...and so the bird flew from the cage.......

Grief is astonishing to me. At least in this instance it is. After spending so much time ‘praying’ and yearning for a ‘happy’ release, I am enveloped by an oppressive and claustrophobic sadness.

Her spirit, the person she was had long flown away. My sister longed for this spirit to be migratory and hungered for the first days of summer. Upon my previous visit, she sat perched in the chair. That hospitalic, metallic and medicinal stench. Every time I smell Laphroaig, I fill up inside. Trying to get her to eat was a military operation, talking and chatting had become torturous. She cooed with giggles at something entertaining. She was in her own little world. Population: ONE. We didn’t see the funny side.

Coconut cakes, fairy buns, Christmas puddings, Oxford Lunches, over-sweetened tea, a smile and tale from a previous generation. A personal sugary banquet for ‘her boy’.

Now, certain songs haunt me and render me catatonic:

Space Captain; Herbie Hancock’s version sung by the stunning Susan Tedeschi with such passion, soul and depth. The image of the ‘alien’ discovering Earth and deciding to stay here while Derek Truck’s incendiary guitar tone takes us out of this world.

Adele- One and Only- Because she was mine and I was hers- enough said.

Ryan Star- Losing Your Memory- Asides from the significance of the title, it was the song I screamed at the top of my lungs when I drove out to pick up my ninety year old uncle. It was the same day my hero told me I was his.

She had passed at this stage. The Queen’s horse was running. I couldn’t tell him. I was under orders not to ‘startle the horses’. We sat and watched the race. I fanned myself down with the form guide. Tears welling up inside me like a pressure cooker. The drive was an eternity.

Lavender – actually cheap lavender room spray. Écœurant fixatives against the heady, trippy aroma. My face scalded by the tears in this claustrophobic cell of a room filled with family and condolence bidders.

The sound of a last breath etched in my mind like the sound of a stylus scratching the surface of the record. The final gasp, one last fight, the number 215 haunts my final memories. Grief. Astonishing.