Memories are made of this

Those we love we want to live on forever.

Sorrow
They went fourteen months later, distraught, shocked, and alone, behind her small coffin with Esther whispering. “Deaths not the end, and her spirit lives on, that is just her shell in there!” Ahead walked her stepfather and stepbrother, and she felt a shiver run through her spine, and memories spin and spike her being so much that she cut her palm where her fingernails had been.
She remembered her love and determination and the battles that had been, and wondered about life and death, and where her dad might be. Then of the kindness of the hospice staff, and the gentle way they lifted her leaf frail body and listened to her fears, and were there to comfort them with their loss when that last breath had gone and they had sat beside her bed, before Esther had fled the room with shoulders shaking and breaking heart.
Joe had said later, “She can’t be dead. I saw her earlier, f…ing yesterday.” She had said with tears in her eyes, as he sat there alone at the helm of the house. “If you don’t believe me then why not ring the hospice? And why should I lie to you?” Tired she had turned and left him there besides his ticking Braille clock, sleeping beer mug, and her mum’s worn moccasin slippers besides her rocking chair, now still. Her forever-sleeping mum’s coat hung near her in the hall on a little peg. Treasured vinyl handbag on the chair, and the last handkerchief she had used still screwed tight in her pocket.
Him saying, “No I don’t want anything to eat. I’m not f...ing stupid, and I can get my own food when I want!” She had turned her back and walked away from him into the kitchen where her mum’s life had been, but the radio was off tap with the washer that still needed replacing, still dripped and a dried out tea-bag lay on the draining board and Esther wondered how or why she should care for him. He though, continued to drink but it would be his home help who would on week-days drag her mum’s shopping trolley home as the bottles of beer clinked and rattled one against another. Right through all this had broken her own constant earlier promise that she wouldn’t in a million years look after a man who had been so desperately cruel to them all, and how could he ever expect any other?

The Letter Esther Found after her mum had died.

She tried to find kindness in him, her second husband, but she could not. There was malice there, and cruelty, and contempt. Of humour there was none. She could hardly believe that for over twenty years she had been this mans slave. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage; with the sky close by but unable to reach.

Why had she married him; she had asked the question for the thousandth millionth time. Was it because of the terrible isolation and loneliness she felt after James had died, she supposed it was?

She had felt so blissfully happy with James as they began to rear their little family together that she could not visualise a relationship such as she had with this man.

They had met, after becoming pen friends and she had agreed to marry him for she yearned for some kind of companionship to fill the terrible, aching void she existed in. So she had begun her bondage. Most of the time, throughout those desperate years, she had been a buffer between the children and herself. Shielding them from his angry outbursts and taking the blame for her. She did this out of a desperate desire to protect her children.
As for herself she soon discovered that he was a hard and sadistic, cruel man and she had to endure long tirades of angry, virulent speech. He tried almost to keep a prisoner in the house and if she went out on a shopping expedition, she would dread the reception she got when she returned in the late afternoon. And the years had slid away...

Laura had tried to find kindness in him, her second husband, but she could not. There was malice there, and cruelty, and contempt. Of humour there was none. She could hardly believe that for over twenty years she had been this mans slave. She felt like a bird trapped in a cage; with the sky close by but unable to reach.

Why had she married him; she had asked the question for the thousandth millionth time. Was it because of the terrible isolation and loneliness she felt after James had died, she supposed it was?

She had felt so blissfully happy with James as they began to rear their little family together that she could not visualise a relationship such as she had with this man.