Seven Minutes To Six

There’s a clock in the hospice room with the loudest tick I’ve ever heard…

Now I’ve never been a fan of ticking clocks; I think they’re irritating, ominous and sinister. Not to mention the repetitiveness. They eat away at the silence and give me such a morbid sense of time running out.

Which I guess in the current situation is painfully apt.

I didn’t get much sleep last night, between Jonny’s moans of pain with each exhale, his constant choking from the fluid in his chest and the damn ticking clock, there was nowhere in my mind to hide.

With all of this came the terrifying development of Jonny’s sleep apnoea. I cannot tell you the fear that shot through me the first time I witnessed it happening… You don’t realise how much you’ll miss someone snoring until they’re laying in bed with terminal cancer and they go silent…

I guess you might be wondering about the title of this post; seven minutes to six? Well, it’s the time Jonny’s beloved pocket watch, handed down from his uncle, stopped at. The time also adorned upon the tattoo of said pocket watch on Jonny’s left arm.

Nothing special, the watch stopped one day and everything else continued, un-changed.

Much like death, I suppose…


Jonny and I, 2011


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