the day he went away

There he stands, in a corner of the room, washing clothes. I pass him the clothes and he washes. No complaints, no questions asked. After he washes the clothes, I hang them out. Our communication is a non-verbal one. All these while, I took him for granted. Making him wash as much clothes as he could at one go. I never checked to see if he was tired, or whether he needed a break.

Yesterday, tragedy struck. He could no longer do the washing. Initially, I thought he was probably just tired or throwing a tantrum. I realized something was not right when he was coughing when washing clothes later at night. The task that used to be chicken feed for him now seems so difficult. I told him to stop washing and take a rest. I called for the doctor.

This morning, the doctor popped by. I was told he was suffering from a heart failure due to exhaustion. The doctor could not give a prescription. He had to be admitted to the hospital for a heart transplant. Later on, two paramedics came and carried him away in a stretcher.

Now I have to do my own laundry. Oh darling Meyer, my beloved washing machine, how I miss you so.