text: Age 23 He walked out of the clinic and looked up at the blue sky, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. Lowering his gaze, he swiveled his head slowly, searching for a place he could go to, for a coffee. He really needed one. He caught sight of an unpretentious and quiet little café, parked at the corner of the street across. He liked the way its wooden structure glowed warmly in the sun. Walking over, he picked out a table at the back of the café, obscured from the view of most of the café by a dividing wall made of long wooden slabs. When his coffee was served, he took a deep whiff of the hot mocha, and felt his body relax a little. He stirred the cocoa powder topping in, his attention caught by the swirls and ripples of the comforting liquid. He took his time to savour the nutty and chocolate overtones, before he finally allowed himself to process what had just been shared with him. He felt strangely numb and detached. Perhaps he was still in shock. After all, he hadn’t expected a simple trip to the doctor’s, to check up on his recent issues with night blindness, to render him results that would change his life forever. He had expected the doctor to tell him that he had been fatigued, overworked, stressed. That he had been overly focused on his art, that he should give his eyes a break at regular periods. He had been sure that he would be told to rest well, and things would be fine and dandy. He should be crushed, he knew. But it didn’t seem real, not yet. Perhaps later, after sharing the news with his family, reality would set in and he would begin to grieve. The broken pieces in his soul began to gather, forming a stony lump in his chest. Art school, and a progressive loss of vision. His dreams seemed shattered in their infancy. Age 35 Seated in his comfy chair at home, he sipped the warm mocha appreciatively. Annie would be home soon, and they could begin dinner. He took another sip, then brought the mug upstairs with him, to his studio. He carefully placed the mocha down on the table, turned the music up, before picking up his brush and resuming painting. He hoped to finish the painting of her soon, in time for her birthday. Carefully, he dabbed in the shadows under her nose. He moved on to fill in the shadows beneath her upper lip, curving into her mouth. He switched his brush, and gently stroked on the highlights of her full lips. Frowning, he carefully inspected the painting, and reached forward to brush on a stronger highlight on the bridge of her nose. Focused, engrossed in every stroke, he didn’t notice when the half hour stretched to an hour. Music blasting, he didn’t notice when Annie announced her arrival back home. He didn’t hear her as she walked up the steps. And he didn’t see her, when she stood at the door way, in the periphery of his vision. She watched as he painted, her heart swelling with joy. She felt the tingling of the first touch of a tear in her eyes. She was surprised, and deeply moved. At the same time, she was also deeply saddened. He seemed to have completely lost his peripheral vision. His vision seemed to be tunneling, faster than it had over the past years. He didn’t like to talk about his shriveling sight, and he tended to insist that things were fine. But now and again, she would notice some signs of it, though she would tactfully keep silent. Quietly, she walked backwards through the door way, and crept back down the stairs. Going to the front door, she loudly slammed it this time, declaring at the top of her voice, “Honey, I’m home!” She put her bag down heavily on the steel shelf, and proceeded to the kitchen. She heard the clatter and bumps from above as he hurried about hiding her painting and the art supplies. She turned to greet him when he came into the kitchen, and gave him a long deep kiss. Age 42 He spent nearly every day in his studio now, painting feverishly. He had yet to creating his masterpiece, anything he could consider the crowning glory of his life’s work. But he was almost out of time. Brows furrowed, he tilted his head to angle the one small spot of vision he had left, so that it could light on her eyes on the canvas. He tried to capture the lights and flecks of her hazel eyes, how they seemed to catch the sunshine and hold the sparkle within. As his attention narrowed wholly onto the little circle of sight he had, her hazel eyes watched on from the doorway, sad, but understanding. Quietly, his daughter tiptoed away, to spend the day by herself in the room, reading. Annie brought in his dinner as usual, imploring him to take a break, to spend some time with the family. He looked away, resolutely ignoring her pleas. She had to understand. He didn’t have much time left, and he needed to complete this. Needed to leave this art piece for his daughter, for her. His beautiful family, his