15 and counting

She made it to 15, when she so very nearly didn’t. That is a rope ladder out of the Slough, just as the ‘nearly didn’t’ helped pushed me in. But to climb the ladder I have to leave a lot behind and pack the rest compactly.

The night of counting every breath, hour after hour, holding my breath to see hers, dreading the long bleep and the flat line, and all the other unspeakable terrors that should never have to be lived through – they need to be packed small. Not forgotten, not left behind, but packed into a small corner of the bag I can carry out. Sometimes they will spring back, unconcertina-ing themselves to their huge and terrible size, but I must learn how to fold them, and pack them, and carry them, and re-fold them when they spring up.

It must be a small package, when folded, as there is much else to fit in this bag.


2 Responses to “15 and counting”

  1. Oh my…

    You say it so well and you are so very brave.

    Wishing you the best.

  2. Thank you, Ros.

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