Salvaged

You seemed already shrouded, close to death.

Standing in front of you in that hot and airless room, your frightened uncomprehending eyes unnerved me.
My response?
To take one last photo of you, to fix your face, possess a reminder.
Yet what I really wanted was to talk the way we used to on those long walks along the coast.
The photograph? Long since lost.

You left little in the way of material memory; a rosary which I carry with me, a few other possessions scattered across the family.
Small echoes disrupting the silence.

I have no memory of you speaking during that last meeting.
I must have tried to reach you, but you were already beyond me.
Removed; soon a cold corpse in an empty flat.

I walked out of that room with tears in my eyes.