I am reminded of what I couldn’t do
each time I accomplish a task
that was previously insurmountable.
Every time I do one of those tasks,
I see a shadow of me out of the
corner of my eye, see through
and greyish white. He is
almost like a spirit made of vapour;
not there, but seen like a memory
replaying itself on a time loop.
Each time I step into the bath tub
to take a shower, I can see
the vapour me trying to balance
and watch as he
out of the tub and onto the floor.
Every time I take out the garbage,
I watch as the vapour me
with the garbage can and the steps,
I watch as he falls down the stairs.
When I change the cat litter,
I watch the vapour me
at the pain he feels in staying
upright with a hand against the wall,
knowing he will pay dearly.
Seeing the vapour me doesn’t bother me
as it once did. He is my past and
he is also a reminder of my strength.
For every time he fell,
he got back up.
Each time he felt pain,
he soldiered on, regardless.
Whenever he struggled
with simple, ordinary tasks,
he did them anyway
overcoming ordinary obstacles.
I may live with a vapour man,
mirroring my every move,
but he is a reminder of
what I’ve overcome and the
flat mountains that I have climbed.