Blog No. 335 - Stranded 3 - Rhythm - 18 Oct 2025

 Stranded (3) - Rhythm

6 October 2027

 

Even in the desperate months before Margaret died,

Our life together had definite Rhythm.

Here is a sample of our Rhythm.

Margaret always woke because of the unbearable pain,

The unbearable pain that, impossibly,

She bore without complaint.

The scans said she had three broken vertebrae.

Those broken bones were in her back.

There were also the broken ribs.

Those broken bones were in her front;

Opposite those in her back. 

We always woke when the pain ended her sleep.

The Rhythm of our day had commenced.

It was always between 12.30 and 1.00 am

We desperately needed sleep,

But sleep was off the Menu

The Menu contained only one dish – Death.

The main meal was served with a side dish,

A Side Dish that could not be rejected;

It could not be sent back either.

Our side dish was total exhaustion;

Physical and mental.

When she woke,

I always stood next to her,

Gently holding her hands,

I stood rigid.

If I moved, her body shuddered with pain.

While I stood rigid,

Margaret persuaded the remnants of her body to slowly move.

She had to make her body move.

She had to get out of bed so she could pee.

Sometime between 30 and 60 minutes later,

Margaret would have her body upright.

Then we gently struggled into the bathroom.

Together,

We lowered Margaret onto the toilet seat.

For the next few moments,

My job was now finished.

Lying back on the bed,

I never slept,

I always listened.

Was she okay?

Was she steady?

Was she about to fall?

Was she about to fall onto the hard, tiled, cruel floor?

Eventually the call would come.

“Finished”.

I always hurried back to the bathroom.

Getting up from the toilet was sort of easy;

At least it was easy compared to getting up from the bed.

My sleepless body then always asked the same question,

The same useless question.

Would she be able to go back to sleep?

Would I be able to rest …

Just a tiny bit longer.

I always knew the question was useless.

Her walking corpse was a Sea of Pain.

Who could sleep inside a Sea of Pain?

So we always shuffled together 

Back into the living room.

She always slumped on a chair

Next to the dining table.

Sometimes I would catch her,

Betrayed by pain and bodily exhaustion

In the act of falling.

They were impossibly hard days,

But they did have Rhythm.

The District Nurse usually visited at about 9.00 in the morning.

The impossibly soaked bandages,

On the impossibly, grotesquely, swollen legs

Had to be changed.

Duty done, the nurse could leave.

I changed the bandages for the rest of the day.

I tried to change them every hour of the day.

Sometimes Margaret would not let me change the bandages.

The dying woman did not want to be a burden.

We would have a minor spat.

“Let me help you …

Please!”

“Leave me alone …

I don’t need your help!”

Sometimes I felt a flash of anger.

It might last two seconds,

Then vanish.

How could I be angry with this woman?

How could I be angry with my wife?

She was my Hero;

And she was dying.

They were such impossibly hard months,

But I knew one thing with certainty.

I had been given this great Blessing.

I had been given the gift of Rhythm.

The Rhythm had a purpose.

It placed a structure on our day.

It placed a structure on our joint learning.

The Rhythm helped teach Margaret how to die.

The Rhythm helped me to help her to die.

The Rhythm helped keep our Universe in its Proper Orbit.

Now the Rhythm is gone,

I am left Stranded.