You'd Look Better as a Ghost

by Joanna Wallace

That tenth plate, poised somewhere between precarious and reckless, lies smashed on the ground, together with the other nine.

Funnily enough, after ten minutes at the first group session, I’ve decided there’s a possibility I might enjoy it. Being around all this raw emotion is invigorating.

Early onset dementia, that was his fate, waiting for him after decades of kindness and hard work. A merciless disease, it disposed of his sanity fast, leaving behind confusion and psychosis inside the shape of my dad.

A society that allows us to destroy our pets as soon as they start shitting indoors but demands that humans be kept alive at any cost. A society that pretends to care about dignity and quality of life but no longer understands the meaning of either.

Maybe that’s the cornerstone of motherly love—a belief that the happiness of a child overrides everything else, even the truth.

“Please get in,” she says, “I don’t know this area at all. You can direct me to the nearest coffee shop.” She smiles. “Don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer.” Returning the smile, I get in the car and wonder how many serial killers in the history of serial killing have used that line. I might try it.

I sit perfectly still and watch her in silence. Stillness and silence. The most underrated weapons in any given armory. People will do anything to avoid the discomfort created by stillness and silence.

I’ve always been fascinated by this particular aspect of human nature—the insatiable need to be envied and admired.

I glance out of the window and imagine a spaceship landing in the car park outside. Invading aliens could burst into this pub at any moment and what would they see? A grown woman crying like a baby, drinking more and more of a drug known to make people cry.

Gutless inaction. The perfect epitaph.

“All this emotion is good,” says Star, sitting forward in her chair, suddenly serious. “As is diversity of thought. After all, no two journeys through grief are the same. However, we have to remember to be respectful of each other’s journeys.”

I sit in silence for a moment and think. What have I learned? I’ve learned that grief is brutal and uncompromising—that it messes with my mind, causing me to doubt myself and make mistakes.

Addiction has done all the groundwork. Addiction has stripped her of pride and joy and any chance of a future. Addiction should have the win.