The Conversation

I would usually have the first word. Sometimes it was a gentle prompt, a small nudging sentence. Sometimes there were words that deliberately provoked. At other times, a question, wanting to know what you really thought – about this, or about that, or nothing at all. And yet other times, oh so very rarely, it was just to hear your reply,  to feel the thread that connected your mind to mine, so lightly, that perhaps it was only my imagination.

Your voice. Sometimes full of wisdom, older than time. Sometimes full of levity, crackling with wicked humour. Sometimes a weary patience, humouring yet kind. Sometimes filled with compassion, a selfless love that was you, despite yourself. Indeed there were days when there was self pity, bitterness and even resentment. But always, there was love.

Self deprecating humour, the kind I loved, was never far from the surface…. a sort of a wry acceptance of your failings, and indeed mine too. You had that rare quality, the ability to love yourself despite your failings, to which you were never a stranger. You knew, for example, that you hid your brilliant mind behind a clumsy nonchalance that most people ever saw through, only because you wanted that advantage over them. Not out of small mindedness – that was after all, your only protection against the hurt a bottomless heart inevitably sustains.

Some days you were a scintillating presence, the life of the party, the bright light in the room and the laughter in every corner. I loved that part of you. But for me, the precious moments were from after the party was over, the words exchanged over the clearing up, a childhood memory shared, a story told of a life long past, some tears almost shed over a lost love, a weakness bared and reciprocated and always, always, a faith reinforced – an unshaken, quiet belief, that tomorrow would indeed be a better day, that the best was yet to come, that our greatest moments were yet waiting for us.

Sometimes there was no need for shared thoughts, a shared prayer did the deed, fulfilled our needs. Quiet words gently murmured over bent heads and folded hands, filling our hearts with gladness and softening our hearts with ease. For the moment, at least, all was forgiven and the lightness of the moment pushed away the weight of the daily living and doing. Sometimes, that blessed lightness lingered for days, lending itself to my thoughts, and then onwards to my acts, which thus fell more lightly onto the world. Healing more than hurting, uplifting more than diminishing, and inspiring more than meandering.

Those days I had purpose, resolve and a cheerful acceptance of the nonsense of life. What wondrous things a few beautiful and kind words, spoken and shared, can bring forth. What power is wielded by nothing but a moment of meeting of minds, a shared sympathy, a joint call to our creator, or even a shared grief of loss. ‘Tis but a simple act – I say something, you reply, I reply too, and so it goes. Only when it is gone, do I realise what is was. Only by its absence do I know it ever existed.

You are long gone now, and only by the silence, oh the long, deep silence, do I recognise, that you and I  – we once had a conversation.