pair of muses. He needed to have created something worthwhile, for them to remember him as he wanted them to. Before he became nothing more than a burden to them. The next weeks passed. Each day, the narrow spot of his vision shrank just a little, barely noticeable, but relentless. And still he painted desperately. It was an ambitious piece, with all of them featured within the home he had built for them over the years. Each one of them were imbued with an expression of peace, warmth and bliss. The three of them spending time together as a family, a capture of the simple daily bliss he felt for his family. He looked up from painting, her sobs finally piercing through his intense concentration. He turned, swiveling his head about before he managed to locate his little Chloe, sat in a corner. Through the dimming pinprick of vision, he saw that she was watching him, with tears dribbling down her cheeks. “My love!” He was shocked. “What’s wrong?” He went over to her and carefully scooped her up, adjusting himself to the severe lack of depth of vision. “I want to spend the day with you, daddy. Please. Before you can’t see, I want to go places with you. I want to see things with you.” Her words hit him like a tonne of bricks. Shock, shame and intense sadness filled his heart. What was he doing? What had he been doing with those last few precious weeks of his sight? He hugged her tightly, feeling the tears running down his own face. He had been so intent on completing the art piece, on completed a masterpiece, something worth holding on to long after his sight had faded. To accomplish something his family could be proud of. Something he could be remembered for, other than being an old, blind burden. But here she was, the biggest achievement of his lifetime, here Annie was, both of them the loves of his life. And yet he had not given them a second glance. Annie rushed in, hearing the sobs of her husband and child. She took in the sight, and couldn’t help but weep as well. “We are going out, my love. We are going places. I’ll spend every single moment of every day with you, with mommy. We are going to make so many beautiful memories.” Little Chloe clung tightly to him, weeping in joy and disbelief. Age 20 Chloe stirred the steaming cup of mocha, and tasted it. It was perfect, just how he liked it. She picked it up and walked to the porch. He sat in the lounge chair, listening to the chirping of the crickets, the ringing of the cicadas. Smelling the mocha and hearing her steps, he smiled and reached out, accurately placing a hand on hers. He took hold of the cup she had brought him and took a deep whiff. She settled down by his side, and they sat in silence for a while. At home in the darkness, he felt blessed, safe, and warm. He listened as Chloe stood up and walked over to the easel. She had chosen to be an artist too, and he knew she was an amazing one, even without having ever seen her paint. He knew it, from the sounds of her strokes, and from the detailed descriptions Annie gave him. Age 35 She stared at the old, unfinished painting. Parts of the paint had cracked on the canvas. With a sad smile, she recalled the days her father spent, feverishly painting in the studio, desperately trying to complete the painting. She remembered the deep jealousy she had felt toward the canvas and his paints and her intense wish for him to pay her the same attention. How she had ached to have him spend time with her, for them to have fun as a family. She thought back to how things had changed that night, when she had broken down sobbing. She held on to the beautiful memories of the following weeks they had spent together, their travels to different parts of the country, the different sights they saw, all as a loving family. She smiled as she remembered the nights they spent sitting around a campfire, laughing and basking in stories of magic and beauty. She stared at the painting, and her heart overflowed with love, longing and an intense sadness. She missed him fiercely. She knew her mother did too. With a trembling hand, she picked up the paintbrush, once his faithful companion, and started painting. Filling in the gaps left on the canvas, finishing that long ago portrait, she felt a deep sense of peace. As she painted in the empty spaces of the canvas with rich, viscous colours, she felt her soul begin to heal. Annie stood quietly in the corner, smiling, while tears brimmed in her eyes. She watched quietly as her beloved daughter imbued the once forlorn canvas with joy and love. Watched as the love of her life, of his life, gradually brought his cherished masterpiece to fruition. Him, her, Chloe, gazing happily at one another, in front of the big old house that was once new. Late at night, with the world dark outside, Chloe painted on, immersed in the flow of it, and felt him near.