The place
has a new facade, the place where you left me
The
corridors inside, the stairwells – with nets to stop those who wish to go quick,
are the same.
You can no
longer smoke in the place, the place where you left me
I swore
never to return, I resented the place.
I had lunch
there the other day – as I had for a month of days, 30 years ago.
I felt the
same about the place, the place where you left me
Until I met
Eddie. He talked to anyone who listened: staff, patients, visitors. He talked
to me. He asked my name and told me his.
And shared
his story. Eleven years ago an accident took away many days and part of his
brain – it was your brain which took you
away.
For each day
of those 11 years he has eaten lunch at the place. He eats and talks, he asks
names and tries to remember. He says hello to many and without exception they
reply, some stop and chat.
It is time
for me to leave and Eddie said my name, yes I will remember that and will wave
when you leave.
I went
upstairs, through the halls where you can no longer smoke, up the stairs with
the nets, past the sign to neurology and around to your grandson.
Can I call
him that?
We wait for
x-rays and an all clear. I tell him about Eddie.
We leave an
hour later. Eddie is no longer at his table. Your wag of a grandson said he
forgot to wait.
We drove
past the place – the place where Eddie talks.
© Deb Kairn 2008
