Mitchell's Mustard Blog

February 29, 2016

She Got That From Her Mother

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:30 pm

It was either the nausea, or the pain streaming through his head that woke him. Before he opened his eyes he knew things weren’t okay. With all the telltale signs around him, it was his gut feeling that put him in panic mode. Knowing he was awake but feeling like he was dreaming, he would pinch himself but movement was limited. Frustrated that his body was ignoring his commands, like a child with no control. His lungs rebelling as his chest squeezed tight, looking for the biting point, the line of no return. Finding it hard to concentrate, like distracted adolescence. The pain, enclosed breathing space, a loud humming from a distance. All the things playing hide and seek with his senses added to his confused train of thought. His mind jumping back and forth, current to past. The uncomfortable seat he was slouched in, the smile on his daughter’s face. The fear of opening his eyes, his wife holding his hand.

Feeling his chest start to pulse, liquid leaving his mouth and nose. It felt like a memory, but the realisation kicked in with the damp feeling in his lap. Is this a dream? If so, he wanted to wake up now. He felt guilty, confused because he didn’t know what for. Feeling his throat wheeze reminded him of his father, he had smoked for years against everyone’s complaints and concerns, his father’s whistle. The memory stuck with him while he slipped deeper into the dark. Remembering the anguish across her face, the sound of his daughter crying his name as he left. Tears found their way down his face through sealed eyes, his nose burning.

You only regret making a decision once it’s too late, no energy to turn back time. His life slipping away through his pores. He remembered attaching the pipe to the exhaust of the car, taking a look at life outside before he closed the garage door and sealed himself in. His mind was fighting but his body refused to react. Fatigued, frightened, alone. His final thought was of his daughter, she was beautiful, strong. She got that from her mother.   

June 13, 2015

I can’t promise you tomorrow

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 9:28 pm

The surrounding earth meant nothing, not right now. He could hold the dirt in his hand and watch the grains slip away with the wind, it still meant nothing to him. In this moment it wasn’t real, the ground he sat on that worked it’s way into the fabric of his trousers, the tree he leant against that gently swayed in the wind, the forest that cocooned him with danger and protection, none of it was real. He refused to believe that he was awake, he didn’t want to be awake. Not any more. The colours that danced around him played tricks on his eyes, submerging only to rise again, like a playful game of peekaboo that he never enjoyed. The side wind pushed at his tears to confuse their direction, his cheeks felt sore, his eyes tired, his body weary. Knowing that he would have to start getting used to this feeling. It was cruel. Once he gets to the stage of looking for a silver lining in his story he’ll think there was a sense of relief getting his results, the weeks of not knowing had caused him nothing but worry, now there was no need to worry about himself, he needed to worry about all those that surrounded him, depended on him.
The words came as a shock, even though he had prepared himself for the worst, there was still that little bit of hope that clung on like a leaf in autumn. Like a hammer to the heart, he still held self preservation until he reached his car, until he had made it to his current spot, it was their spot. Today it was lonely.
He wasn’t scared of dying, he was scared of telling her that he was dying. Knowing that she’ll be strong until the very end, he’d leave her knowing that he had let her down. He feared watching her face crumple, mirroring her heart. The thought that he would hurt her like this and have no way of fixing it. The old wise words ‘time is a healer’ had no room in his existence, not any more. He loved her, funny thing is he loved her more now than he ever had done, he didn’t think that was possible. All the little things she did that frustrated him now meant nothing, all the petty arguments that they passed to and fro meant nothing. He loved her with everything, more than any man had tried, or ever could.
Wiping the tears from his cheeks, pulling his achy body from the floor, he needed to face his fear, he knew that they’ll have so much to do but with such little time, a true understanding that forever is just a word, a myth, a lie. But love, love is the glue for this broken story, and love will keep them marching on until the end.

November 9, 2014

The Log Cabin

Filed under: Just a Thought — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 6:02 pm

The mountain range was beautiful at this time in the morning, the sun licked every curve, every crevice, beating the shadows back into their own corners of damp and loneliness. This was one of the selling points for the log cabin. He, being a writer, loved how secluded it felt, high in the mountains, surrounded by trees and earths elements. She, being his wife and decision maker, loved this view. It had been ten years since they had made the decision, they had never regretted it. He had spent many mornings standing in the kitchen, looking through the window at this view. His wife was sat in her usual spot, outside on the decking, coffee on the table, watching the sun paint images onto the mountains as the new day began. They hadn’t been to the cabin for a while, he was busy with a book tour, she was busy being a secondary school teacher. He knew this was probably be the last time she would see this view, the last time they would be there together.

