As I walked into the hospital and walked the route too bitterly familiar, chronological flashbacks of dad and me walking that journey together came into sight - dad, dressed in his white shirt and black slacks, walking next to me down that corridor past Starbucks, week after week, then it was dad sitting in the wheelchair, holding on to his small black leather sling bag and me pushing the wheelchair towards the lifts, then it was sometimes me walking alongside dad in a wheelchair when there was too much to carry whilst the valet boy helped push dad into the lab section, then it was us never walking down that walkway again. And today, I walked alone.
I took the lift up to the first floor for old times' sake, turned left and left again to the oncology centre.
I could see the look of pity and sympathy in the eyes of the staff, whom dad and I saw so often, fixed on me. All I could do was give them my best smile as I stood about on edge, impatiently waiting to flee from that horrid place as soon as I could.
M
