Chapter 4 – New Routines, New Distance
The silence that followed was strange. At first, I thought it was just recovery—Josephine taking a long breath after months of emotional heavy lifting. She still visited, still smiled, still watched the kettle boil while doodling on scraps of paper. But there was a new quiet between us, like the space left after a song ends.
She began spending more time at home. Not in Bray, but in her own world. And slowly, her gaze turned outward—toward something new, something I couldn’t quite name yet. Her routine changed, and though she still dropped by, her energy felt divided. I didn’t blame her. She’d earned rest, exploration, whatever life offered next.
In 2008, the change became clear. Josephine joined the local Special Olympics club. It was something she had once spoken about in passing but had never dared to commit to—not until now. Suddenly, she was surrounded by new people, coaches, teammates, uniforms, and schedules. It was a fresh start.
At first, I was proud. I watched her come alive in a different way. There were early mornings, training sessions, weekends away. Her confidence grew. But with that growth came a distance I hadn’t expected. She stopped visiting as often. Club commitments clashed with our usual times. Conversations grew shorter. Texts went unanswered.
By 2016, the visits stopped completely. Not because we had fallen out. There was no argument, no slammed door. Just the gradual shift of priorities. She now belonged to something else—a club that asked for her loyalty, her time, and eventually, her availability.
And though I kept a place for her on my couch and in my thoughts, I had to accept that our chapter was slowly closing.
But I didn’t stop caring. And I never stopped watching from afar.