My worry about the passage of time, is that Andrew’s vivid lifeness will fade.
To some extent it already has.
The first few days and weeks after he died, I kept being jolted up like a puppet whose strings had been suddenly pulled, by the conflicting images of Andrew dead and Andrew alive.
Both fresh and vivid in my mind’s eyes. But how could they both be true?
I could definitely still see him sitting at the table drinking tea and eating cake before rushing off to catch a train back to the city. I could hear his voice, his laughter, I could smell his clean hair, I could see the small puddles in the bathroom after he’d had a shower. I could see him waiting for me at the train station at the bottom of Main street. I could see both our smiles when I pulled up and he got in.
Those images, sounds and smells were real. But so were those of Andrew lying lifeless at the hospital, and a few
days later, in a coffin!
I test my ability to recall the sound of his voice, to smell his smell, to see beyond the tidiness of his room and see his clothes draping his chair and floor; to see him! I test myself regularly, the vividness is no longer there.
I cannot bear any more loss.
Who is it up to ? Is it up to me? Do I have to develop some special skill to keep everything breathing and living? Or am trying to hold on to water?
It cannot be that so much love and longing is ignored.
Andrew, I know you can hear me, I know you can see me. Please find a way to let me hold you in my arms.
I love you Baby, I love you, we all love you