Death and 'What ifs?'

Just over two weeks ago it happened.

We were oblivious, busy enjoying the sunshine in the garden.

A whole day spent outside painting my shack with Edith. I cannot recall the last time I stayed in the garden for so long.

So why didn't we hear anything?

What if the husband hadn't fired up the noisy lawn mower in the morning?

What if we had looked across the garden more closely?

What if I wasn't enjoying myself so much and chatting and laughing with Edith?

What if we had noticed that the tinkering in the workshop had stopped?

What if we had questioned why the van was still there but there was no sign of him outside?

What if the dogs had barked and raised the alarm?

What if the last sound he heard was us enjoying ourselves?

What if that freezing cold blanket of air that wrapped around me at lunchtime made me question why?

What if we hadn't joked about ghosts and wondered more?

What if I actually went round to ask for that help I wanted to fix my shack?

 

Maybe, just maybe we would have found him earlier.

Maybe, just maybe we could have helped.

Instead we were helpless and I feel haunted.

And so, so sorry.

 

We said goodbye with his family and loved ones giving him the most beautiful send off. Selfishly I hoped that would be closure but still I cannot erase that afternoon, that moment of realisation, that face.

I went out after the funeral and got far too drunk in his past local, sat on a stool crafted by him, felt guilty for relaxing.

I jump at noises in the night, get anxious being at home, dread going outside in the garden.

We were so close but too far away to help.

I'm so sorry.

Sleep peacefully Rich.

x x x