I have a tendency to post something then keep adding to it with updates, sorry if that bothers you but keep an eye open, sometimes I realise I've made spelling errors as the spell check refuses to shift from the U.S setting permanently. That's my excuse anyway; reality is punctuation is not first nature to me nor does sounding something out mean it's spelt that way, no matter which way or accent you attempt to say it in. How good was CtM tonight? I fangirled a lot, hence update. Song suggestion Ray Lamontagne empty. No infringement of any sort intended, Call the Midwife, music or otherwise.
Delia was roused by her Mother whipping open the emerald curtains of her room, it was the noise that woke her more than anything, given it was rather gloomy and dark outside. Although that being said those curtains were a Godsend for blocking out unwanted light, which was why they'd been put up in her room upon returning to Wales due to severe headaches during the aftermath of her accident. Mrs Busby forgoed opening the windows given it had done nothing but rain for the last two months causing floods in many of the areas of England and especially anywhere valleys where involved. Luckily the Busbys lived on higher ground.
''I know you need your sleep cariad, but now you're doing better there is no sense wasting your days away locked away in your room you know.'' Mrs Busby spoke in a harsher more pronounced Welsh accent, compared to Delias' softer currently sleepy lilt. As She placed three tablets and a large mug of scalding hot tea down on the dresser 'Just the way she likes it', in which she knew had always been cariads favorite. ''No sense in having too little tea to start the day'' Delia had once said, after purchasing said mug with geometric patterns that clashed terribly with the floral ones her parents owned. Mrs Busby hoped even though her Daughter was ''dissociated'' as the Doctors called it, she could at least appreciate she was trying regardless.
''I know mam but it wouldn't hurt to sleep past nine once in a blue moon, not to mention it's not as if I've anywhere to be, nor could go given the weather... is there?. That is given you won't even let me out of the house without you or Da to accompany me'' she partially croaked, this statement was punctuated by the quiet melodic rainfall till now being thrown against the window by a particularly strong gust of wind.
''Well not with that attitude there's not, Honestly Delia you could help around the house if you like, maybe write to your old friends in London?. And you know you are still poorly, given you were a Nurse I'd have thought you'd have understood mine and your fathers concerns''. With that she was gone no sooner than she'd arrived, closing the door quietly behind her. Mrs Busby had suggested more times than she could count in the last month, that her Daughter write to people she once knew, as if doing so would spark her emotions and she would finally be Delia again. Facing the prospect that her cariad so full of life, cheek and mischief would be a hollowed out shell of memories forever, was not even worth contemplating . And she won't be ''not if I have anything to say about it'' Mrs Busby had stated to her Husband, that was spoke with such conviction he dared not disagree.
Delia sighed rolling onto her left side still in bed, eyes glazing over as she stared at the window pane, she would swear if she didn't know better that it looked as though it were weeping. She didn't know what to do with her days, seems like a horrid thing to think but without her memory, each day was a day to improve to learn new or should she said old things all over again?. But this last month housework seemed a damn sight more pointless than staying in bed. At least when Delia slept she felt something, anything at all would do, even in nightmares she felt a sense of fear and that was okay, because it was something. Whereas in waking hours she remembered everything but felt nothing. knowing she should feel a guilt of sorts that everyone who had ever mattered to her, she couldn't even muster an indifference towards. She knew what feelings were and why you had them of course but actually feeling them was another matter entirely. Going over years upon years of memories and precious moments from childhood, all through medical exams to qualify as a Nurse. ''We've never been prouder of you cariad'' echoed through Delias's brain. To the arguments with her parents upon her insistence of moving south to set up in residence of the Nursing home after being accepted to work at the Royal London Hospital. Not to mention all the friends she had made there, all the patients and their stories they had shared. To Delia or what remained of her, it was as if watching a black and white movie that you knew the words to instinctively, unfortunately it seemed as though the sound, music and even the contrast were currently missing.
'Just like me'
'The worst part is knowing that someone out there loves me, Patsy Mount to be precise.
How do you tell someone who you know you had loved, adored ...even wanted to marry. To spend your entire life gazing up, seeing her face and those beautiful eyes wash over you like the sea was nothing short of breathtaking. How her arms wrapped around you as though they were designed by God to fit just so, a woman who made you feel as though you could weather any storm. When they are beside you, you're so content you always fall asleep feeling safe even in the world we live in. Or even go as far as if had died shortly after my accident knowing as long as Patsy was beside me, I wouldn't be half as afraid.
I know we were real, there is no imagining the laughter or joy I found in her, not now at any rate. But how do I write to Pats who knows me better than I know myself. Problem with her is she has always been far too smart for her own good, she will know from even the smallest change in my endearances' or lack thereof.
That I'm not the Delia Busby she fell in love with.
I believe everyone has a sixth sense of sorts don't they? you can feel when people are slipping away from you before they've even gone. Does she feel it, that I am already gone?
I never write, even though I can... because even if all I feel is as though I am a ghost that doesn't mean I want others to hurt.'