I was woken up by birds. They have been singing for a while, I believe, when the day has been falling asleep. I was sleeping for too long. My afternoon nap had to turn into longer, deep sleep, making me awake in the middle of twilight; in this moment when the day is no longer here but the night hasn’t arrived yet; in this scary time when it is not dark enough to make you absorbed by blackness around you but not light enough to make you feel secure. It’s this scary time when you see the world around you in shades of grey… I have never counted if there are fifty of them…
The melody of the birds song comforts me. I can’t recognise which species is singing but their anthem to the end of the day, or the beginning of the night, is the best confirmation that spring has been coming, despite the fact that evenings still are cold. I shudder but a blanket seems to be too heavy to wrap myself up. My arms are too heavy, hands too clumsy, I have this awkward feeling that my all body is twice or three times bigger than it should be.
Spring has been coming for much too long. It should have been here already, with its daffodils in blossom in every corner, juicy green lawns in my neighbours’ gardens and the sun shining strongly, making us blind. But days still are gloomy, flower buds are closed, grass is yellowish after winter, showing proudly my neighbours’ cats poos. Spring has been coming but hasn’t arrived here yet.
Death has been coming too. Slowly. For the last 6 weeks. For way too long. It should have been here already, with its coldness spreading through all of the body, making the colour of the skin something between yellow and blue. It should have arrived but it hasn’t done this yet.
It has been playing with her, giving her enough time to keep forgetting where she has been for the last 6 weeks, why she has been there and what this tumour on her neck is.
How cruel death can be, making her forget over and over again that she is dying?
I have been visiting her every day from the time when she was admitted to the hospice and now I hardly believe that 6 weeks ago I didn’t know her.
Do not expect a fairy tale story now. Remember, death has been playing with us, giving us no hope. It’s not a story with a happy end. I’m not going to change facts just to keep us away from bad and upsetting stories. It is a matter of death.
When I close my eyes I see a deep colour of the turquoise wool given to her with a knitting set to keep her occupied. She was working on a waistcoat but didn’t finish it before she felt too poorly to hold the needles. She was trying the undone parts of the garments on her skinny, consumed by cancer body, saying: “Don’t you think it will make me look fat when it’s finished?”
Death has been coming slowly. But it will come. So spring will. But now I shudder. My blanket seems to be too heavy to wrap myself up. My arms are too heavy, hands too clumsy, I have this awkward feeling that my all body is twice or three times bigger than it should be. Why I’m so tired when I was sleeping for so long? I’m absorbed by turquoise behind my closed eye lids, waiting for her death, scared that it will finally come.
