At the edge of the world

I have sat here for quite some time, my finger hovering, thinking what to write. Words seem inadequate and I wish a piano would appear alongside an ability to play it. Only music could articulate this feeling and perhaps soothe my anxieties.

Susan and Mike have just left and I miss them already. Their strength, love and reassurance were tangible and now I feel so alone sitting here in the hospital restaurant. It has the feel of a motorway service station.

Stainless steel

Faux marble
Clattering racket
Flying saucers
Stench of chips

But the faces are different to a service station. There is none of the buoyant optimism born of transit, just uncertainty as to the destination. Some of the faces around me are etched with worry and helplessness and I wonder if mine is too. I certainly feel helpless and unprepared, but now is not the time for weakness. I must be stoic, practical and realistic. If only it were as simple as throwing a map and some water into a bag and setting off.

I sit gazing at mum as she drifts in and out of sleep. My hand has found hers and I hold it lightly, reassured by her pulse. Her breathing is laboured but steady thanks to the oxygen. Every few minutes her eyes open and she squeezes; my tears tumble as I whisper ‘I love you’ over and over until she drifts back to sleep. We are one again and this little corner is our womb. If only I could nourish her now through my hand like she once did when I formed inside her. If only I could pump my life into her this time.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yB6tElBm0JU

At the edge of the world
Where the cold wind blows
In a sea of dreams
That seem to know
If I think out loud
No one seems to care
If I touch the sky
Or caress the air
There's a place where you
Know you've been before
In another time
Through another door.

http://www.youtube.com/v/no39I0HlNfY&fs=1&source=uds&autoplay=1