Page 8 of Life After Me

I held her hand to my cheek, trying to recapture the feeling of her skin against mine, unable to say that final farewell and let go of her enough to leave. The numbness flooded my body and weighed me down.

I was struggling to breathe through the tears, gulping and gasping at the air that couldn’t get past the lump in my throat.

Sweat poured off me, and my stomach twisted with pain so intense that it blotted out everything else.

I couldn’t breathe from the pain, and tears blinded me, rushing down my face in burning floods.

White hot loss seared through my brain, leaving me unable to even think.

Useless. Pointless. Empty. That was my life from now on.

I buried my face in her hair, trying to breathe in its scent and capture the last precious essence, while my tears drenched her.

That was when it happened again.

It was stupid and clichéd, the type of thing you see in straight-to-TV movies, but I felt a presence in the room.

Then coldness shot down my arms, and wrapped around my back.

There was a whiff of that scent I’d been trying to find — honeysuckle perfume and apple shampoo — and then peace.

It cut through the pain that had frozen me to the spot and pushed it away, soothing the burning horror that filled me.

I saw her out of the corner of my eye. A flash of brown hair and the swirl of a long skirt as she turned. Jenn.

Icy heat filled me. Goose pimples raced up and down my arms, but I was filled with a warmth and strength that flooded through me. The room around me, and the cold hand folded into mine, faded from my mind as the sensation consumed me.

I could feel Jenn’s ghostly presence as vividly and as real as if she’d walked up behind me and slipped her arms around my waist. I could almost feel her breath against my neck and the kiss that she’d planted there a thousand times.

I knew it wasn’t real, but I welcomed the insanity and fantasy.

It gave me the strength to face reality and pull myself into something resembling togetherness.

Jenn deserved better than this. I scrubbed my face dry on my shirt, and placed a single, final kiss on her cold cheek, whispering, ‘Thank you for making my life so much brighter. Thank you for our beautiful children, and the wonderful life you gave me. I love you, Jenn. Always and ever yours. I love you.’

* * *

I don’t know how I made it out of that room, or back home, but I found myself sitting on the edge of the bed. The edge of our bed. I had been avoiding our room as much as possible, but with Jenn’s scent still in my nose, it felt right to be there.

I was so tired. It had been so long since I’d slept well. I didn’t want to sleep there without her, but I lacked the energy to move. So I rested there for a few minutes, and let the odd calmness soak into me. At least it had stopped hurting long enough for me to close my eyes.

* * *

Jenn

It shouldn’t be possible to be exhausted when you’re dead, but I’m so drained and tired that it actually hurts. I ache all over in a body I don’t have anymore. I don’t know if it’s true pain and tiredness, or just the memory of it, but it feels real.

It’s been worth it though.

I don’t know whether it’s because David’s been having periods where he feels much calmer and starting to accept everything more, or because he’s been near my body, but I was able to reach him more strongly than before.

This time I actually made him feel me. I saw the hairs stand up on his arm when I touched him, and his nostrils flare as he caught the scent of my perfume.

I know that he saw me again, but this time he wasn’t on the verge of passing out.

This time he was completely conscious and knew exactly what was happening.

I could see him struggling, and I reacted without thinking.

I reached out to him the same way I would have a few weeks ago, when I was still alive.

I willed my strength into him, wanting to take away his pain, and it worked.

I felt his resolve strengthen, and his panic subside as I poured love and support into him.

And when I kissed the back of his neck, he reached up to brush the spot where my lips had been.

He thinks he’s going mad, and I feel bad for that because I’d never want to hurt him.

But I don’t know any other way to do this, and I know he’s glad of my presence.

He desperately wants to believe this is real, that I’m really here, even though everything he’s ever known tells him it can’t be true.

I guess it’s up to me to prove logic and science wrong, and to let him know I’m still here, that I still love him, and that I’m going to help him.

It’s working. Today’s the first day he’s come back into our bedroom for anything more than a few minutes.

It’s not surprising he hasn’t been sleeping well in Lottie’s old room.

