Tabula Rasa

We wouldn’t have been worried if this had been the first glass we’d heard smash this morning, but it was the third. Three broken glasses in one day, and she didn’t even seem to notice. She also didn’t seem to notice she’d left the front door wide open since we got here, or that the family cat had been missing all week. Sure, occasional lapses are to be expected at this age, but such regular slip-ups of the mind could no longer be ignored. We knew that this day had been on the cards for a long time coming, but now that it was finally here, none of us actually knew what to do. We were all sitting around the aged dining-room table. We’d sat in these exact same seats as children, causing our own mischief, breaking our own glasses. There was never a moment of silence back then, but now a melancholy echo of nothingness hung in the air as we looked at one another, an unspoken understanding passing amongst each of us. Nobody could bring themselves to move, until Flick nodded, almost to herself, stood, and walked to the kitchen. “Come on, Mum. Let’s get in the car.”