three seconds, three seconds of weakness, and then I'll move on with my life.
I press a hand to my forehead.
One.
The sound of breaking glass. The screech of tyres.
Two.
A terrible scream. Then an even more terrible silence.
Three.
I open my dark eyes, and I force these memories to the back of my mind.
***
The train is packed. I'm forced to stand. I sway slightly as the train begins to move, holding tightly to the pole.
"Here," comes a voice from my left. I turn my head slightly.
A young man is offering me his seat. I hesitate, then take it.
"Thank you." I tell him, hesitantly. He grins.
"Adam," he says, holding out a hand. I take it, nervously, hoping my palm isn't too sweaty.
"Hope." I reply. His eyes are grey blue, his hair a very dark brown. He smiles at me. I smile back. It feels good to smile for once.
***
"I'm back," I call, closing the front door behind me. Aunt Emily rushes in, smiling wearily.
"Dinner's on the stove, hun. I'll take your coat. Go and wash before we eat."
I shrug my coat off, and hand it to her. She hooks it onto the coat rail, and heads towards the kitchen. I’m about to head upstairs to wash, but I hesitate.
“Emily?” I call.
“Yes, hun?” she asks, stopping and turning to face me.
“I do appreciate it, you know. Everything. Everything you've done for me."
"I know, hun." She tells me, with a weary smile. And she leaves the room.
The water splashes against my face, the cold numbing my skin, just as I have learnt to numb my emotions.
