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Nearly a week has passed since I met the little girl, Caroline, and her Mum at work. Since then, I’ve had this internal smile on my face. I’ve tried to keep myself busy, keeping my mind active, and trying not to think about what happened outside the hospital lifts. It hasn’t been easy, but I’ve managed. I've worked two more long day shifts, met up with friends, gone food shopping. I managed to get some gardening done and even managed to squeeze in a meal out with Lottie.
Occasionally, I'd get a text message from Lottie, “Fancy a curry night?”
Lottie was a spur of the moment kind of girl. No planning, or putting a date in our diary, if she wanted a curry that evening, she would have one. If I was available, I'd always say yes. Then we would arrange when, where and what time to meet. If I was working or had other plans, I’d see Lottie on my Facebook feed. I would scroll up the newsfeed that evening, then Lottie would pop up. Instead of posting a selfie with me, it would be with somebody else. What Lottie wanted, Lottie got. She worked hard and rarely did anything for herself. She was a family-orientated person, devoted to her family and her husband. Still, on the odd occasion, she would think to herself, 'it's my turn now', and treat herself to a meal. Mainly her treats were food with friends, but that was Lottie.
The noise of the letterbox springing back, metal against metal, woke me up with a jolt. I had slept in, unless the postman was early. I checked the time on my iPhone. It was 11:11 am. I could not remember the last time I slept in until this late hour on a morning. It took me a good ten minutes to gather up enough energy to get out of bed, and even then, I felt I could have rolled over and gone back to sleep.
Instead, I stretched out, yawned, and sat on the edge of the bed. Scraped my hair back out of my eyes and ruffled it back itching my head at the same time. I didn't even bother with my dressing gown, I just headed downstairs in my boxer shorts and went straight to the front door. Two letters sat on the mat. One in a brown recycled envelope which didn't have my address on it and in bold type it read ‘to the homeowner’. I didn't even open it, and I took it straight to the kitchen's recycling bin. The other was a white envelope, the kind of envelope that resembled a birthday or Christmas card. I switched the kettle on in the kitchen and sat in my chair. It wasn't my birthday, and I had no known reason for any cards to be sent to me. The envelope was handwritten, and I instantly recognised the handwriting. I opened the envelope.
'Home Sweet Home', it read in big, bold letters across the top of the card. It was an invitation.
“You are invited to Leigh & Adam's Housewarming Party.”
In smaller italics, it read, “Don't bring us a gift, bring your favourite drink instead.”
It was for next Friday. I looked at my calendar on the fridge to check. I was available. I couldn’t believe she hadn’t told me to pencil in the date. As the kettle boiled, I sent her a text with my RSVP, ‘Try keeping me away, looking forward to it!’
Within an instant, she replied with an emoji thumbs up and a red love heart.
Today was my day off from work, and I had a run of three long day shifts starting the following day. I had made a mental list the night before of all the things that I needed to do on my last day off... Laundry, post office, and a visit to Mum & Dad’s. I always paid a visit to my parents on the last day of every month.
I never worked on the last day of the month. I always made sure that I hadn't got any shifts booked in at work. Even the boss knew not to ask me to work any extra on those days, even if they were short-staffed, as he knew my priority was Mum & Dad's on the last day of the month.
Mum and Dad were childhood sweethearts. They met at school and were raised in good, stable, loving families. Both of them came from homes where they were the only child, no other siblings in their life. Mum says she always wanted a brother to pick on, and dad used to say the same, about a sister. They lived just across the street from each other, and they grew up as best friends. Sleepovers, fights, birthday parties. They went to the same high school, and as they grew up together, they became soul mates. Everyone knew they were destined for each other. As they got older, they did eventually fall in love. They were married by the time my Mum was twenty one. Dad was only nineteen, and he was so proud that he was going to be a dad.
Being an only child means that I am the only one who can tend to their grave. All four of my grandparents died when I was relatively young.
Mum and Dad died in a car accident on my 21st birthday. I still get mad and angry at them for leaving me so early on in my life. My 21st birthday was supposed to be a lovely afternoon in the garden. Mum had bought a gazebo and decorated it with balloons and banners saying '21 Today'. Dad got the BBQ out, and I was looking forward to having a lovely afternoon with my Mum and Dad, and a few of my friends.
The day before, I'd spotted a birthday cake with a picture printed on the icing of me as a toddler. It was a photograph of me sitting on the potty with a cheeky grin on my face. I never said anything. I thought I'd act surprised and embarrassed for the sake of my folks.
I'd got some old high school friends coming over, mainly Barkley, Brenda, Leigh, and Penelope. Lottie was coming over too, and I was looking forward to having a drink and enjoying my friends' company. It was ten am, and I was still in my room. The party was to begin at twelve midday.
Mum shouted upstairs to me, “Aaron we’re just popping out, we will be 30 mins or so, stay out of the garden, it's a surprise!”
I didn't know at the time, but they had gone to collect a second-hand car they had bought for me as a surprise for my 21st birthday. I thought it was strange that they both left the house in Mum's red Fiat Punto. Dad was always the driver if they went out together. Unbeknownst to me, when they had gone to collect the surprise birthday car, Mum was driving Dad there to complete the sale, and Dad would drive my present home. I saw some red ribbon and a bow on the kitchen worktop, but I just thought it was part of the decorations. It was a blue Ford Escort.
I remember seeing the pictures in the local newspaper of the accident. ‘Motorway carnage,’ the headlines read. Mum's red Fiat Punto was halfway into the blue Ford Escort that dad was driving. The photos made it look like someone had spliced two cars together. Both Mum and Dad were pronounced dead at the scene.
