I keep thinking how good it would feel to be alone.
To have the house to myself.
.
But now I am and I do and it’s so quiet.
.
.
I realise I don’t have anyone to tell about the trivia.
.
A mouse the cat bought in.
The dates for parents’ evening.
More temporary traffic lights on the Whistable Road.
.
Another trip to the post office to pay for underpaid postage on envelopes adorned with a now-dead monarch.
.
You can tell me
a friend says.
.
But it’s not your cat too
I tell her.
Don’t you see?
.
What I mean
I say
is that you and I are not in this together.
.
We go for dinner with family.
We go to the beach with friends.
We go for a bike ride with the whole town.
.
I see you in new strands the kids weave into their friendships
as I watch them swim in the sea
devise shows
find solace from solitude in silliness
comfort in companionship.
.
But I am lost in the crowd.
Exiled.
.
Romeo
banished to Mantua.
.
Andy Dufresne
wrongly imprisoned.
.
Pi
adrift with a Tiger.
.
The Titanic
long since abandoned.
A black mile to the surface.
.
Alone within my own life.
.
All I want
is the sensation of your slender fingers slid between mine.
To hold feet with you in bed at night.
To roll over as I rouse
reach out for you
and hear you say
Good morning gorgeous.
.
The space betwixt us the size of a single heartbeat.
.
I don’t want to feel better.
I want the simple companionship of a life shared.
One trivial detail at a time.
.
The worst thing about losing you is that you’re the one I want to discuss it all with.
.
I send you these scribbles
but they are the unanswered letters of a man forgotten.
Postage under-paid.
.
I’ve stepped out onto the stage
But you haven’t made your entrance.
The one we rehearsed.
.
You’ve missed your cue.
Not waiting in the wings
or anywhere in the building.
.
The tannoy calls out
Mrs Perrin to stage please.
But your costume hangs untouched.
.
There is no understudy.
.
And so I’m standing alone up here
lines left unsaid
swallowed by silence.
Previous > On Coping #42: Dear Pilgrims Hospice | Next > On Coping #44: These useless words
On Coping is my story of surviving on the sidelines of cancer.
It begins in March 2022 with On Coping #1, written the day after my 41st birthday. The day my wife Imogen, the mother of my three children, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
On Coping is the story of what happened next.
Wow, this is great heartfelt writing. As an advanced-stage colorectal cancer survivor, I found you by searching Substack for colon cancer. I clicked to subscribe, and I look forward to reading your future articles. If you have time, I hope you will check out my fledgling Substack newsletter that chronicles my colorectal cancer experience. Best regards.