This Long Slow Shadow

22nd December 2012

I can’t get into my day - very late morning I clear a space on the mess of the kitchen table, open recipe books, to-do lists which are not done, a tray of cooling almonds, a spent incense stick holder. My husband brings in the post. Lots of Christmas cards and letters. We open them while eating our lunch  -  poached eggs on toast. My husband doesn’t recognise any of the signatures in the cards. Except the beautiful hand designed one from his niece and nephew. I explain who all our dear family and friends are and then mostly he remembers. Some are from his ex-clients and I don’t know who they are either.

Also in the post are some long forms from the DVLA about re-applying for his driving licence. One of the questions is -

Do you have serious memory problems or confusion?

I want to know how serious is serious. Not serious enough to impair his ability to drive.

But serious enough to alter his life forever. And mine. I suggest we get some advice form his consultant before filling in the answer.

After a while I clear away the plates and just for a moment I stand still and look out at the dripping garden with a tight knot in my stomach. I want to smash my fist through the glass door. I want to see blood. I want to feel shards ripping my skin. Hard evidence of pain.

Anything would be better than this long slow shadow stalking me from behind - stealing my normality inch by inch ....