Departed but never truly parted

On a mild spring morning 84 year old Arthur Kent shuffles his way down the Kingsland High Street in Dalston, London. He's trodden the path beneath his feet thousands of times before, this area his home for almost his entire life other than the period he was temporarily evacuated during the Second War when he was still knee high to the proverbial grasshopper. Years earlier as a small child he'd have skipped down the same route holding hands with his mother. His pace now however fully matches that which you'd expect of a gentleman in his advancing years, slowly shuffling, one step after another closer to death at a time. Now he has just one solitary pace and you'd be quite unable to tell by looking at him whether he was hurrying or taking a leisurely stroll, they're now both very much entwined with one another and are for all intents and purposes very much one and the same thing. Today he wears a burgundy cardigan which sits lopsided on his arching shoulders. Depending on your outlook on life he either started two holes too high or two buttons too low. Kind of like one of those glass half empty or half full analogies but Arthur cares little for such details now he's nearing the end of his day's. Just being able to force a few of the buttons through any of the holes is a victory in itself. 

Occasionally Arthur looks up to check his progress. He's made it past Aldi, past the pawnbrokers, past Ladbrokes and he thinks to himself that he's making good progress this morning. Not that he has anywhere specific to go mind you. Arthur is busy talking to himself, not that anyone who passes him by notices mind you, they're all too busy staring at their phones. Several people walking in his direction have to swerve to avoid him at the very last moment, never actually aware of his presence until it was almost too late. The worst culprits are those who are not only staring at their phones but who also sport gigantic headphones that aid them to never hearing those who curse their lack of manners. Not that Arthur ever curses anyone. Those who do at least apologise for nearly knocking him over may in a sad twist of fate provide him with the only human contact he now gets each day. If you were to walk alongside Arthur what would you hear him say? Is it the ramblings of an old man who's lost his senses? To look at the angle of his jaunty cardigan you might assume so. To look down at his feet you'd definitely think so especially on a morning like this where he's opted to keep his royal blue slippers on because having to put on his shoes really did feel like too much of a hassle. We will all have our cost to bear one day. To be fair to Arthur though his choices come out of necessity whereas the youth of today going into a supermarket in a onesie say, is just pure bone idleness. That being said, bowing to the pressures of society to at least appear to be normal is something Arthur cares little about so maybe he does at least have something in common with the onesie wearers. That would probably be about the sum total of the comparison mind. Arthur is not Hyacinth Bucket in Keeping Up Appearances. Just making it outside into the open air is his daily goal, what he looks like is of little consequence. 

If you listen closely, I mean really closely you'll actually find he's talking to his wife Rose Elizabeth, the only girl he'd ever kissed and the only woman he'd ever loved. Imagine that going through an entire life having only kissed one member of the opposite sex. No, kissing your mother goodnight as a child doesn't count you silly boy. Oh to find the partner of your dreams, to fall in love and stay in love long after she'd left you for a better place. By a better place I don't mean Kingsbury Road Cemetery where her physical remains were laid to rest. Her memory is kept alive by these daily one sided conversations by Arthur as he shuffles along. Arthur was always good at the small talk, Rose Elizabeth was better at the tall talk. She could paint a picture with her words, Arthur would remark when he still had people around him who'd listen to him but one by one they'd all gone the same way as she had done. Old age and terminal illnesses keeping the scores relatively even and here he was close to ending his 90 minutes not sure which would get him in the end. But today it won't get him, he's shuffling away from whatever it is as fast as his feet will allow. Maybe tomorrow or the next day he won't be so fortunate. Not that he minded for it meant that one day soon he'll be reunited with his one true love, his Rose Elizabeth. His Rose Elizabeth who'd write him these long elegant beautiful letters when they were courting. Letters that told him how every sinew in her body ached when they were apart. How her lungs felt like they were devoid of air and that he was the breath that made her complete again. By comparison he would ask her if she wanted a cuppa tea and a biscuit. Verbally, not in writing you daft sod and of course only once they were married and had moved into their tiny little flat together. Those words may not have been as grandiose as hers but to her she loved them equally the same. Her Arthur, her wonderful loving Arthur, the man that would literally do anything for her. The love of her life that would walk in front of a double decker bus if it meant saving her life. Her man as faithful as any dog, always kind, compassionate and caring who will remain loyal to his very last breath and as much in love with her then, as the first time he had laid his eyes upon her. 

You'll find Arthur's up and down the country shuffling along, cardigans buttoned up on the wonk if only you stop looking at your phone for long enough and where you're going instead. Don't be afraid of the little chatter you hear him say to no one in particular for he's doing no one any harm. If you were to stop and ask him who he's talking to he'd tell you about the love of his life and at the end of it all you'd leave hoping that maybe you'll find someone half as special to love and be loved by as his Rose Elizabeth.