OUR FINAL GOODBYES were said a long while ago, though, seemingly they were said today. For everyone else, today was their last chance to say a fond farewell, to share a memory or an anecdote, to whisper a final word. Today was their turn for tears. Their turn to express their loss. Their turn to grieve. We stood together at the church to sing the hymns and to listen to the music you chose all those months ago when you were still able to do so. I felt so alone.
Our first ‘goodbye’ was 11 years, three months, one week and five days ago. The day we learned that life was no longer going to plan. The day when our hopes for the future were dashed. The day our lives were turned upside down, never to be righted again.
I remember walking hand in hand down the long hospital corridor oblivious of everything going on around us. It was like being in slow motion. Like being in a tunnel that cut us off from the rest of the world. We saw nothing. Heard nothing. We walked in a parallel universe holding tightly to each other’s hands, numb to all thoughts and feelings. That corridor went on and on until we reached the revolving doors that spun us out into the waiting world where everything was happening as normal.
Cars drove past, ambulances rushed by screaming and flashing blue lights. People walked by talking, laughing, shouting into mobile phones. We stood and wondered how everyone and everything had stayed the same while our world had just been shattered.
“Sorry love,” you whispered as you squeezed my hand. A tear trickled down your face as you leaned and wiped away tears that I didn’t know I was shedding.
“Let’s go home,” you said, as we headed to the car park. You handed me the keys, “I’m tired,” you said, “you drive.”
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