Going Home

There was a single red tulip growing in the garden.  It stood erect and proud, looking out of place in a blanket of bluebells.  Elizabeth could see it from her bed and she looked for it when the curtains opened each morning.  This flower was her time-keeper. 

Today was dreary, and a blanket of fog hung over the garden.

"What time is it?"

"Just after ten.  How are you feeling today?"

"Better than yesterday," she saw the expression on Jessie’s face and turned to look at the calender, "What day is it?"

Jessie pushed her Mother’s hair from her forehead.

"It's Tuesday." 

There were three crosses missing.  Jessie walked to the calendar and filled them in with the red pen that hung there. 

A nurse entered the room, her shoes squeeking noisily on the shiny lino.  She carried a laundry basket full of books.  She questioned Jessie with a mournful look from her deep green eyes.

“Mum, do you want me to read to you today?”

“No thanks dear,” the old woman sighed and looked back at the Tulip.  It wavered there like a giant stop sign, never changing.  One day soon it would. 

'What if it did today?'  she heard the words in her head and felt the panic like a palatable lump.  Was she ready?  Her fingers twitched.  Her head pounded.

Click.

An old movie played in her head.  She was a child on the beach, riding atop a sturdy brown horse.  The horse was galloping on the sand, his mane flying wild in the air and sand flicking away from under his pounding hooves.  The freedom of youth was bursting out through her skin, her smile, and her wild abandon. 

She fast forwarded to the next scene. 

She was coming home from school for the last time, smiling and carrying an envelope full of grades that would make her parents proud.  Elizabeth had made it through her five year sentence. 

Again she fast forwarded to the next scene. 

She was at the alter.  So beautiful; her face radiant and shining in the church light.  She could see Tom's face as clear as if he was standing in the room next to her still.  He smiled at her and they clasped hands.  They looked so young.  So young.  But she still remembered it as if it was yesterday.  He had loved her more than she could ever have hoped for.

Click.

Her eyes closed and she drifted away on the memory of sweet love.

Voices.  Far away but moving closer.  Her eyes opened and she could see her daughters blue eyes as she blinked away the tears.  The doctor was talking to her in soft tones across the room.  She couldn't quite make out what they were saying.  Her head hurt as she turned her face towards the window.  The tulip had bent its head over this morning, even though the sun was out and it was a beautiful day.  It looked mournful.  Now she knew what the doctor was telling Jessie.  Her flower was fading.

Click.

She returned to her self-reflection.  Would she be remembered with honesty?  She thought about 'The Dash' a beautiful poem that she had heard at a funeral when she was younger.  It had cut to her heart at the time, and she had cried, not because the woman's life they were celebrating had ended, but because that poem had moved her so.  It described the vision of someone looking at a headstone, pondering on the line between the date of birth and the date of death; the pure significance of this tiny marking and all that it contained. 

Sure, there were a few things that she had aimed for and missed, but nothing she regretted.  Two children had turned out just as she had hoped.  She had loved and was loved in return, enough for two lifetimes.  She had worked hard for everything she had achieved.  She had travelled, her own country, and to countries she didn't need to see more than once to know she lived in the best place in the world.  She had helped those who asked, and even those who didn't, when she knew they needed it.  Was it enough?

Click.

She drifted away, her memory taking her to stand on a green hillside, the wind whistling in her hair.  It was long and dark and covered her face in soft tendrils, and there was no sign of grey yet.  Her skin was pale, white like the foxgloves that swayed behind her in the late afternoon breeze.

Click.  Click.

“Mum?  Mum can you hear me?”  She came out of the dark tunnel.  Her daughter’s voice sounded urgent, “David is here.  And Amy.”
A large warm hand enveloped her wrinkled fingers.  Her throat was dry and she couldn’t talk.  Jessie came with water. 

An Angel stood by her bedside.

“D-Davey,”

“Hi Ma,” he smiled.  Amy’s back was to them but her shaking shoulders gave her away.  Jessie consoled her sister in-law, “We’re all here”

Outside her window the red tulip bowed to the sun.  It had dropped its seed among the sand.  It had been significant while it lived, proud and gentle at the same time, but now it was time to make room for the ones that would take its place.

A final smile.  The best one of them all.  She was satisfied and a great feeling of peace crept in and folded over the panic that had been there.  The giant jigsaw of her life was complete, from this moment forward to become a memory of those she had touched.  A last glance at those she loved, and a last thought of the love she hoped to see once more. 

A last breath.