I was there, where I was left, in the cold. Though I felt warm. So while the drifting icy blast of snow surrounded me my thought were not of warm fires or the desire for a warm coat but of how the crystals from the looming clouds about could gleam so brightly in the darkened air with so little light. Gently resting on the blanket already places bellow, not me but the snow. I was warm at heart but shivering on my skin but when the feather weighted ice floated to my skin, where I felt nothing from numbness, it turned wet, moist and the light vanished to leave my snow melting skin all damp. If anything needed a coat it was the snow for it was clearly shown to be colder than me yet not shivering.
2 days since I was left, not by an abandoning mother but by my husband. I still had a house for that he had not taken. He was not harsh or mean to me when we were together, nor rude or violent. Now that I think nor was I. I did not understand and that is why I did not return to my house. That house was dull and colder than the snow. My change from the taxi was scattered across the ground and sunken in the soft blanket that I trudged through. Scrambling up those belonging, of which I had upon me when I was left, I used to able along. No scary ally way or any drunken man before me, to stop me or prevent me moving forward. A stale loaf from yesterday I picked to feed the lonely ducks that wandered the water for their mate. And those ducks that came with friends got only those remaining bits from the ones without. Nobody was about for it was cold and midnight. Warm light from fellow, neighbouring houses billowed and seeped from the curtains. Not all those lights shined for children would be tucked up and told to hush. My children would be in bed, not Jonathan because he was not a sleeper and writing is his passion, he would be at his computer under sheets to hide the light and would type away his nightmare and empty his heart onto the keys so others could envelope his passions and words. I often would pry his laptop of his clenched hands when he fell asleep mid sentence and read his enticing stories that drew my breath from every inch of my lungs.
Anna would be as peaceful as the grave in our garden of the little hamster she used to love. Her golden hair would be spread across her sighing pillow and her sparkling brown eyes, tucked away under her eyelids. Young Anna, yet young from a mothers view but to her an adult for she, an eighteen year old, embarks on a path of leaving her home. Still to wait for Jonathan, my boy, he will not leave till his story is finished though not long now for it is coming to its last chapter much like poppy, my dog. The dog that lived through every memory of importance including the birth of both children.
This cold snow, like the heart of many I know. There is still so much for me to still go on. My job is in its next stages to move forward. Like a lion, I pounce on opportunity but unlike a lion I do not eat it but consume it. Great actors have signed the papers and in less than two months the show of twelfth night is to be performed. My days of directing and performing are not over and my boss is unlikely to fire me for I have made his fortune. This incandescent disaster will not destroy my hopes and ambitions and can’t destroy my family like it has done to my relationship. It shall not beat me and nor shall I let it beat others. Tonight I shall go home to show my children it can’t change me and what happened. Tonight I shall tell my beautiful children the truth of why I was out here in the cold to discover my thoughts. I will say to them “there is a chance of treatment and it won’t destroy anything” and say to them the exact words before anything else that “I have cancer”.
Then silence from both and a big hug.