A Mr Terry Stamp was selling the car. He wasn't able to drive any longer due to health issues. The vehicle had not moved for eight months. He only lived ten minutes away from our house. According to the accident report, the calliper on the brakes had seized. Dad must have applied the brakes at some point when he was driving it home, and that was it, they seized. Mum was behind him in her car, and she went straight into the back of him. Neither of them stood a chance.
Thursday 31st July 1997 wasn't my 21st birthday. It was the day I lost my world.
The accident happened on the last day of July. The funeral service on the last day of August. Since then, and every month since, I have tended to their grave on the last day of every month. I have come to terms with my loss, but it was a long grieving process. It was nearly a decade before I was able to come off the medication. I had an abundance of love through the whole ordeal from my friends. Leigh was there for me when I was rock bottom, as were Barkley, and Lottie.
I know of the saying ‘pushing up daisies’. Well, this was so true of my Mum and Dad's grave. Every month the same weed would appear in the same spot, and every month I would pull it out. I'd give the grave a clean down, remove the old dead flowers and replace them with fresh ones. This time though, I came prepared. I'd bought some weed killer during my last shopping spree. It’s only taken me twenty three years to realise that I'd not been taking the weeds out by the roots. By now, the white gravel had turned green with moss and algae. Once upon a time, I would be able to rake the stones, and as they turned over, it would reveal the whiteness of the rocks again. Those days were long gone, the gravel now looked like it was supposed to be green. I had thought about replacing it, but it's not easy on a pushbike.
I never did get a car after Mum and Dad's car accident.
As I tended to the grave, I sat there like I have done many times before. I spoke to my parents. They always listened when they were alive, and I have carried on telling them about my life. I'd often go with loads of stuff to tell them. Other times, I preferred to sit there in solitude listening to the wildlife and the trees in the breeze around the graveyard.
I arrived at the grave at 1 pm, much later than usual. I would typically arrive at 10 am and I'd see Mrs Douglas, who lost her husband five years ago. She would always be sitting on a bench in front of her husband's gravestone. Sometimes, I would sit with her and talk. At the very least, I would give her a nod or a friendly hello. She would probably be wondering where I was today. I started pulling weeds up and spraying the weed killer. A sudden urge came over me, I sat the weed killer down and cried. I'd not wept at my parents’ grave for years. My head was a total mess, something was happening to me, and I had no one to talk to about it. I took a deep sigh and a long pause. It was as if I was going to tell them something so big, and I hesitated as if I was going to be scared of the response. I eventually told them about Metatron in my dream and of floating outside the tent. I told them about Leigh and what she saw, and about the little girl at the hospital.
I started thinking back to being outside the lift area at the hospital with Caroline. I could visualise myself with this golden aura around my body, and this little girl looking at me in wonderment.
“What was happening to me?” I asked Mum and Dad.
Silence fell, and I carried on cleaning the grave, tears streaming down my face. I placed some fresh flowers in the marble vase that formed part of the headstone.
“I'll see you next month,” I said and slowly picked up my bike. I walked with it to the gates at the graveyard. Just as I was about to leave, I saw Mrs Douglas getting out of her car in the small car park. I dried off my face and waited to greet her. She was in her eighties and still driving, an achievement in its own right. She saw me waiting, and her slow walk picked up the pace.
“Hello, my love,” she said as she pulled off her grey knitted hat with a half-finished pom pom on top. It was the middle of summer, yet she still wore the same hat every time I saw her.
“Hi, Mrs Douglas,” I said.
“I must have missed you this morning,” she said in her sweet soft old lady voice.
“Yeah,” I said, shifting my weight to my other foot nervously and holding onto my bike as if someone was going to steal it. “I had a dentist appointment this morning,” I lied. I didn't want her to think, or know, that I had overslept.
She looked at me as if she could tell I wasn't telling the truth. “Ah, the dreaded dentist,” she said. “At least I don't have that worry anymore,” and she snapped her teeth shut to make a chomping noise. “Well, not unless this set breaks, I don’t.”
“I’m surprised to see you here this afternoon too,” I said.
“Oh, my darling, I come here every day, twice a day, and have done for the last five years. You see when my George was dying of cancer, I said to him ‘George, you might be leaving me soon, but I am not leaving you. I will still come and see you every day, and I will be with you until I can't any longer. When that time comes, then I will probably be ready to come and join you anyway.’” She pulled out a white flask with red roses on it, “I come here and have a cuppa in the afternoon with my George, come rain or shine I am here.”
Listening to her tell me this made me feel guilty about my once-a-month ritual. It hardly felt enough compared to her twice-daily visits.
“Anyway, today we are celebrating. I've got a tot of whisky in my tea, and I'm going to celebrate the good news with my George.”
I looked over at her car parked up in the car park.
“Oh, don't worry about that dear,” she said. “I nearly always have something to celebrate! The amount of whisky I put in here wouldn't fit in a chocolate liqueur. I've been celebrating with a tot of whisky in this flask for years love. But...” She smiled and looked at the sky. “But today someone was listening, and this one is a true celebration.”
“Go on then,” I said. “Share the good news!”
“My great-granddaughter has been given the all-clear for cancer,” she said as she handed me the flask and pulled out of her bag a small hand-sized photo album, she flicked through towards the last page and showed me the photo.
I did not react; it was like time stood still.
She took the album back out of my hand and held it to her chest. “Caroline, they call her, and she has been given the all-clear of cancer.”