It was Tuesday. My day off work. It was bright and sunny.
We went to see the doctor for the last time.
We were late by a few minutes because I made him shave. I got a bit annoyed about the fact that we got late but then I hugged him and apologised.
It didn’t matter because we still had to wait.
It was our last chance to pick up on how unwell he was.
He was in ‘crisis’ but we didn’t recognize it.
Not even his doctor did.

We went to the bank, the fruit shop, the gift shop, the Oxfam charity shop and the post office. We had soup for lunch out in the open at the local organic food deli. Although we were together he was very much coming along with me. I loved that he was spending time with me. Sometimes I even succeeded in making him laugh. For instance one day he told me about a friend who spoke to him about his Mum being really annoying and pushy, to which I said, “Well. That seems to be the flavor of the month.” And he gave me one of his lovely sideways smiles acknowledging my remark. I felt fantastic whenever I could achieve that. It was not easy.

He went to his room for a nap. I called my brother in India. I cried on the phone as my heart was breaking. I felt helpless and powerless to change anything. Instinctively I knew we were missing something but I didn’t know what.

It is easy to identify psychosis in someone who is wielding a knife standing in the kitchen but not so in someone who makes no fuss and quietly sits in his room. Depressive psychosis is sinister.

The date has come back but the day is gone forever.
Our last full day together.