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Raggedy slow grey I am. Used to be a skinny girl but I got older and fatter. Now my boobs are hanging out in an old woman’s faux sports bra, though definitely nothing sporty going on. Big breasts pressed against big shirt that flows over my big belly and hip humps. Who am I kidding by wearing body drapery, my old crown phoney brown. And, I can’t stop the eating of bread. Good grainy kind of healthy stuff if you can keep the intake low. But need the comfort. So I toast it and load it with butter. Cause I can’t be too skinny. That’s risky too. Old bone porosis needs a bit of fat padding in case of falling over. Ageing is more complicated than in the days when I didn’t seem to, wouldn’t have, couldn’t have thought about it.
And then people, close to you, a sister you have grown up with, a sister that you and her are part of the altogether with, goes away. Goes away by dying. Goes away and leaves a big hole that is near to you. Goes away without we all realising that the hole is big, so big with her going away that we, the hole bearers are left behind. Bereft. Wholly crying, trying not to fall in the hole. Constantly trying to move around, step around, not be around the hole because it is so bloody sad. But not her fault. For dying that is. For sure she was aware of the hole. Could hear the digging of it in all her innerbones. Could feel the feel of her falling but didn’t, just couldn’t get any kind of grip on it, over it. Couldn’t grab the handle. After all, she was busy dying which took away an awful lot of able grip.
My sister was a beautiful plump lady in her later life. Then the cancer got her. Faded her away. Skinnyied her. Her clothes too big and falling off her. I bought her some new black leggings and socks to keep her comfortable and warm to carry her to mad medical appointments that she couldn’t resist, desist. Wouldn’t resist. How could she. There was a lot riding on avoiding the hole. And track to the hole was much discussed and of course, so chock full of potholes. Even so, the hole was not talked about too loudly. Though, really loud was what we could all hear. The hole got louder. And I got fatter. It was a way of avoiding. Full on avoidance, pad on pad, sad on sad.
