I leave the flat and as I walk to work the world has been bathed in twilight. The birds are calling their evening chorus and I'm walking quietly. My skin takes on a pinkish tinge in the sunset and the sky is bright red.
Red sky at night Shepherd's delight.
It's heart wrenching to offer end-of-life-care. These people are just waiting for the long drawn out end, with varying levels of capacity. These people pumped full of medications to ease aches and all I can think is, "shoot me before this happens to me". These human beings have their levels of suffering addressed with morphine and donepezil and haloperidol and laxido and and and.
It's sad is what I'm trying to say.
I care so much, is also what I'm trying to say.
In the darkness the world takes on a different feeling, it's oppressive and heavy. There's a feeling that now I'm one of the few people alive. I want to capture this in an artwork but as I gaze out the window, staring at street lamps providing artificial light, I have no idea how.
I think that everyone I work with, colleagues and customers. One day they'll all be dead and will anyone remember them? I don't want to forget that these humans had hopes, and dreams and aspirations. They lived lives and touched people. I want to record their stories and shout them from the rooftops. I want to listen to them tell me tales of their everyday and the little joys they experienced.
Yet, old age and lucid thought don't seem to go hand in hand very often.
I'm sorry, so very sorry, and I don't know why.
I'm only here to offer a service (but that isn't enough, it's never enough)
It's four am and it's that time of morning where my eyes are exhausted and my body cries for sleep. I'm sitting watching the sun rise, it starts slowly and before I know it the sky is blazing orange, red, pink. The clouds look like cardboard cut-outs against the morning sky.
The birds start waking and calling out to each other.
Red sky in the morning, Shepherd's warning.