Another conversation about death:
\n‘You can stab your heart \u2013 you won’t feel it \u2013
\nthe heart’s autonomous’ he says. I twist
\nmy daughter’s abandoned pipe cleaner<\/p>\n
into a blue, three-petalled flower.
\nMy father’s heart is doing its own thing \u2013
\nracing blood around his body too fast, forcing
\nhim to lie down. Only he won’t.<\/p>\n
Ok, maybe he’ll give up climbing mountains.
\nAnd caffeine. He’s agreed to get someone in
\nto climb on the roof when slates have slipped.
\nBut slowing down? Stopping?<\/p>\n
He tells me he felt it coming on one day
\nheading home from the city: his heart in his throat,
\ncouldn’t catch his breath. Sixty-three miles to go.
\nOnly an hour. He drives through it.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
I imagine him clipping the edge of the road,
\ncrashing down a heathered slope, trying to keep
\nhis hands on the wheel, his foot on the brake
\nhis lungs dragging in air. Breathe, breathe,
\nhe’s telling himself. Why can’t he do something
\nto stop the car gliding over cotton grass,
\nsphagnum moss? An alluvial river.
\nHe’s noted the water’s snaking path before,
\nalways meant to stop the car, get out, examine
\neroded banks. The words come at him \u2013
\nmeander, oxbow. The geography of it
\nfirst hand. The water rising up the windscreen.<\/p>\n
***<\/p>\n
On the sofa, he tells me the cardiologist
\nwill burn his heart with radio waves.
\nHe wants it done before the medics say
\nhe’s too old for surgery. He wants his life back.<\/p>\n
The next day, he heads home. He texts:
\nThere’s fresh snow on the hills. It’s lambing
\nseason. In the front lawn the first
\nbluebell shoots are coming through.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Another conversation about death: ‘You can stab your heart \u2013 you won’t feel it \u2013 the heart’s autonomous’ he says. I twist my daughter’s abandoned pipe cleaner into a blue, three-petalled flower. My father’s heart is doing its own thing \u2013 racing blood around his body too fast, forcing him to lie down. Only he […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":120,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":true,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[320,322],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n