Fading Away

"I am Fading Away" - sketch for painting. Georgina Langdale

"I am fading away". This is what someone once said to me as she described being in her very old age, and sensing that death was near.

I asked her if she could describe what fading away was like for her. There was a pause. She then said, "It's as if bits of me are disappearing. Like bits of me, my life, my presence are floating away, gossamer on the breeze."

I imagined her pixellating. A multi-hued disintegration of the soul.

She said, "Sometimes there are moments when I don't know who I am anymore." And she sighed.

We sat together in an unpressured silence. A clock ticked on the mantlepiece.

"I think I will just gently fade away into death," she said calmly.

Sunlight filtered through the blinds. A bird sang outside. There was the distant suburban hum of a lawnmower. All so ordinary and so present.

Eventually she said,
"It’s nice to say this out loud. You know, to someone I love before my words disappear too."