Page 55 of Life After Me

Jenn

Christmas has been and gone in a blur of tinsel, light and mistletoe-fuelled hope. Of course there’s been sadness too, especially when everyone was opening their presents.

When they sat down to dinner, the space where I should have been was too obvious. Everyone fell silent, except for Lottie who shook and gulped in air as she tried to force back the tears that she knew would start everyone else crying.

They all did cry, and share more than a couple of toasts to me, but it wasn’t as bad as I expected. Or as bad as it would have been a few weeks ago. The tears came with smiles and memories that made everyone laugh.

I owe Ruth a lot of thanks. She’s helped my family heal in a way I could never have expected or even hoped for.

Spending Christmas with my family was the best gift I could have asked for. I let them know I was there by filling the air with warmth, the smell of cinnamon and orange, and decorating the place with tiny white feathers that looked like snowflakes.

I love this time of year so much. It’s filled with so much cosiness, joy, happiness and goodwill towards others.

Even if it does sound as cheesy as a bad greetings card.

I’ve always loved all the glitter and shine, the handmade, scribbled, sticky cards from children, and the beautifully wrapped presents under the shimmering trees.

It all came to an end far too quickly. Even with the mince pies and brandy, and chocolates and mulled wine, and finally cups of tea with more mince pies, it still ended too soon.

Lucy gave up first, and it wasn’t long before Matty said his goodnights and followed his soon-to-be wife up the stairs to bed.

Lottie hung up the phone to Stu — he’s been with his own family — and lasted another hour or so before her eyelids became too heavy and the tiredness weighing her down began to win.

Which left David sitting and staring into the fireplace.

‘Jenn, I know you’re still here.’ He spoke into his drink.

Of course I’m here. As if I’d be anywhere else on Christmas night. I let go of the cinnamon and orange I’d been wafting through the house and settled back into my usual presence.

David grinned. ‘So that’s another Christmas over.

You’ve done that every year that I can remember.

Flopped down on the sofa next to me and yanked off your Christmas hat and earrings.

I guess switching scents isn’t so different.

’ He sighed happily and relaxed back into the sofa.

‘You know, it’s not been a bad day. I thought it was going to be a lot worse, and a lot harder, than it really was.

We still managed to have some laughs and fun.

’ He sighed quietly. ‘But I miss you, Jenn. I still miss you.’

I curled up beside him and sent waves of love and warmth, and he relaxed into me.

I realised that Lucy and Matty will probably be gone before Lottie crawls out of her bed in the morning. If she even makes it up before lunch. It’s difficult to think that the next time my family will be back together is for the anniversary of my death.

That’s a very strange thought. A whole year since I died.

It falls during that odd, often lonely time between Christmas and New Year, when people are wandering around slightly aimlessly.

No one is really working, even the people who are officially at work, and there’s no point to starting diets or fitness resolutions when the biggest party of the year is only a few days away.

Everyone’s coming down from the excitement of Christmas and thinking about the last year, while planning their resolutions for the next.

It’s an empty part of the year where nothing really seems to happen.

Except for the anniversary of my death.

It’s a very strange thing really. Usually anniversaries are such happy and exciting things.

The celebration of a wedding or a birth is such a wonderful thing.

But a death? It’s strange to remember the worst day of your life and the loss of someone, but equally letting the day pass unnoticed would be unthinkable.

It’s a little like picking at a scab. It would be best to leave it alone and let nature take its course in healing the wound, but we never do.

* * *

In the end my anniversary was actually quite lovely.

There were hundreds of flowers, from my family of course, but also the children and staff at my school.

They overflowed from my grave and spilled across the grass.

The tree above me seemed to shimmer and flicker with light and golden ribbons from the messages that my former pupils had tied to its branches.

Lottie, Stu, Matty, Lucy and David all came to visit me early in the morning, their arms full of flowers, including specially ordered daffodils and tulips from Sarah in Germany.

Matty and David fussed around my grave, picking at bits of grass that had started to grow at the base of my headstone and rubbing at patches of dirt with soft, soapy cloths.

While they did that, Stu fetched water and Lucy and Lottie cleaned out the vases before filling them with fresh water and dozens more flowers.

Lottie tidied up the holly wreaths they’d brought me for Christmas and delivered on the day, and wove tiny little narcissi among the spiky leaves. It looked so beautiful.

The most surprising visitor came later in the day, carrying a bunch of cream roses. It didn’t matter that they weren’t exactly my favourite flowers, or that there wasn’t a tag attached, I still really appreciated the gesture.

Ruth deliberately didn’t come until it was almost dark, and she knew my family would have been and gone.

I suppose she hadn’t wanted to risk upsetting anyone with her presence.

She stood awkwardly at the foot of my grave, not saying anything for long minutes.

I watched her with interest, waiting to see what she had come to do and say.

Eventually, she cleared her throat and licked her lips.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t get the chance to know you when you were alive.’ She peered up at the messages and ribbons decorating my tree. ‘You were clearly very well loved.’

She fingered the petals of the roses gently before leaning them against my headstone.

‘I’m sorry for what happened to you, Jenn, I really am.

But thank you. For everything. I’ll do my best to look after him.

I know you know that, but I wanted to say it anyway.

’ She rested her fingers against the cold marble for a few seconds, then stuffed her hands into her pockets and walked slowly away.