It is difficult to know what to write, on occasions such as this. When you are avoiding the inevitable, pending, truth. Death is not an easy concept for anyone to come to terms with, nor is it a likely outcome that I can ever accept.
I worry about this darkness, this empty and bleak space where someone I once knew, laughed, existed, breathed the same air and stood in the same shadows. I want to telephone them – clinging, as if there is a small chance they will still pick up. I remember the telephone number as if it were yesterday, and if I had not all my senses, for a moment I might feel as though it still were.
Still, in this instance, everything is still as it was. Despite the outward appearance, the nervous glances and the truthful comments, I remain hopeful that things will revert back to how they were before, not perfect – no never that, but constant, and relatively happy.
Such strong will and determination, I’ve seen the mightiest fall, and nearly so. I’ve seen the strongest and kindest lose their battles and resign to their fate…but not this time, it is not the right time.
If I could take away all the pain and put you back as you felt not so long ago – 18? 25? not 86, I would. I’d sell my fortune, however little it may be to put everything right. Still young at heart, perfect in mind but trapped in a body that should not be yours.