Thought #36. Hope against hope.

15th November 2000. Peter returned from work to find his house had burned down. Amanda’s body had vanished. No ashes to scatter on the waters of the Tamesis River. Peter ended up heartbroken, filled with grief, alone.

20th April 2017. Peter returns to find his house uninhabited, almost lifeless. 6,000 days, nights included, are supposed to be more than enough to get over a loss. But Amanda was special, too unforgettable.

He might appear to endure the distress caused by Amanda’s death but, in truth, he can barely foresee a glimmer of hope in his black reality. After many years of aimless wandering, he is exhausted. Because he is not living but dying, not walking but wandering.

Death is a central part of life. It has always been that way. It just so happens that sometimes a loss is tantamount to a devastating drought. Suddenly, zest for life no longer exists and is replaced by a decaffeinated world, so dehydrated, desiccated, devoid of juice and energy a reality that seems unreal.

But deep inside there is hope. He is hoping against hope that, at the very last moment, she would show up with a big grin on her face. And emptiness will cease, rain will make an unexpected appearance, life will sprout. His reconstructed heart will beat again.

16th November 2000. Obituary. WHITE, Peter, 41, loved husband, father-to-be and friend, died Wednesday at a local hospital following a three-hour uphill struggle after a terrible accident left him burned. He was a lifelong resident of London. Mr. White had farmed for many years west of the Tamesis River. He was a member of a Catholic Church. Survivors include: three nephews, James, John and Peter, and a heartbroken, homeless and pregnant wife…