Selectively Juggling

The phone’s shrill call echoed throughout the empty house, evoking a sense of dread. Its incessant ring mirroring Peter’s dark thoughts, “how long had he been trapped in this hell-hole”. He was desperate to get back home, to find the long-forgotten path. He knew it was there, he knew the portal was still open, somewhere. He just needed to remember, yet his years of drinking had dulled his memory. His family was still on the other side. He didn’t want to think about what had become of them, Rose and their two young boys. Would they remember him? Would they care? He was plagued with self-doubts. Picking up the phone, Peter heard a soft voice “Peter, is that you?… OMG Peter is that you? … OMG I’m texting you the coordinates … please come home”.

Still dazed, he grabbed his phone, the coordinates and headed home, this time for good. If only, his mind, his cognition and memory were intact; however they weren’t and his journey into dementia was already well underway. His young sons were now well and truly adults. As he headed home, he lacked the clarity and insight… instead of a light at the end of the tunnel, there was a billowing sense of dread and fog. A mental and emotional fog or haziness that would consume him, and his family, until they would somehow find the skills to accept and surrender to the inevitable. Leaning to embrace each and every precious moment, learning to dance in the rainclouds of life, for even they had incredible beauty.