Page 3 of Life After Me

Jenn

Ugh . I am so glad that’s over with. Watching your own autopsy must be the most disgusting thing ever.

It was like a bad horror film. Gory, bloody, and utterly depersonalising, but I couldn’t look away.

They pulled me out of the drawer, manhandled me onto one of their cold, shiny tables, and left me lying there under stark, bright lights.

I know I’m not part of that body anymore, but it was still mine.

I looked after it for the best part of five decades.

OK, it wasn’t a perfect body, and there were definitely a few more pounds and inches on it than I would have liked, but not everyone has hours to spend down the gym, or the money for personal trainers.

All that aside, I was in pretty good shape.

I loved the stretch marks over my belly and hips that my children left me, and I liked the funny little scar on my forearm from where I caught it on the truck the day David and I moved into our home.

I’m still fond of the bent little finger that never healed quite right after I broke it at school.

I even liked my wrinkles, because they’re reminders of so many nights of laughter with the people I cared about, usually with a little bit too much wine.

OK, I didn’t always think that way when I was alive, but now I can see the imperfections for what they really are. Reminders. A lifetime mapped out in scars, stretch marks and wrinkles. I loved that body.

Watching someone cut it up was horrible and degrading. An invasion of privacy. The final insult. And despite me having left that body, it still hurt. Or, at least, the memory of it did.

But at least it was over quickly. Once they’d cut me open, even I could see what killed me. There was blood everywhere, pooling around my heart and lungs. A traumatic dissection of the thoracic aorta. That’s what the coroner called it. I’d literally died of a broken heart.

He’d been right about the other thing too. It was so quick I hadn’t even felt it. But he was wrong about that being a blessing. I’d rather have been in pain and had the time to tell David how much I loved him once more.

But then again, if I’d had the choice, I’d still be alive.

* * *

David

The coroner called this morning. They’re going to release Jenn.

The inquest and final verdict won’t be for a few months yet, but we’re going to get Jenn back to bury.

I haven’t been able to decide whether it’s a good thing or not.

In a way it’s both. I’m relieved she’s not going to be in that horrible place anymore, and will be going with the undertakers.

They seemed really nice and promised to take excellent care of her.

But the whole thing scares me too. Because it means I have to start thinking and making decisions.

I have to start planning the funeral, and getting ready to say goodbye to Jenn.

These aren’t things I’m ready to deal with, so I’m tempted to just crawl into bed and pull covers over my head until the world rights itself again.

Except I can’t bear the thought of being in bed without Jenn, so I sit on the sofa and stare at nothing instead.

* * *

The local newspaper found out about her death. Apparently it makes a good story. I didn’t know anything about it until I wandered downstairs one morning and found it sitting on the doormat.

“Beloved Teacher Dies in Tragic Car Crash.” The headline screamed at me from the front page, an obnoxious reminder of the worst day of my life.

Another twist of the knife that’s been digging deeper and deeper into my chest since those last, precious minutes on a cold roadside.

They mention me of course, but as usual get my job wrong — I’m a draughtsman not an architect.

I turn other people’s ideas into the technical drawings and maps that make sure buildings end up the right way up.

But most people think it’s all the same thing.

Not that it matters, except that it would have amused Jenn.

But it wasn’t all bad, because below the black, tormenting letters was a full-colour picture of Jenn, smiling out at me.

The photo wasn’t one I knew. She was sitting cross-legged on the ground, her bare toes just peeping out from under one of those gypsy skirts that she loved.

Her hair was blowing gently in the breeze, and she was surrounded by daffodils.

Her smile was filled with such love and warmth that she had to know the photographer.

She looked incredibly beautiful. And vivid and alive.

It was wonderful and terrible at the same time: another beautiful shot of my beautiful wife, but it came with a memory that I hadn’t been a part of. And as silly as it sounds, it made me realise how many memories there are going to be that she is never going to be a part of again.

The knowledge settled somewhere deep inside me — sour, heavy and painful.

‘It’s one of mine.’ Lottie handed me a cup of coffee. ‘They were going to print a photo anyway, so I figured it should be a good one. You know she’d have been furious if they used some stupid passport photo, or her school ID. You don’t mind, do you?’ Worry sounded in her voice.

‘No. I think it’s lovely. When did you take this?’ It was an effort to keep my voice steady.

‘When she stayed with me a couple of Easters ago. Just before I graduated. You were working, me and Mum were both on Easter holidays. It’s around the back of an old church in some little village a few miles from the uni. The daffodils seemed to go on for miles. She lit up when she saw them.’

‘She always did.’ I nodded, remembering. ‘They were her favourites. She always said she knew spring was really here, and the world was coming back to life, when she saw the daffs.’

Lottie smiled, and for a brief moment sunshine filled the kitchen. ‘She once told me fairies pushed up daffodils to make the sun want to come back. I think I was about four.’

* * *

The visits started that afternoon. People who were “just dropping by”, with twee cards covered in crosses and lilies and rainbows. And sunsets. As if I needed the reminder that things were ending. We were in everyone’s prayers and God was apparently with us in our time of need.

Just what I didn’t want to hear. What about out on that cold roadside when Jenn was dying?

I could have done with some divine intervention then.

But after Jenn was gone and my life was falling apart?

Too little, too late. It was all I could do not to rip up the twee cards and throw them back in the faces of the nosey busybodies masquerading as sympathetic well-wishers.

