THE HOPE OF GRIEF

THE HOPE OF GRIEF.

“One day at a time.”  He spoke softly to himself and reached over to her side of the bed. Of course it was cold, she had left him Five long days ago. He slowly got out of bed groaning as his body reminded him of the four bottles of cheap Merlot that had disappeared down his desperate throat the night before.

The trembling had come back, after all those years of being sober, all those years of feeling good every day, yet it had taken just five fucking days and Twenty bottles to get him back to the total fuckup he had been.

He stood and his head stayed behind on the pillow, he looked around slowly, even that was too fast, he slumped back down and sat unsteady on the edge of the bed. He felt her fingers on his shoulders, gently pressing into them, he leant his head forward ready for her mouth to nuzzle his neck as he loved her to do, but there was just cold air in the lonely bedroom.

God he missed her.

He looked at his naked body in the bathroom mirror, he had visibly lost weight, there wasn’t much of him before, she would tease him that he needed to put some meat on, she wanted more to hold, more to love. Well, there was nothing left to love now, his skin was hanging desperately over bones that were poking through. He squeezed some toothpaste into his mouth and took a sip of water, sploshed it around for a few seconds and then spat it out.

“That will do.”

He raised his flaccid penis, tried to remember them making love, maybe he could get some relief, but there was nothing, his head was aching and the memories were shrouded in pain and loss.

“Christ I can’t even manage a decent wank!” He spat.

  With a stream of relief, he urinated into the sink, then flinched at the acrid smell.

The shower was hot, too hot, but not today, today he wanted to scald off his old skin, find someone new underneath, someone who could deal with this pain. Stepping out almost an hour later he once again caught sight of his reflection, red, steaming and shuddering, a vulnerable shadow of a man, he had to look away.

There was going to be a sober day, somehow he had to get his head straight. He was going to get out today, go for a long walk, something he had always loved to do, something she had loved to do,  something they had loved to do.

The clothes he had been living in without change for the last five days lay in a stale, sweaty heap at the foot of his bed. He could smell their hopelessness and that made him angry. This was good he reasoned, get angry and get out. He looked to the wardrobe and paused, all of the clothes in there had been chosen by her, she had great taste, he actually looked good in them. But was he able to face that today. He counted to ten, closed his eyes and hoped.

What had fitted him perfectly only five days ago, now looked like mishappen lumps hanging off a scarecrow. He thought about smashing the mirror, instead took a few deep breaths, looked again, tensed his body.

“If you don’t do this today,” he whispered. “Your not going to make it.”

He knew that was true, didn’t know how, but knew it was. Five blurry days had taken him to the edge of things, he was sad, tired and angry. The grief of her leaving because of his careless stupidity was rotting him from the inside. A walk today would at least bring some light in.

He hoped.

The day was overcast but mild for a winter’s morning. He paused outside the front door and let the fresh air come to him, his head slowly began to clear.

He looked at the hill directly behind the house, he had to go up that, had no idea why, but he had to do it.

“You’re going to kill yourself.”  He sighed. “Maybe that wouldn’t be a bad thing.” 

At least it would stop the pain.

He was about half a mile into his journey when he realised he had left his phone. He stopped, he wasn’t even sure if the thing was charged, Christ he couldn’t remember the last time he used it. He vaguely remembered calling in sick too work. It didn’t matter, he had only wanted it to listen to some music as he walked. Maybe it was a good thing he left it behind, he was sure he would have ended up listening to one of their many playlists and that would have really fucked him up.

“There are three paths around Pendinas,” he read aloud from the large, illustrated information sign next to the swing gate. “The way directly in front is the steepest.”

He was going to do it the hard way, he had to do it the hard way.  He opened the gate and slowly began the climb and immediately his heart started to protest. He paused, this was going to be difficult, it has been a while since he had climbed. The last time, as with so many things had been with her. So many good things had been done with her.

“Shit, this is a stupid idea!”

He went on.

His body hated him, really fucking hated him. His heart pounded to get out, his lungs ballooned to an impossible size and his shitty life, besides the few years with her, flashed before him without as much as a whimper. He stopped, desperately gulped lifesaving oxygen and felt something strange.

He was almost happy.

He blinked and turned to look out across the valley, the hill bookended on one side.  It was beautiful. Why had he left it so long to come back to this.

“You know why!”

Then he sensed something was watching him and he turned slightly towards a small tree, at its centre was a Robin. It was staring intently at him.

 “I haven’t got any food, sorry.” He opened his palms.

The bird flew onto the path and to his surprise hopped a little closer, all the time not letting its gaze falter. Later he would try to remember how much time had passed before it flew off, twenty, thirty minutes? He knew that couldn’t be right, yet that was how it had felt.

He went on. He swore the air was getting sweeter, each breath clearing the mist shrouding his brain. Strangely his body seemed to be adapting quickly to the exercise, his heart stopped fighting him and slipped into an easy and pleasurable rhythm, almost as good as sex.

“Not quite.” He mused, then realised he had almost laughed, that was  something he felt had not happened for a long time.

His legs eased their tightness, his lungs stopped squeezing as much and his mood improved, he was beginning to enjoy this.

Finally at the top he was caressed by a gentle breeze, it felt good. He sat comfortably on a wooden bench, scanning the wide open panorama before him. He had forgotten the beauty of this place, he could see for miles, he was back in the world and it felt good.  There still was a long way to go, but at least this was a start.

Something moved out of the corner of his eye and he turned to see a Unicorn grazing a few feet away from him.

“What the fuck.” He blinked and for a few moments he thought the walk had been a vivid dream. “I’ll wake up in a moment!”

The Unicorn heard, looked up and slowly approached him.

 “No fucking way.”

Yet the animal came closer and closer. It snorted, nostrils flared as it took in his scent.

“Not too deep mate,” he said. “You’ll get pissed by the fumes.”

It stood over him, curious, magical, incredible.

“If you start talking I’ll shit myself!”

The unicorn nodded its head, grazed a little at his feet and then as casually as it had appeared walked off with not a care in the world. He watched wide eyed as the animal began its descent out of his view. He did not move, he didn’t care if he was seeing things, this was real, even if it wasn’t.

The tears came easily. He grieved for all those years with her, the smell of her, the touch of her, the warmth of her body, the bad days, the good days, the laughter, the tears, everything, absolutely everything. In that moment he felt as if he would never know love again, felt that he had lost the most precious thing ever. Yet the tears brought hope for the future, and underneath all of it he felt a smile beginning to form.