They are in New Zealand to recreate their wedding day from
30 years ago, but already it’s too late. His cancer has returned with the
strength of a thousand men and his body is weak and frail with yellow.
~
The images are now on my computer, and from my kitchen I
watch them walk their last walk together, as I create his funeral DVD. Their
love was strong, obvious, deeply felt, ever-lasting.
~
So now she sits before me in a restaurant, eyes lowered. She
cannot look into anyone’s eyes, not even her own. The hurt is so raw, her grief so huge, it will
need a decade of nights to smooth over.
She’s bought flowers for me, roses. My thank you for filming
and recording the funeral. For archiving forever, the way she held her head
back, staring at the chapel ceiling. Trying not to film too closely, the way
she knelt in front of her Nana; the way she placed her head on the old woman’s
lap, and allowed her hair to be stroked.
Roses of every colour, to say thank you and celebrate the
worst day of her life, the hardest goodbye. Reluctantly, gratefully, I take
them from her shaking hands, and gently hug her frailty.
There is no smile, only the haunted look of a woman in love
with a husband who will never age.
~
~
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