The commute once again, people filling up sears, equidistant apart. None know the other, no one speaks. The wirr of the engine toiling hard to get these people to their destination, rain slashing the windows, the splash of a puddle as we fly by, a cough, crippling silence. The slam of a window, silence stirred, heads turn, for the briefest of moments, glances exchanged...the trip continues.
On the bus the age group is large, years of experience and times gone by separate them from I. They have lived through decades, seen grandkids grow up, sons and daughters leave the nest perhaps. But here they sit, locked in silence, their story known only to a few.
Driver change, small talk about the weather. "It's ad me coughin n sneezin n all the way back". They part with a cheery "do look after her won't you", the bus their mistress, passengers their children.
More people clamber on our journey to the end of the line, I look up, catch an eye, brave a smile, a nod exchanged. I may never see these people again or ever know anything about them other than the bus they choose, thus is the chasmic nature of society at times.
In stark contrast, there'd an old lady who walks her dog near to my house. She has seen me young and full of life, Marling uniform draped over me, she has lent an ear when neither of us had much to discuss. She knows not my name, where I may be from and I know less of her. I have seen her dog's age increase, his pace slow to a crawl. I have seen the effects of age on this woman but still she maintains an ever-cheery nature. Thinking deeper, perhaps I use her in some sense as a sort of substitute for my nana, doing what I wish I could do with mine.
I was working the other day and began thinking about Ann, the woman I have lost. Her smiles, gentle singing on our long journeys down to the coast or to Jodrell Bank, how she always knew what to say and her intense desire to make sure all is well. I thought of how much I owed that lady, how much I should've said, things I should've done. This brought me to tears I have only ever produced on such a scale once before. On that day.
They say you're your own worst critic but forgiving myself is even more difficult than any task encountered before.
The letters, the happy birthdays, christmases. "I'll ring next weekend mum", "I'll ring next week". What a fucking c***. I had never known or experienced anything of the sort. How abrupt it occurs, how powerful the pain grips. Death waits not for late goodbyes. It waits for no man nor woman and cares not for feelings. It doesn't inform you of it's schedule or send you a text, or make a call.
My dad made that call however, to my mum he explained. To shield me.
The sentence she uttered to me that day took what felt like years to reach the end of. I have never fell from a great height before but thats the only thing I can compare it to. Felt as if all had just collapsed, crashing down around me. Nothing but silence, my thoughts the loudest thing in the room.
The entrance to the church. Picture of her. Elegantly dressed. Smiling as she always was, eyes looking straight into me. THIS was the first time I'd seen her in years. It's a cliche, but you have no fucking idea what you've got til it's gone.
A wooden box carried past, inside the woman who taught me so much, to believe, to care, to stay strong, to think, drove me to draw, create, took me away to holiday destinations. In there now she lay.
I can't even build the confidence to speak to my dad and grandad. I deserve nothing from them. What does one say? How do you frame it in a way that can be uttered without tearing hearts?
I just hope all appreciate everything you have, thing's can always be worse........
