The last day with L?

They have taken away one third of L:s brain. The brain tumor has been removed. 

The operation was successful, L survived. But how did she survive? Good or not good? On the phone she did not sound good. Like she was giving up life. Like she lost not only the ability to remember things perfectly, working hard as before or undertaking physical activities.

She was about losing her identity.

She needed support.

Therefore we were on the way to Germany. To support her with our love.

Tomorrow we shall meet her.

We, she, I, had one night for mental preparation of this meeting. Between us there is an ocean of 20 years and a brain tumor operation.

Can we make it?

Can we reach one another?

She invites my wife and me for coffee. No dinner. No stay over night.

It is hard to find an affordable place to stay in the nearby, and it has to be near as we don’t like to drive at dark. At the end we find a room in a bigger apartment and leave our things there.

She has a garden. The gate to the garden opens remote controlled and we walk through a huge and yet neglected garden.

The outside door is widely open.

She is standing in the kitchen with her back towards us.

 Is it trembling?

She hears us; leaves the home made cakes, whipped cream, porcelain cups, coffee as they are and turns to us with her clear blue eyes, short cut medium blond hair and warm smile.

  This coffee table on the backyard, well protected from the sun this late hour of the afternoon is the only ongoing now in our life.

  We talk of nothing.

  Nothing of importance for the future.

  Just all the nasty details of the operation. We may even see pictures if we like.

  We don’t. We eat cakes and drink coffee.

 Is it the same person or merely a ghost representing the symbol of a woman that once used to be our dear and loving friend?

 You can’t tell.

  It is almost sunset. A path outside her garden leads up and further up through a magnificent way that takes the breath out of her. There is wine culture, cropland, farmers on a tractor and exercisers.

  And we nostalgic people that are attached by an invisible, unreasonable, 20 years old band.

 A band that no operation can cut off.

 It happens as the most natural thing on earth.

 The coffee time is over long ago.

 We are a bit sweaty after the walk up the mountain and then down the valley.

  We are together although it is no more coffee time. The sun has gone down.

  It is dark and a bit chilly as we are together on an outdoor restaurant with jazz musicians and simply great food, plain german food that we enjoy while the music flows and people are sitting in endless rows and breathing simultaneously as one friendly warm body.

  And she stands and looks at us outside her garden with her pale overwhelmed newly operated head as I hear myself telling her how much we like her. She stands there with her nearly invisible tears until we and our ordinary gray car vanish away, unknowing when or whether we ever may see one another again.

Just vanish away.


Are you doing things maybe for the last time? Tell me what and why.


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