Back in August I let a rather special person go, since the relationship – if ever it could have been graced with such a title – had obviously become redundant. Today I let two more go, and prepared for the possibility of saying a final goodbye to the most special of them all. It seems that 'redundant' is my middle name at the moment.
Maybe that was why I did something I never usually do this evening. I was taking my customary twilight walk and admiring the glorious, post-sunset sky, when I found myself standing on the lane looking all around me. I only ever stride out on the lane; if I want to stand and take in the view I go and settle myself on a stile, or lean on a farm gate, or sit on a low wall. Tonight I stood on the lane, and had the strongest sense that I was saying a final goodbye to this physical world I’ve called home for so many years.
I’m sure it was just some psychological glitch, but I couldn’t help wondering whether I was being prepared – or preparing myself – for that day in a not so distant future. It felt oddly peaceful. A little melancholy perhaps, but no sense of panic.
I’m sure I’ll still be here tomorrow. If I am, it seems I have a few vacancies to fill.