The Last Kiss
Since Nan died the black dog circles, the scent of grief in its nostrils, waiting, sensing my vulnerability.
Regret sits heavily on my shoulders, for words said and not said, for journeys not taken, for wasted opportunities, for unsaid goodbyes.
Denial prods me unexpectedly, the reality hard to accept, where is she?
Self pity nags at me, an indulgence not to be tolerated, but it creeps in.
Remorse visits me; could I have done more to ease her mental pain?
Loneliness engulfs me in the quiet times, the darker hours; activity and light loosen its hold.
Anger irks me; it arrives sporadically without real reason.
These emotions, relentless, unyielding, almost my constant companions, take turns to envelop me in a dark mantle called grief, which must be worn, sometimes pushed aside, but never removed, a reminder of the debt which is owed, and paid out of love, with copious tears, but hard to bear.
Life is not the same since Nan died, but she is embedded in my mind, where I go she goes, etched deeply is the memory of our last kiss as she lay still and cold.
This was written just after the death of my wife of 55 years.