I go where I’m needed, where I’m summoned.
I don’t always make it in time.
I know some days I never had a chance to – before I’ve even got the call I see things crumbling, the darkness creeping in, heavy, too heavy to be pierced by the light that I bring with me all too late.
And then I can only stand by and watch.
I know what is to come, but I cannot look away – I owe it to you not to.
To observe, and to learn.
The light may bring you comfort, but I know it blinds me, and there are those things in the shadows that I can only see when the blackest moments of darkness come.
I wish I could shut myself from them, but it is there I have to stare, to look as closely as I dare.
It always feels like it will never end, but then it does.
The morning comes – not as a sudden cooling wave of relief, but as a creeping tide retreating so slowly you feel you could catch it even with the slowest plodding walk in pursuit.
But eventually it is gone, and another day has arrived, leaving all but the smallest rippling memories of the day now passed.
Then the next time comes and you call me in time.
I arrive and know what needs to be done.
First to your hippocampus, there the first work must come – shoring up, plugging the holes, fastening and securing wherever I can.
No sooner do I finish than I hear the thumping, the pounding – it’s trying to break through.
But I am here, with my help the cacophony lasts moments that feel like lifetimes, but pass with you holding there strong. The familiar darkness held at bay for today.
But now is not the time for congratulation. Already I see the spectres gathering in your amygdala, so there I hurry next.
A moment later and I would have been too late – the smoke is curling into shapes and faces, places and memories. I already feel you quivering, feel your heartbeat quickening as you remember and recognise what floats before us.
But I have your hand in mine, my heat spreads from palm to palm. The pace of the pulse in my fingertips coerces yours to slow, to match my beat and calm itself.
And I blow, a gentle breeze teases the smoke, turns ghastly and ghostly into the familiar and funny – a dark corner of a room unfolds into a sunlit seascape, with groaning and gasping crowded out by the tuneful chatter of the dawn chorus.
You release my hand as a smile turns the corners of your mouth upwards. Your eyes crinkle in happiness and then close in comfort.
Today was a good day.