Vanishing Points

While Dad disappears into his dementia – absent from words and from recency, the football results too now slipping by – Mum is visibly shrinking in size, so that even in the layers of winter clothes – a hat she would once have fled from and comically practical mail-order boots – she appears smaller than ever; stooping at every opportunity and swallowed by chairs.
Together, but mostly apart, my parents are taking up less and less space in the world. The house grows enormous around them; a looming uselessness.
Walking behind them down their suddenly snow-covered driveway I call out ‘Hold on to each other!’, understanding as I do so, that these words will land separately and fragment – and vanish.

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About Stevie Mitchell

I come from a long line of cartoons and beer. I was once peed on by a tiger. Hoping the resultant super-powers are yet to come, cos if these are they, then, grrrr....
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