I am sitting back on my bed on another golden afternoon, thinking about Sarah and all of the afternoons she lay bedridden with not even an option of having a shower or going for a short stroll. I remember helping her into the wheelchair and taking her for small walks throughout the hospital—sitting in the banquet hall overlooking the river and talking about Lainey, rolling into the bird room so Sarah could chat with the budgies (she loved the birds) and eat vanilla ice cream. The staff would come by and say a quick hello, and Sarah, ever brave, would see how far she could hoist herself up on the leather couch without my help...the two of us laughing. It still stuns me how much we laughed (at all sorts of things most other people probably wouldn’t find funny).
I will never forget the look on her heartbroken face as she realized—so many things—that she would never be well again; would never walk; would never go anywhere with Lainey. I can hear her sweet voice calling my name, asking if we could have Chinese food again for dinner, worried, as if I had to walk to Singapore instead of just around the corner. I think, too, of how she hated to have me out of her sight, this feeling deepening for both of us as her illness progressed.
I cannot explain how much I miss her. There is no one to tell, of course, because the people who know how I feel don’t need to be told, and the rest of the world doesn’t matter. But if I could speak to her again, lie back on the bed this very minute, I would hold her face between my hands and remind her how much I love her. I would kiss her tender forehead and remark that Ralph the cat, who hasn’t hopped up onto the bed in over a year, has leapt up today and is lying here between us in the glistening afternoon light. And Sarah would smile and she would say, “That’s true, mum, isn’t it?” And I would say that yes, it is true, and we would tell each other how lucky we were to have one more afternoon with each other—all these cats here beside us—Jeeves among them—and Sarah would point toward the balcony door and remark on the beautiful day.
If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
