Endings and Beginnings.
I’ve looked after other people all my life, so when Mother became too frail to cope alone I brought her to live with me. Tonight she died, and for the first time in decades nobody needs anything from me.
My siblings have all turned up, and feeling redundant I have left them with Mother and taken my dogs to the beach. I enjoy driving, especially at night, and the numbness, the calm I feel, is a welcome respite.
Somebody has put a gift wrapped in newspaper on the passenger seat. It makes me uneasy, a piece of sentimental tatt probably for which I will later, insincerely, thank the donor. I ignore it and concentrate on the road.
At the dark, empty beach, I pick up the gift and walk with the dogs at the edge of the retreating tide. I throw stones in the water, consider throwing the gift, pretending I haven’t seen it, but in the end I retreat to the dunes and sit with it in my hands.
Eventually I unwrap first one layer of paper, and then another, until I am left with a bulky envelope. Finally I open it and remove the contents.
Now my eyes unexpectedly water, as in the moonlight, waves hissing on the shoreline, I look at Mother’s personal notebook, her silver pen and a pebble upon which is painted one word; “LOVE”.