Waking up

It was perfect. The perfect little cottage. It couldn’t be better. It was everything a cottage should be in her eyes. It was relatively small with a big garden surrounding it. It was built from the natural stone of the area which was a dark grey granite. The windows and doorframes were white and it had two chimneys: one for the open fireplace in the sitting room and one for the AGA in the old-fashioned country kitchen. The kitchen floor was stone-tiled, the other floors were wooden blanks worn smooth by the years of use and regular care with polish. The roof was slate tiled and the bathrooms, two all together, where new. It was just perfect. The way she had always imagined her cottage to be and for the rest of her live this was going to be her cottage. Here she would spend her remaining days with her parents and the occasional visit by her brother. And should anyone else choose to visit, they could sleep in the guest room. But she doubted anyone would come. She had already said her good-byes and she had pointed out she wanted them to remember her the way she was then and not the way she would look in a couple of weeks once the cancer had eaten her all up. No, here she could be at peace, close to the sea, which was literally just down the path. So even when the end was near it wouldn’t be too far for her to sit there and listen to the waves. Or so she hoped. She had no idea how bad it was going to get. And she didn’t want to know. She would just make the best of it. No point in complaining anyway, it was not going to change a thing. Lamorna Cove would help her deal with it though. She had fallen in love with it when she’d first been here 10 years ago and since then it had not let go of her. She loved this little piece of land in between the rocky cliffs of the Cornish coast. To her, it was paradise, it was all of God's magnificence put into the colour of the sea, the colour of the sandy shore, the colour of the rocks and the colour of the sky, no matter what the weather was. And the lush greens that grew in abundance completed the picture. She loved the smell of the water, the breeze and the cries of the seagulls and if she had to die, this was going to be the place to be. Here she would die happily and she silently thanked God that he had allowed her to witness such beauty.

She was shaken out of her reverie by her father who had come up behind her. He stood there silently. So he had been most of the time since she had had the news. It was hard for her parents. She knew it. Her mother had been more vocal about her grief. She had cried and cried… and cried more when she thought Sophie didn’t look. She had been devastated. To Sophie’s face she tried to be brave and strong but Sophie strongly suspected that her outward acceptance was merely a show she put on to try and not make it even harder for her. Sophie hoped she would find peace again someday. But knowing her mother it was not going to be anytime soon. Her father had cried too, in his quiet, withdrawn way. And he had become very silent. Not saying much, not asking much. Just being there. And she loved him even more for it then she had always done. He had always been a strong presence but now his unquestioning, quiet support meant even more to her. She relied on it. She knew with him there she could face it and not go mad over it. To her brother it had also been a shock. He was very much like their mother and he found it very hard to deal with it. He had no idea how to behave around her anymore. The easiness with which they had always exchanged their banters, was gone. She so wished she could keep this from him, but she couldn’t. She hated the thought that she was causing him so much distress.

At least she didn’t have a family of her own she would leave behind. For a long time, she had prayed for her own family, for a husband and children. Now she was grateful she didn’t have them. It would be even harder to have to go so soon. 38 years. She wasn’t going to complain. She had had a good life.