I drifted around in and out of myself all day long and never stopped, never allowed myself to contemplate anything apart from the early morning when I wrapped myself in H's dressing gown because it is big and roomy and cozy and walked down to the vegetable garden at 6.30 a.m. Earlier than usual I enjoyed the peace and the solitude of my experience. I was thinking about my late brother, not deliberately but he was with me. I stood at the gate to the vegetable patch and my eyes were drawn to the trees in the neighbouring yard because the cuckoo started to call out at just that moment. There on the tallest most fragile branch the cuckoo stood silhouetted against the sun to the East. I had not in sixteen years ever witnessed the cuckoo, the most elusive of birds and there she was calling out to me as if I had a private audience; Cuckoo Cuckoo sounded like ''I'm fine, I'm fine'' and I felt that I was the recipient of a special message sent just to me. I sang the rhythm into my head and with coffee cup in hand walked back to the house. I did not tell anyone of my encounter with the cuckoo. Instead, I made sultana scones and spilled flour on the floor, made a mess, not all in keeping with my usual behaviour but as soon as the aroma of freshly baked scones swam through the house the kitchen filled up and yellow butter melted into the split bread with the spread of blackcurrant jam.
Nothing is ever the same in this life. The morning I describe will not come again. I may never see the Cuckoo again. My brother lives in my head now. But I guess to be honest he did for years. We never quite connected once we grew up. We were so close growing up. We always gelled. Some siblings do not. I guess I hurt more for not being able to make it continue into adult life. One should never expect more than one has. One should be able to bend and compromise. I know that now. I know that what you want from someone is never realistic. To love someone you have to be able to accept and move on. How painfully slow I was to realise this. How come? How does it take sixteen years to see a Cuckoo on the morning after your brother dies? How come I see all of this now so clearly. I see myself. I see him. I see us. I see all that could have been. I see the world like a great big prism and we are all just darting around on the walls caught in the sunlight, lurking in the shadows, all one like fading rainbows with big hearts that nobody knows about until it's too late, too damn late.