30 years; gone by so fast
I still can’t get my head around the fact that it was 30 years ago today that the late Mrs H and I went on our first official date. I say official because we’d been out with other people before but this was the first solo flight. Sometimes it feels like yesterday, sometimes it feels like someone elses life.
Time’s funny that way. It’s only 2 months since I left my hometown and ran away to the isles but thinking about Edinburgh now and it seems so much longer ago. Mind you it’s long enough for some folk who promised, hand on heart, to keep in touch to have started ghosting me. Out of sight. I suppose it was hard to ignore me when I was in the same town but now they can file me in the too much bother drawer.
I kind of figured that would happen but I thought they would at least do me the courtesy of waiting till after Christmas. It was Christmas 2017, four months after Linda died, that I took myself off to the bridge for a spot of jumping. But back then I could picture her in the hospice pleading for me to carry on. She knew what I was like. So I didn’t. I dinnae half regret it now.
It still seems strange that she picked me. I mean I’ve never been quite right in the heid. From my earliest recollections I was a strange boy. The one who never learned to smile. Who, after school, sat in the Dundee Street Library till closing time all winter long. And this was when I was about 7. No-one wondered where I was.
But the late Mrs H saw something. Mind you, she was a daftie herself! But it’s been three years now and I reckon the rough split is 5 days profoundly depressed / 2 days suicidal. The second counsellor I saw after Linda died said it was existential emptiness but that with the help of friends and family I’d get through it. Which is why I fired her. What part of I don’t have any close friends or family did she no get?
I don’t know when but if the 5/2 ratio starts to swing the other way that could be that. I’m tired. I mind when Linda had some of her lucid days in the hospice she said she just wanted nothingness. A final sleep. She’d had 5 years of constant pain before the cancer arrived and even though she didn’t want to leave me on her own, she was tired as well. I get that.
30 years ago today we sat in a booth in Yesterdays pub and when she asked me what I wanted from this, I said I wanted history. Well I got that but it’s all in the past now.
Over 20 years later she wrote these words to me. The wee scone. I tried. I really tried.