SUNSET

Albert Carstairs sat carefully on to the bench. Every day for the last two months he had been in the same place, sitting and waiting to watch the sunset. The drizzle did not put him off, neither did heavier rain. It would disguise and wash away his tears; he was too old to be allowed to cry, at least that was how he felt.


Loneliness, an emptiness that he had no way of filling, not now Grace had died. He’d always thought he’d be the first to go. Never had he dreamt that he would be left all alone, with his grief and his memories. The house felt ‘wrong’, empty now that she was no longer there to break the silence, even if it was true that they had been far from close in years.


The children had been long gone, two girls that had flown the nest and headed off for lands with much more promise. In fact, in a month or so he would become a great-grandfather. There were the phone calls of course, once a week from each of his girls. The occasional letter or package, but that did not change the distance between them. He knew that they would never be coming home and he could not blame them. They had their own relatively successful lives now and it was not their fault that he was alone.


Perhaps if they’d had more notice, if they’d known how short a time Grace had left, they might have done things differently. But they hadn’t known and she had gone so suddenly. His wife had not even been to see a doctor in years; she was healthy, never made a fuss. And then she collapsed and within a fortnight was dead.


The doctors had assured him that no one was at fault, nothing could have been done. Still he felt anger, and guilt. Also, in moments of real despair, he could not help but blame her too; if only she had not been so stubborn. She must have known that there was something wrong, surely.


He sat and stared straight ahead. They’d walked on those mountains once, a long time ago. Not to the top, but part of the way. Those rambles had been one thing that they had both enjoyed. These days Albert just watched the sun sink below the tops of them then made his way slowly back to the house.


It was not ‘home’ any more. Just a building with furniture, an escape from the elements. He’d get something to eat, something very basic, then watch a couple of hours of television. 9pm would find him in bed, trying to sleep away some of the empty hours, just to wake in the morning and go through the motions all over again

It was so unfair. It should have been himself that had gone first. Too late Albert realized just how much he had taken that and so many other things for granted.