Page 6 of Life After Me

‘I don’t care.’ I shrugged. ‘My daughter’s right. Daffodils were my wife’s favourite, so that’s what she should have. She lived the life she wanted, and did things the way she wanted, and if tradition didn’t like it, tough. Can you help us?’

The florist nodded. ‘I’ll do my best.’ She flashed a quick, sympathetic smile at us both. ‘I’m sorry for your loss. She sounds like she was very special.’

‘One in a million.’ Lottie grinned. ‘Mum’s one in a freaking million.’

* * *

The tiredness that had been creeping up on me and seeping into my bones for days finally hit me, full force, as we walked home from the florist. My knees wobbled and I could feel the world spinning around me.

‘Dad? DAD?’ Lottie’s voice echoed towards me from far away.

She was somewhere beyond the spinning, roaring world that was closing in on me.

I could feel my heart thumping in my ears, and dizziness swamped me.

Maybe this was it. Maybe I was finally getting my wish and I was dying.

I was caught in a spinning grey whirlpool that dragged me down and, as the colours around me blurred and light faded out of my world, I realised I didn’t even care.

Then everything changed. Right at the moment when I was about to lose consciousness, the blurring colours briefly twisted into a shape so familiar I could recognise it even in that state.

Floaty skirts and hair swirled around the figure as she turned to face me. Her eyes widened with shock and confusion, then her face lit up with a warm smile, and she stretched out a hand towards me. But as I reached mine out in return, a sharp pain across my cheek jerked me back into cold reality.

I blinked a few times, trying to focus as I stared at Lottie. ‘Dad! Are you all right?’

‘Did you hit me?’ I rubbed my stinging cheek.

‘Yeah.’ My daughter grimaced. ‘Sorry about that. You zoned out. I thought you were going to collapse or something. What happened? When did you last eat or sleep properly?’ Concern and worry etched her face as she pulled a bottle of water out of her bag.

‘I saw her. I saw Jenn.’

‘Oh, Dad.’ Pity and sadness filled Lottie’s eyes as she slid her arm through mine. ‘We’re just round the corner. Do you think you can make it?’ She waited for my nod. ‘When we get home, you really need to eat something and go to bed.’

She chattered away as she helped me home, talking about everything and nothing with the forced cheer that everyone seems to be using around us at the moment.

What she was going to make for dinner, how nice the weather was for the time of year, how good it was to see the green tips of snowdrops and crocuses peering through the dirt, coaxed out by the early sun.

Spring would be here soon, along with Jenn’s favourite daffodils.

I let her talk, and mumbled encouraging sounds when it seemed like she was about to stop, but I couldn’t concentrate on what she was saying.

I’d seen Jenn. And she was real. The look of shock and confusion on her face convinced me of that.

If it were just my imagination, I would have pictured her happy and at peace, not confused and surprised to see me.

This was real. Somehow, Jenn wasn’t really gone. She was still with me.

I know a lot of people think they’ve seen their loved ones after they’ve died.

That they mistake people in the street for someone who’s gone, or that they think they see them at the edge of their vision, disappearing around a corner.

But this wasn’t like that. This was actually, honest to God, my Jenn.

* * *

Jenn

I can’t believe he saw me. I’ve been trying to reach him for days, trying to let him know I’m still here, just so I could ease his pain a little. I was starting to think this was all in my head, and that I was going mad in this horrible, grey, empty place. But I’m not. He finally saw me.

I’ve been so worried about him. He’s exhausted.

I don’t think he’s slept properly since the accident, and I know that every time he tries to eat, his stomach just ties itself into knots.

He’s so tired that he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Maybe that’s it though. Up until now his pain and anger have just pushed me away.

But maybe now he’s just too tired to hurt anymore.

Maybe his anger is finally wearing away and that’s why I’ve finally been able to reach him.

And I know he saw me. He saw me, and reached out to me.

I thought he’d seen me that first night after Matty got home, in the second when the light snapped on, but it was so fast I convinced myself it was just wishful thinking.

I mean, I don’t even believe in ghosts. But I’m starting to think what you believe in doesn’t really matter all that much.

After all, I’m here, wherever here is, and whatever I am.

But it doesn’t matter because he saw me. He actually saw me! I’m so excited I feel like I’m buzzing. I managed to make David see me. I’ve no idea what this means, but it has to be good. The fact that I could reach him has to be good, doesn’t it?

No, it’s definitely a good thing. Because if I can do it once, then I can do it again.

And maybe there’s more that I can do. What if I can actually communicate with David?

And I don’t mean any of that mumbo jumbo stuff from literature and popular culture.

I don’t see myself rattling chains, wobbling photos or moving around upended glasses.

I mean real, true communication. Actually talking to him.

Maybe I could reach him again, and let him see that I’m OK.

Maybe I can still be there for him, for all of them, and help them through this.

Maybe I don’t have to leave them at all.

It would make sense. I mean there has to be a reason I’m still here.

I know I’m dead, but in a strange way, I think I’m coming to terms with it.

But spending eternity here, in this pointless place where all I can do is watch my family hurting?

That would be unbearable and far too cruel for contemplation.

So I must be here to help them. It’s the only thing that makes any sense.

It’s horrible knowing that I’m dead and my life is over, but apparently that doesn’t have to mean that I’m gone. At least that’s something. I’ll take anything right now.

There were so many things I thought I wanted to see and do, but I know I’ve already done the most important things.

I never made it to the Taj Mahal, but I met David, and married him, and had Matty and Lottie and helped them grow into the wonderful people they are now.

Next to that, no amount of marble or gold can ever measure up.

Life is scarily short. I’ve had plenty of time here to work it out.

If you’re lucky you get maybe 85years. Less than three quarters of a million hours.

And most people sleep for a third of them, so that’s a quarter of a million gone just in sleep.

Plus there’s work to consider. Probably most people spend 80 to 100,000 hours commuting or at work, in their lifetimes.

And that’s without thinking about school and exams and studying when you’re younger.

Half your life spent unconscious or at work.

It’s quite scary really. I wonder how many hours I wasted watching TV, or arguing over things that seemed so important at the time, but really didn’t matter in the long run.

Not a nice thought. Especially when your life’s already been cut short like mine.

* * *

I was never the type to give up in life.

I’d always be fighting and swimming against the tide.

But sometimes you just have to know when you’re beaten.

And trust me, there’s nothing like being dead for forcing you to accept that you’re beaten.

It’s an odd sort of peace that descends when you finally accept that you just can’t change a situation.

So I’ve stopped fighting, and now I’m going to embrace this afterlife and see what I can really do.

I’m not gone yet, and I’ve had plenty of time to think about what that means.

I’ve decided there are too many stories of hauntings and ghosts across the world for them all to be imagination or fiction.

Some of them have to be real. And if they are real, they had to start somewhere, and maybe that somewhere was here.

If others can make their presence known, then so can I, and I will do it.

Once I set my mind to something in life, I rarely failed, and I don’t see why it should be any different here. I am still me.

I’m going to get through to David again, and this time as more than just a glimmer in the corner of his eye or an exhaustion-induced hallucination.

Once I’ve done that, I’m going to do everything I can to make sure he, and my darling Lottie and Matty, know I’m still here. And I’m going to look after them.

I know they’ll grieve for a while, but if I give them the support and encouragement they need to get over my death, then they can go back to living the happy, fulfilled lives they deserve all the sooner.

I’m going to make sure they have wonderful lives, and that they don’t waste a single moment of them.