He never sleeps well in strange beds, and that one’s much smaller than ours, and the mattress is older and a bit lumpy. I’d been meaning to replace it.

I understand why he’s been refusing to sleep in our bed, though.

When he was away for just a night or two, I used to struggle to sleep properly.

The bed just felt too big and empty without him; when I rolled over, half-asleep, and realised he wasn’t there, it usually woke me up.

Only when I woke up, I knew he’d be home the next day. Poor David doesn’t get that.

The room’s full of memories. Good and bad, but far more good.

It’s where Lottie was conceived. I remember the nights when the children were little and still scared of thunder, and they’d crawl into our bed and all four of us would sleep there together.

Birthdays and Mother’s Days when the children and the dog would jump into the bed together.

Hundreds of happy memories. It really is a very big bed for one person.

David always used to sleep so soundly. He’d barely move in the night, except when he half woke up, and then usually his hand would wander around under the covers until it found mine. But now he tosses and turns. Even in his sleep he’s getting no rest.

I’ll stay here with him, and see if I can ease his loneliness and fears. Maybe I can even slip into his dreams and make them sweeter and more peaceful.

* * *

David

When I finally woke up, it was nearly midday. I stared at the clock and found myself smiling. For the first time since that awful day, I had woken up gently, and without the agonising stab of memory and realisation.

Nothing had really changed. Jenn was still gone, and that could never be changed, but the knowledge came with sad resignation rather than pain. Jenn was gone and I would have to get on with that. It’s what she would have wanted me to do.

Besides, as stupid as it sounds, there have been moments when I’ve felt like she was near me.

It’s hard to describe, but you know that feeling when you know you’re being watched?

When the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and you can feel someone else close to you?

In your personal space? It’s a bit like that, but stronger. I know it’s Jenn.

I don’t know if I’m imagining it. I mean everything I know, every logical thought is telling me it’s in my mind, but... I really want to believe it’s real. I don’t want to accept that every part of Jenn could be wiped from the world so totally and quickly.

* * *

I wandered downstairs blindly, following the lure of fresh coffee into the kitchen.

The children were sitting at the table, with Lottie’s laptop in front of them.

Jenn smiled out at them both from the screen, still watching over her children even after death.

I wondered how many times I had come in and found all three of them sitting there in the past, planning a party, or, when the children were younger, covering the table with paint, glitter and glue.

I peered at the photo more closely, and found myself smiling a little.

It was a beautiful picture of Jenn, a moment of her happiness and joy caught on film and captured forever, pinned down and protected from ever changing.

A perfect memory preserved behind the glass of the screen.

She’s so talented, our Lottie. She thinks she gets it from me, but in truth all I do is draw different shaped boxes with rulers and protractors.

Like with most things, all the best bits I see in both of my children come from their mother.

‘This is beautiful, Lottie. No one could have captured her better.’

‘Thanks.’ She tried to shrug nonchalantly. ‘It’s what I do.’

‘And you do it brilliantly,’ her brother reassured her with a hug. ‘You’re going to be huge one day.’

‘I hope so.’ Lottie shrugged. ‘I’m getting bored of shooting weddings and babies smashing birthday cakes.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m lucky to make any money out of photography, I know that.

Half my course mates are still in the same shop and bar jobs they had at uni.

I just want to do so much more than snaps. ’

‘You will.’ I rested my hand on her shoulder, and watched the screen as she flicked through more photos, each one another moment of Jenn’s life preserved forever.

‘We’re putting together a reel for the funeral. I thought it would be a good way for people to remember her.’ Matty looked up. ‘Do you like it?’

‘I love it. It’s beautiful.’ I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the screen. I didn’t notice Lottie was crying until her shoulders started shaking beneath my hand. ‘Lottie?’

‘I just can’t believe she’s gone. I only took some of these last month. It feels so weird being here without her. I keep wondering when she’s going to come home, then remembering she never can again.’

I pulled her out of Matty’s hug and wrapped her in one of my own. ‘I’m sorry, Lottie, I’m so, so sorry.’