I Was Scared

My Mother died with a hole in her sock and her big toe just peeping through. Her face was twisted, although her last hours had been peaceful, tucked away behind a pull along curtain in a hospital cubicle. Our own private NHS oasis. We weren't aware of the other patients so concentrated were we on every last slowing breath, anxious not to miss one. We all outspokenly knew we wanted to be able to say we were there when she drew her last breath. And we were and it was fine. It was an honour to share that moment when the chest, which had risen with ever slowing gaps, was stilled. The last part of my Mother I ever touched was that big toe.

I saw her twice more. The first when my Father insisted I go with him to the hospital chapel of rest. I hadn't wanted to and it had been a mistake. They had tidied her, set her face, powdered her and done her hair in a style she would have hated, would have shaken and ruffled it up. She smelt odd, of chemicals, which as she had avoided these all her life, in her food and toiletries, was rather ironic. My Mother had gone somewhere else and all that was left was the casing which had housed her beautiful and wise soul.

The second time I had woken in the night with a migraine. It was four o'clock, the ideal time for departures and visitations; forget midnight, the very witching hour is much later. I took some tablets and propped myself up in my bed with the light on, unable to lie flat. I was suddenly aware of a haze at the bottom of the bed and was able to see, quite clearly, what appeared to be my Mother's features although she looked pale and slightly unfocused. She seemed to float above and along the bed before I felt her arms around me. Although I knew it was her I was scared witless. I simply froze, caught up in a human terror I had no reason to feel. She conveyed quite clearly to me her wishes over something which was causing a family rift.

I slept for a week with the lights on, dozing fitfully but always scared I would wake to find her there. It should have been a comfort but wasn't. I confided to a friend who suggested it was the result of the migraine. But I knew otherwise; I just knew.

A month later and with no further visits I went to a psychic medium. She knew nothing about me at all. We sat and she said straightaway , " Your Mother wishes to apologise for scaring you so much and says she will never do it again. I hope that makes sense to you?

It sure did.