He stepped through the french doors onto the decking with his coffee in hand, took a seat next to his wife.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he said
“Errr, yes, I guess” she replied looking confused
“Are you okay, darling?”
“Where are we?” she looked startled, confused, and a little scared. He had seen these facial expressions quite a lot over the last six months, he would never get used to them.
“We’re at the cabin, darling. You know, in the mountains”
She took a moment to look around, her personal space, realisation started to spread across her face.
“Well of course I know we’re at the cabin, but, why are we here?”
“I just thought it would be nice to come up for a couple of days, fresh air, beautiful views, a little thinking space”
She reached across the table and took his hand in hers, she smiled, the smile that wrapped him up in cotton wool and emotion.
“Of course, of course, it was a lovely idea my darling, thank you” she said with a smile.
They sat and watched the sky pass, the colours turn, true beauty unveiled right before their eyes. The sound of nature surrounded them, the sounds that he often thought he could hear when alone in another lonely hotel room on tour.
“I do love you” she broke the human silence
“I love you too my darling, so much” he felt a tear build behind his glasses.
“I know I’m ill, I know why we’re here, thank you”
She was always the observant one of the duo, she was known as the clever clogs, a private joke between the two of them.
“What are you going to do?” she asked
“What do you mean? What am I going to do?” he looked at her puzzled
“You know . . . When I don’t remember” she said putting on a brave face, she knew that if she was going down, she would go down strong and swinging.
“We don’t need to talk about this now, darling” he frowned
“I want you to always remember that you are my everything, my saviour, my love, my beggar, and my king. I need you to remember this, because, I know I won’t” she squeezed his hand and turned to look at the pictures on the mountains.
“Lets not talk about this, please. I’m going to get more coffee, you want a fill up?”
He stood up, took both of the mugs and headed into the kitchen. He flicked the kettle on and broke down. An overwhelming heartache took him under its wing, He cried like never before, trying to catch his breath while it tried to leave him, a paper butterfly in a wind tunnel. His body shook, like a possessed being. He knew this day would come, the day that her illness needed to be discussed in depth. He took a few minutes to dry his eyes, deep breaths, waiting for his heart to settle and his hands to stop shaking. He made their coffee as he watched her through the window, the love of his life, the reason he was strong, like an ox, it was all for her.

He stepped out onto the decking, placed the coffee on the table and rested back into his seat. she turned to look at him, her face confused and startled again.
“Where are we?” she asked
“We’re at the cabin, darling” he replied, his eyes started to well up again, his breathing heavy.
“Oh, of course we are, darling. Is that coffee for me?” she smiled
“Just for you, my love”
She took his hand in hers, turned her head to look at the view.
“This is a lovely view, isn’t it darling?” She smiled.

June 23, 2014

Lost Fragrance

Filed under: A Little Something — Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , — mitchellsmustard @ 12:47 pm

Her fragrance danced around the house like a whispered breeze, enough to distract but never enough to catch, to hold for a moment, to pull towards him and hope that she would follow close behind. The fragrance that’s missed but never lost. Voices of past conversations echo from wall to wall, but always in the adjacent room, a tease of his loneliness as he sat in silence. After all that had happened, it was the silence that strangled him, held him against his will. The sound of her singing in the shower, high pitched disagreements, her enticing moan as she straddled him, or her laugh that cradled. All lost without a decision to make, taken. The cruelty of her belongings still layered through his existence, he knew she would never return but he wasn’t quite ready to move anything in fear of forgetting. Every morning he was distracted until he absorbed the memories, seeing her medication in the bathroom, over and over he felt chewed up and spat out. Bitter, he blamed everyone, everything, he blamed the medication because that was the hope they had clung onto, a false hope that never paid off. Every night he was reminded of her frail body fall to the sickness that controlled her, consumed her. He had watched the disease wrap her up into an uncomfortable environment, pushing away and drifting off with exhaustion. Her pained facial expressions screamed in the silence of his mind. He felt lost, empty, and angry. He needed time, but that had slipped away from him just like her fragrance. They told him that each day will get easier, until then he’d breakdown, hiding his tears behind closed doors because the children couldn’t see him like this.

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