Together Again

 A few days after my Dad died I had the most vivid dream of him. He’d called me to show me where he was. It was a beautiful place; warm and sunny with beaten earth paths winding between old, whitewashed stone buildings.

Dad was barefoot, as was I. I remember the feel of the ground under my feet.  It was lovely.

At one point he leaned his head on my shoulder in a half-hug he used to give me and on his face was a look of blissful, joyful peace. Something I rarely saw when he was alive.

As signs go I considered it good enough for me. Wherever Dad was he was out of pain and beyond all the cares and regrets that used to haunt him while he was alive.

Mum lived another 2 years after Dad died, but was pretty lost without her partner of 60-odd years.
Her death was quite sudden. She was sitting in her chair, holding hands with her favourite nurse and having a giggle about life, death and missing Dad when she just rolled up her eyes and… left.

A couple of days later I was struck by another vision. One where Dad came into her room that day and, with that quiet half smile of his, held out his hand and said “You coming Ann?”.
In that moment there was nothing any of us in this world could have offered that would come close to that invitation. Mum replied “Oh, of course Len!”, took his hand and they walked from the room together.

Very probably the conversation, as they drifted away hand in hand, would have been something like:
“Two years Len! Why did it take you two years? I’ve been waiting here for ages…”
“Well I had to get the garden straightened out first, didn’t I?”

“Yes, but really, there are only so many crosswords a girl can do……”

And they would both be happy and content.

Ever since then I’ve had a little picture in my head. I finally had some spare time this weekend and got it on paper. It’s just called “Together Again”.