Lately, I’ve been telling Ming stories about how Anthony used to be. The trouble is, even though to some extent I remember and am so glad I have written the various love story posts into this blog, I can’t remember Anthony in a way that reconjures him. It’s hard to explain but it’s like a shadow crosses my memories so that I see fleeting images of him: running around the paddocks rounding up cattle; milking the cows; having drinks with his mother on the veranda; wolfing his breakfast; winking at me …. I have hundreds of these image-memories but they are all very still – like the photographs never taken.
Every single time I see Ants, either in the nursing lodge, or when I get him home, I get a shock – every time. So not only is my memory faulty, my perception of now is too; I can’t seem to adjust to the reality of how incapacitated Anthony is.
Ming said the other day that he wished he had known Anthony when he was young. Me too.