A voice message. I hear the sadness, pain and anguish among the words, the breath, the hesitation and fluctuating voice. It is clear. My heart aches to hear it. There is no way to be there, to wrap arms around, to comfort.
A telephone conversation. I hear the deep breath before confession. I hear what I already thought was so. Apologies are unnecessary. I am grateful for the respect this honesty shows. Thank you for the courage you found to speak. I am relieved to find the story I built around lies can be re-constructed with truths.
A text. I see the angry confusion that comes from frustration; witness the retreat. I recognise the reaction, the wounded withdrawal to safety. This is not my family. It is not for me to intervene. My white charger is out to pasture, but I am here if needed.
Quick from Café Grancy to the old dance Full moon and stars aligned the day we met! Conversation became sweet, full-flown romance Nights and days in hotels we shan’t forget ~ Ravenna, London, Sidmouth, Valetta We sought each other out in all weather Whether sun, or snow. Rain? All the better! We talked, made love, dreamt and woke together ~ In this wild whirl, how would we imagine What might weaken our constancy of thought; That coronavirus would intervene, When Switzerland loosened; UK still taut? ~ Slowly, whilst tens of thousands died, We lost the trust on which our love survived. ~
n.b. “So what?” I hear you sigh, “get over yourselves!” Fair comment.