Yesterday, one of the grandkid's toys, car I think, got stuck behind the sofa.
My daughter had already left with Toby and Jen, but I knew I'd get a phone call the moment they got back, and it'd take an age to find.
So there I was, on my knees (no mean feat at my age) face against the soft furnishing, specs inching up my forehead when I touched it, cold and pulsing with a bluish light.
I knelt, staring, as it showed me images. Flora, when she was still here: smiling, loving, crying. Wasting away.
Decisions, successes. Regrets. (A fair share of those).
It pulled, a tugging behind my ribs; I could change things, it said. Make things right.
I sat a long time, thinking. What is it makes a life?
I cried a while.
And put it back.
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