At first I was slow to move, hoping to go un- noticed, disentangling myself from the small but sombre huddle of dark brooding figures. But now, through the chilled cold air and across thickly frosted grass I hurry away.
A solitary but familiar voice behind me, low with concern, rises on the breeze attempting to arrest my departure but, with an outstretched grasping hand its owner fails to catch me and I am gone. The voice trails off as the distance stretches between us. I hadn't wanted to be there, I never did. He'd led me unwilling albeit with well meant intention. An informal gathering, a memorial to mark six months. I didn't even go to the funeral so why did he coerce me into this? It's still too soon and I don't need reminding, it's with me everyday. My heart still cries at the loss of him. It would do me good, he had said in the usual fatherly manner that he has taken to using with me of late, though his patience is visibly wearing thin. Do me good? How?
The pain, dark and cold like the leaden skies above me now, lies deep and I keep it there where it is safe, hidden from view hidden from me. That's how I deal with it, how I've always dealt with this kind of thing. Not like you; your emotions were always out there for everyone to see. Not any more…..
Yet this past week there has been the faintest and briefest start of unwanted stirrings from within me pushing through the overwhelming numbness that has inhabited me for so long now that I have forgotten what it's like to feel any more.
It scares me, I can admit that to no one but myself. I am afraid of the slow unfamiliar yet definite thawing, afraid of its meaning and afraid of how it will end. And when it does, what then? Does it mean I am accepting that you have gone, that my life can start to rebuild itself, that I can begin to forget you, watch the memory of you fade into the background of my life a little further with each passing year? That's what I'm scared of. I don't want that. I don't want to forget you, for you to leave my life, for me to let you go. I'm not ready for that, I don't know when I will be. At the moment I still want you here and now, in the present.
Damn you, Cowley, for pushing me too soon, for as I weave swiftly through the headstones you've forced uninvited thoughts that cause a catch in my throat and a sudden blurring of vision.
My simmering anger at the re- appearance of my melting acceptance, even momentarily, drives me out of the churchyard and onto the street beyond. Breathing in huge breaths serves to bring about the welcome return of control and pushes my grief back where I want it, back where I don't have to deal with it. The deep ache is a strange comfort as I gather my misery around me but, calm again, it is easy to bear for it keeps you safely with me, in my memory and in my life that little bit longer and today, for now, it's all I want.