The death of hope

Something in her died, never to return.

If living meant having to endure pain like this, she decided she did not want to live. In the coming days she would deliberately walk into a busy road, down a railway track, sit in front of too many sleeping pills. Being alive was torture.

This was not just the shock of surprise, but a shock that threatened everything she had held on to, a threat to everything she had believed in. For the first time in her life, she was unable to cope, she no longer recognised herself.

What kind of person was Coppelia? Her nature had always been to hope, in the bleakest of circumstances.

The excruciating long drawn-out death of her father, the death of her close friend from cancer, the prolonged mental health issues of her younger daughter, her own long years of suffering from a chronic illness - though now in remission - being the emergency temporary foster-carer of a young girl whose mother had descended into the hell of alcoholism: crisis after crisis had followed her through life, as they do for most of us, yet always she had never lost hope.

You may remember at the start of this story, difficult memories of past hurts caused her hesitation. Yes, she had lived through being dropped from a great height by a lover - yet she had dropped onto something
She had landed somewhere, been able to stand and begin the long crawl back up. This time, she was just.... falling. Falling, no ground, no bearings, there was nothing to hold on to. Before, however hard, she had usually been prepared. But this had rocked her very core.

Always, she had found some small solace, some escape, some means of coping. A friend, her family, a book, a holiday, other things going on in her life that helped carry her through...Coppelia had been told she was a survivor, courageous... when in the midst of agony, she still saw the beauty and the good in her life and would draw on these constantly, to see her through. Hope, in Coppelia, had always sprung eternal.

Later, she came to see that Friday, July 6th 2007, was the start of her shadowed life.

She had believed herself safe with him. She had really, really trusted that he would not let her down as the others had. It had never occurred to her that, should H find out, he could chose H, not her. If a man like him could treat her this way, then there was no man alive who she could trust. She suddenly felt so alone, with nowhere to hide, nowhere to turn, nowhere to run.

Tomorrow they would meet and he would tell her face to face. She hardly slept, seeking desparately to see hope where there was none. She imagined the scene, how she might convince him he was wrong, the words they would speak to one another. She tried to pray, but her only prayer was tears.

Her heart was so heavy her chest ached and every move she made took great effort, disbelief and anger crashing around in her head until she could bear it no longer.

She thought she was going mad. Her heart thrashed wildly, darting this way and that among the crowd of memories that came rushing forward to reassure her - memories that said things she needed to believe, memories that told her everything would be alright, tomorrow they would sort it all out, he would come to his senses.

Memories that did, indeed, reassure her he loved her very much.
Memories that also told her however much this was true, something else was also true.
He had a duty of care to H.

That night Coppelia knew the death of hope, and she was frozen with fear.