When Love Lasts

The contented silence was broken only with the sound of the soft waves lapping against the aged dock. The world illuminated by the rapidly descending sun behind the distant horizon.

“You alright there, lovely? Oh, your blanket has fallen again.” with unsteady hands my mother tugged at the wool blanket which stubbornly refused to budge under the weight of the wheelchair. Grunting as she bent down she pushed the wheel, thus freeing the offending object.

“Here you are, your tea. Hold it with both hands now, can't have you burning yourself.” 

Despite her elderly appearance my mother still excluded a youthful aura. An aura which somehow worked harmoniously with her motherly tendencies, so that all who came in contact with her feel like she is both like one's best friend willing to partake in all sorts of mischief for a good laugh, yet simultaneously regains that air of one's grandmother who would “Never approve of such shenanigans.”

Musing over this paradox I turned my attention from the book I was trying to read (It was called something or other by what-his-name about who knows what.) to the dock my mother just marched over to. She always seemed to have the same determined march when she is bringing people food or drinks, the British hostess in her that will not let anyone leave until they are positively bursting with some assortment of treats not to mention drinks (I have mentioned to her on multiple occasions about her aggressive promotion of tea.). Anyway, I guess it never did her any harm, or Dad. 

Dad.

 I unintentionally shifted in my seat as my gaze slid to the silhouette next to my Mum on the dock. Shoving another Jaffa cake into my mouth which became harder to swallow than the previous as I tried to focus back on my book and ignore the growing tightness in my throat.

“No Arthur, it's not the nurse. It's Daisy, your wife.” Mum's voice drifted back the garden path to the spot I was sitting. “ Steady, you're spilling your tea” She scooted her chair closer as she learned to steady the cup. The pain on her face is always well concealed, it is usually supposed that when you get older your eyes do look more teary. Not mum, her eyes aren't usually watery. “ No, no it's ok love, the nurse was here earlier.” I strained my ears to try and hear Dads reply but speaking so low it was impossible to make anything out but low sounds. Mum looked over at me, I raised my mug giving her a quick smile,” No darling, that is Alice, she has come to stay with us remember. Yes she arrived on Tuesday. Theo and the kids are still in Brighton.”

Dad managed to move enough to look back at me. Although they must have been nearly thirty feet away, I could still see every detail on his face that was glowing in the evening light. I swallowed down the lump in my throat as I waved back at him. In what felt like slow motion he grinned back at me as he attempted a wave which ended up looking more like a hand tremor. 

“ Arthur” Mum laid a hand on his leg causing him to turn back to her. 

“Yes, Daisy?” 

I still remember my Dad before the illness started, never a man to stay still. Always working even when he didn't have to. Always working for Mum. He was the embodiment of the phrase built like a brick house. And if he was built like a brick house then you can bet he certainly sounded like a Geordie fog horn. He had a laugh that could knock over the not so robust specimens of the human race (I can testify to that fact personally.) Now as I see him try to pat his wife's hand on his lap I see what looks like a man who would have been crushed by the mere presence of his former self. Time is cruel.

I picked up the book that I had absent-mindedly placed by my now empty cup and went into the kitchen. Standing by the open window the setting sun blinded me as I placed down the cup into the sink. After picking up a bottle of tipped over pills, I glanced at the kitchen clock (an abominable 70s monstrosity), before moving to open the screen door when I caught myself. Mum’s head was in her hands as Dad was stroking her hair. As I was just about to interject she sat up.

“Yes, Daisy?” As I hear the gentle question asked again. Only now realizing that Mum had not answered him. Her vacant gaze mindlessly pointed at the repetitive sloshing of the gentle waves on the opposite shore of the small lake. She was unnaturally still, with the only movement being her wisps of hair floating in the gentle breeze, caressing the side of her face. Her tear stained face. 

“ I am going away Arthur, do you remember we talked about that? On account of me being sick.” She said, the tightness in her voice evident.

“ No, Daisy.” 

“ That's why Alice is here Arthur, so you won't be lonely. Then after a little while you will go visit them in Brighton, you like it there don't yo-”

“ I like you, Daisy.”

“ I-I like you too Arthur.” 

With that the floodgates were opened. Mum sobbed for a few minutes while Dad stared at her, the childlike confusion evident on his face, yet he was silent. Just watching her. The guilt I felt spying on them from the window was palpable. Even though they’re my parents it was like I was trespassing in this home, this scene, this life.  

“When will you come back to me Daisy?” 

The slosh-slosh-sloshing of the waves became louder as the question lingered in the air. The air so still I heard the tears that were running down  my face.

“ I thi- I think, Arthur, it will be the case that you come to join me.” She replied, “ Then we can have a good long chat about all the things we have been meaning to catch up on.”

“ I will like that, Daisy. I want to see you again.” 

With a sudden surge of strength I saw my father bring his hand to her face and determinedly press his lips against my mothers. In that moment I didn't see the frail elderly couple who so may have cast pitiful glances at as they rode the bus. I don't see the seemingly absent shell of my father who my mother cared for throughout her own illness that wreaked havoc with her own body. At that moment I saw the young hopeful couple who, as they had so long ago, sealed their love, not for the first, but the final time.