Bittersweet Daybreak

Bittersweet Daybreak

The honeyed melody on the soft morning air broke through the heavy cloak of sleep that enveloped her mind. Falling and rising in pitch and speed, it created a pleasant, tingling sensation that started in the head and dripped down through the body, like a shiver on a cold autumn day. She knew it for what it was, but rather than grope for the name of the song’s creator she chose simply to accept its pure performance, as a thing set free from the shackles of name or image, a concert to be enjoyed without the distraction of thought impeding upon it. Gradually, a warble now joined the chorus, overlapping with the original melody, more robotic in its nature, yet radiating just with as much sweet nostalgia as it trickled down into the ear. These two danced about each other – now rising, now falling, but soon dropping into a step best suited to the hearing of both. 

Slowly, Maggie became aware of the silky feather pillow resting beneath her cheek. Her body was frozen in place by a sort of placid paralysis she wished never to break free of, for she existed in the most perfect comfort and serenity, eyes drawn firmly shut, nestled among her warm blankets. The low rhythmic cooing of a dove now stepped in upon the other bird song as a percussionist offers to lay down a beat for their fellow musicians. The dawn reprise was building up to its emotive crescendo. It must be nearly time to get up… 

Dislodging gradually from her torpor she stretched out her hand, eyes still closed. Reaching . . . for something that once was there, but whose warmth no longer came up to meet her touch. Fluttering her eyelids open, the empty space next to her crashed upon her heart in a wave. Grief felt real in a way nothing else really does.    

After getting dressed slowly, she pulled on a warm knitted jumper and went through to the cottage kitchen. Rupert padded along behind her, paws tapping on the cold wooden floorboards, loyal as ever. She looked down at him and smiled sadly. His muzzle was streaked heavily with silver now, and she knew he was unlikely to see through another cold winter. She still saw the love expressed clearly in the terrier’s foggy brown eyes; he trusted her to decide when it was time for his final visit to the vets. She had been putting it off recently, unwilling to part with her final life companion. Moving to the counter she filled and switched on the kettle. Listening to it rumble peacefully on the countertop, she breathed in the aroma of the tea bag which rested in her Newquay beach porcelain mug. The other nurses had given it to her on the occasion of her retirement and it always made her smile.

When she had been young, life had been a such a rush, a constant striving to reach her next goal, the next plateau of some large metaphorical mountain. Education… career… marriage… kids… each celebrated as an inevitable achievement a person must first attain before they could truly start to live. She poured the hot water into the mug, watching steam curl up in elegant, swirling whisps which delighted the soul. If all those days had been climbing the mountain, she considered, then now she must surely be reaching its base once more. She felt a touch of sadness at the thought.

Maggie tugged on her shaggy coat and soft brown leather boots and strode out to meet the fresh morning air, cradling the warm mug in her thin fingertips. Rupert plodded out after her, nose close to the ground, off to complete his regular morning patrol of the garden’s perimeter. She watched him go. He was still happy enough, she decided. No need to take him to the vets just yet… 

She strolled over to her flower bed. The Japanese Anemones her daughter had helped her to plant this spring were slowly coming to the end of their season. Their marshmallow pink petals were starting to shrivel and fall to the ground below. But it was nothing to mourn, she pondered. Fresh flowers would grow again next year just as bright and radiant. In fact, by then there would be a new pair of eyes to marvel at their splendour – her first grandchild was due in April. She grinned and thought of the life that child would live, the joys and pains, triumphs, sorrows, and loves. Even without their meeting, she knew that she loved them with her whole heart and wished them all the pleasure that life had to offer. She also hoped that they would one day come to enjoy her flowerbed as she did now. Delighting in the many shapes and colours that appeared throughout the seasons and the bees and butterflies that glided merrily about them, seeking out their sweet nectar drink. 

She looked up, thinking she had heard the phone ringing inside, but it was just a starling. Perched upon her slate roof, his iridescent feathers glinted in the morning sun as he gurgled to the sky, no doubt seeking out the companionship of his flock.

Walking along the garden edge Maggie made her way to the aged, carven oak bench, that sat beneath the even older chestnut tree. She pondered on all the people that must have sat beneath these magnificent old branches. Thick and withered, now deeply furrowed, they twisted above her head as she gazed out across the rolling hills and into the horizon beyond. So many lives must have played out in its brilliant, dappled shade, she thought. Perhaps somebodies first kiss. Maybe even a proposal. She herself had sat here many times with her husband Frank, who had crafted the solid oak piece of furniture specially for her. She ran her fingers across the varnished surface of the seat, admiring his intricate handiwork. He was very talented at woodwork. He could have made a living of it if he had chosen to, but he had decided instead to follow his father into the police force. A decision that had never really sat well with her, but which seemed to satisfy him well enough. She missed him keenly. Last summer, they had sat here and talked till the sun dropped down below the hills. He had wrapped her in his coat, and they had watched as the first stars appeared in the blanket blue night sky. She wished she could remember what they had spoken about that night. It had all felt so perfect. But perhaps it was better this way. After all, if she could recall his voice and words in perfect clarity, it would surely be too painful to endure. The dulling of memory is perhaps of gift of time, allowing one to move through pain and not mire in it.   

She sat for a long while, lost in her thoughts until the clouds that had clocked the distant hills were now high in the sky and the sun was almost at its peak. There was an agreeable and unseasonable warmth to the air; it brushed across her face as she shut her eyes to take a deep breath. A heat on her lap soon broke her revery and she looked down to see that Rupert resting his shaggy head on her legs. ‘Come on you’ she said to him ‘let’s go back inside and get some food’.

Having made their way back into the bright and cheery blue kitchen she poured out some kibble into his bowl, soaking it in water first so that it was easier on his old gums. She stood and watched him eat, taking pleasure in the sating of his appetite even as she had none of her own. The moment was precious to her, she thought, but would surely be lost in time and memory along with all the other moments of her long, precious life. This reminded her of something… A five-year-old girl, laying on her back on her mother’s bed. In the living room, so as to save the only bedroom for the three children. The girl was hanging over the edge of the bed, looking at the world upside-down. She was pondering on the moment itself and wondering what the point of it was. Surely this view of the upside-down room would be lost in a lifetime of experiences and forgotten to time forever? Maggie smiled. If she could still remember that then maybe she could also remember the waggy tail of Rupert as he finished off his meal. 

She hadn’t told anyone about her diagnosis. The thought of death didn’t trouble her as much as she once thought it would. In fact, she thought, it was very much for the best. After all, a lifespan extending into eternity would surely exhaust all beauty and wonder?

She used to think that if she ever ended up alone like this, she would go travelling again. So as to lose herself in the world once more and open a new chapter of possibilities. But she now knew this wasn’t what she wanted. She took great joy in the comforts of her little home and could wish for nothing more. Besides which, she was soon to embark on the most exciting adventure of all. Who knew what waited for her beyond the doors of life itself. Perhaps even Frank? The thought filled her with both trepidation and excitement. The best things in life always did! As she heated some tomato soup over the old gas cooker she looked up at the clock and smiled. Julie would be arriving soon for lunch. Things were good. Whether she went on like this for a few more weeks or a few more years, it hardly mattered at all to her. How incredibly lucky she felt to have lived such a life as this one.