And as if the cards weren’t bad enough, there were all the flowers and food.

I had half expected the flowers, but the food was a complete surprise.

Plates of cakes and cookies, endless casseroles and dishes of cheesy, tuna pasta.

Did people actually think endless plates of food would help fill the hole that Jenn’s left in our lives?

She didn’t even like tuna, and they had managed to make her whole house stink of it.

Who could even eat at a time like this?

Lottie, Matty and Sarah were great. They smiled graciously and accepted the condolences and food with heartfelt thanks. It’s better than I would have managed. Lottie and Sarah even made some sort of list to make sure everyone gets the right dish back.

But me? I did my best to stay away from them. I couldn’t bear all the false sympathy. They were as bad as those bastards who slowed down to stare at the accident, rubbernecking at my agony so they could gossip about it when they got home.

What is it about some people that makes them so interested in the pain and suffering of others? Maybe that was the real reason for all the food. Come see the grieving family, it’s a bargain price! Admission is just one plate of horrible food that you’d never eat.

And then when they’d seen enough, they’d give another sympathetic smile, and maybe touch my arm. ‘We’re so sorry about Jenn, such an awful thing, a horrible tragedy, a terrible loss. If there’s anything we can do?’

I gave myself a headache fighting the urge to smile back and respond sarcastically, ‘Really? You mean that? How about building a time machine so I can undo that day? That would be just great!’ But instead I forced myself to smile and thank them for their kindness, all the while counting the seconds until I could escape politely. Or at least not too rudely.

Then, job done and gossip gathered, they’d skip off happily and smugly, heading back to their own, perfect, whole, unbroken families.

It’s been days since the article was published, and people are still turning up with dishes and plates.

I wish they’d stop with all their sympathy.

I wish they’d stop filling the house with nasty tuna casseroles and mangy lilies.

Jenn’s always hated lilies. They made her sneeze and depressed her.

Now I can’t move for the blasted things.

I wish they’d all just leave us alone.

I wish none of this was real.

I wish I’d died instead of her.

* * *

Jenn

Oh, love, you don’t mean that. I know you think you do, but you really don’t.

These are our friends, and they are only coming round to offer their support.

And to get some back. I know I’m your wife, and I’ve been incredibly proud and lucky to call you my husband, but these people are my friends and colleagues.

They were part of my life, and I was part of theirs. They lost me too.

Besides, I’m a little flattered by all the attention.

It’s a shame you have to drop dead before people remember how much you mean to them.

Then it’s too late, and everyone’s filled with regret for every phone call they forgot to return and every evening they postponed.

I wish I’d realised when I was alive. Then I could have made more of an effort, and not wasted my time watching so much rubbish on television.

Or at least I could have watched rubbish with my friends, instead of without them.

There aren’t many things I regret. But that’s one of them.

I should have made more time for the people who really mattered.

I wonder how many nights I wasted worrying about things I couldn’t change, and that didn’t really matter.

I used to think that so much mattered, and now it all seems so pointless.

The only thing that really matters is people, and the people who matter to me are hurting so badly right now. It’s agony. Their pain wraps around me, dragging at me and exhausting me. I keep trying to reach them, especially David, but the pain and anger just buffets me away.

* * *

David

I don’t know what’s going on with me lately. It’s like I’m not really myself. I’m so angry all of the time. And confused. I can’t work out what I’m supposed to be doing, but I know it’s not yelling at my children.

It’s like being really, really drunk. There’s a tiny part of me inside that’s watching everything I’m doing, and screaming to be heard, and begging me to stop.

But it’s drowned out by the all-consuming anger and pain that leaves me numb and aching.

Oh, Jenn, why did you have to leave me? I need you more than ever right now.

I’m taking my anger out on the children, especially Matty.

I hate myself for it, and I know it’s wrong, but I can’t seem to stop.

Everything Matty does annoys me. Even when he’s trying to be helpful, he manages to irritate me.

Like today, with the washing up, doesn’t he know you’re supposed to rinse the soap off dishes before drying them?

Then I hate myself for not being the father that Matty and Lottie need right now, so guilt and self-loathing gets added to the anger and pain.

My kids need me to be strong, and to support them both.

They deserve that. And I am trying, but I don’t know how to deal with Matty.

He’s not a little boy anymore. He’s not even the cocky teenager I waved off to university years ago.

I don’t know how to be a dad to this adult. I don’t even know how to talk to him.

So I snap and I snarl instead, and I hate myself for it.

But I hate you too, Jenn. I hate you for leaving me and letting me turn into this monster.

I hate you for breaking your promise to me.

We were supposed to grow old together. Now you’ve left me and I can’t work out how to live without you.

I’m scared and confused and... Damn it, Jenn, I’m furious.

Forever was supposed to be a lot longer than this.

It was just a stupid accident. I walked away from it, and I don’t understand why you didn’t.

Sometimes I think you should have tried harder to stay with me.

I hate you for not being here right now.

* * *

Jenn

I’m sorry, David, I really am. But I didn’t exactly choose this. I’d give anything to be back with you all. I hate to see you hurting because of me, but there’s nothing I can do to change it.

I want to be with you and I want to help you, but your anger is pushing me away. I still love you, but I can’t fix this for you. You have to do it for yourself. And you have to work out how to fix it and start talking to your son again. The only way you’re going to get through this is together.