A Mother’s Last Wish

Chapter 33

HOLLY

Today is my sister’s funeral.

Those are not words I should be saying.

She didn’t want everyone to wear black, because she thought it would make the children even more sad.

Her favourite colour was green, but she didn’t dictate that everyone should wear that, because she wasn’t that kind of person.

It was me who asked that people wear a splash of green if they have it, a necklace or some socks, but I told them, if not, whatever they want would have been just fine with Lou.

Lou drew people to her like a magnet, although she never really saw that herself.

Even the people who acted as if they didn’t like her, reacted that way because they wanted to be like her in some way.

Lou was confident in her decisions, happily walking away from a career with a level of prestige because she wanted to focus on being a mother.

She didn’t let it worry her what other people thought, or take any notice of the barbed comments she’d get about stay-at-home mothers somehow having less worth.

Equally she didn’t try to pretend her choices were for everyone, and she understood why so many of her friends either wanted to work, or had to, sometimes both.

But it was that assurance in who she was that sometimes made people envy her.

I knew the other side, though; how hard won that apparent confidence was, and just how many Plan Bs there had been along the way to give her that assurance.

It was why she’d kept a tiny bit of freelance work going, in case it turned out that full-time parenting wasn’t for her, or if hers and Tom’s financial situation ever drastically changed and she no longer had the privilege of choice.

She was only confident because the Plan B was in place; it was who she was, but only those closest to her ever really saw that side of Lou.

That magnetic charm explains why there’s not enough room in St Martin’s for everyone who wants to say goodbye, and why the doors have been left open so those in the churchyard can still hear.

Kate has been given special permission to lead the service, and I’m so glad that’s the case.

She’s known Lou a long time, getting far closer to her over recent weeks, and that’s clear in how she talks about her as the service begins.

My parents are at the far end of the pew, next to me, with Flo and Stan sitting between me and Tom.

The children have been amazing, since we told them the news.

Of course there have been tears, lots of them, and a couple of meltdowns, but there have been times when they’ve come to comfort me, or Tom.

Those are the moments when I know that Lou isn’t really gone; she’s here in her children and I’m really grateful that Tom wants me to be so involved.

I’m not living in the house with them, but I visit every day.

And sometimes Tom drops the children to me, to give him some time on his own.

Things will change over time and at some point I’ll need to step back a bit, but just as Lou knew her raison d’être was to be their mother, I know mine is to help the space she left behind feel a little less empty.

Tom and I are both speaking today, and I hope I can do Lou justice.

When he gets up to speak and stands next to the wicker coffin, topped with yellow and white roses, I wrap my arm around both children and take a deep breath.

‘It’s a testament to how loved Lou was that there are so many of you here today.

She’d have been incredibly touched that so many of you have given up your time to be here.’ Tom’s swallow is caught by the microphone and I can see in his eyes that this is every bit as hard as we’d both suspected it would be.

It doesn’t matter that he’s a seasoned journalist who regularly appears on screen, these words are the ones he most wants to get right and they’re also the hardest he’s ever had to say.

‘I never thought this day would come.

I know it comes for us all, but I’d always assumed I would go first.

No one wants to imagine dying, but that thought gave me comfort, because a life without Lou felt like no life at all.

And yet it turns out I was wrong on so many counts, most of all that there is any such thing as a life without Lou.

She’s still here in every conversation I have with friends, the great things they remember about her, or what she did to make them feel welcome as a part of our lives.

She’s in every corner of our house, with the things she did to make it feel like home.

I thought I knew everything I was ever going to know about Lou, and that now she’s not here, there would never be another chance for me to discover something wonderful about her, and my God I’ve discovered so many wonderful things about my wife over the years.

But it turns out I was wrong about that too, because Lou’s parents and most of all, her twin sister, Holly, are still helping me to discover wonderful things that I never knew about my wife.

That gives me more comfort than I could ever have imagined.

The relationship with someone you love doesn’t end when they die, it just changes, and whenever it feels like Lou’s further away, all I have to do is look at our wonderful children to know for sure that there’s no such thing as a life without her, because my life has been all about Lou from the day we met, and not even death can take that away.’

I don’t know if Tom originally planned to say more than that, but he steps back as emotion threatens to overwhelm him.

Whatever he originally planned, it doesn’t matter, because the words he has just delivered are perfect.

As he moves back towards his seat, I thank Kate’s foresight for suggesting that we have a hymn in between Tom’s eulogy and mine.

A big part of me wants to hand the words I have written to Kate and just ask her to read them on my behalf, but I can’t let Lou down.

Although even my silent mouthing of ‘Amazing Grace’ is a pitiful effort, as I try to gather myself together.

Moving past the children and Tom, I concentrate on breathing in and out, but just as I reach the lectern, I freeze, more uncertain than ever that I can do this.

And that’s when I feel it, the strangest sensation, like a hand on the small of my back urging me on.

I know it’s just my imagination, but I allow the feeling to take over, and keep walking, setting down the piece of paper in front of me.

Except, after the things Tom has just said, I know I’m going to be going slightly off script.

‘Tom has already said it all, far better than I ever could, but as hard as this is, I could not let this moment pass without telling you all just how much Lou meant to me.’ I look down for a moment, and then turn towards the wicker coffin and try not to picture my sister lying inside it.

Instead, I think of us together, Lou throwing her head back as she so often did when she found something funny, and how often that would escalate to us crying with laughter in a way I’ve never quite done with anyone else.

‘Lou, lots of people are born with gifts.

Some people can paint, or dance, or sing, or play a musical instrument so beautifully it can bring people to tears.

You were born with so many gifts, like your ability to love fiercely and freely, to make people feel comfortable and to find laughter in the toughest of situations.

You also had the gift of crafting words in a way that could paint a picture of a place you’d visited, more vividly than any photograph or video could ever hope to convey.

You were never short of gifts, but I often wondered what mine was.

What was the greatest gift I was born with, if indeed there were any? I’ve realised in the last few months what that gift was, and what I should always have known.

I had the greatest gift anyone could ever have been born with, and that gift was you.

So I can’t feel bitter that forty-three years wasn’t long enough, and I’ll try not to feel as terribly sad as I do right now that you’re no longer here, because Tom was right, you’re not really gone.

I can still feel that fierce love you had for the people who meant the most to you, and I can hear the echo of your laughter when Stan starts to giggle, and your brilliant way with words that Flo is already showing.

Thank you for the gift you gave me of being my sister, of sharing your life and your family with me.

I will love you forever and I’ll never stop missing you, but nothing can take away the bond we had.’

I should be walking back to my seat, but I can hardly see for my tears, and I’m frozen to the spot for a second time.

Only now there’s no hand at my back.

Twenty seconds later, I’m still facing the congregation.

I can’t walk away and leave Lou behind, this time forever.

My legs just won’t cooperate.

I look at Tom, silently begging him to help me, but before he can react, Flo pushes past him, with Stan hot on her heels.

And in seconds they are with me, placing their tiny hands in mine, and my whole body relaxes, like a taut wire that’s been about to snap and is suddenly released instead.

I’m not half of a whole, forever incomplete without my sister.

I’m part of a jigsaw, and even though there’s a piece missing, which means the picture will never be quite as perfect as it used to be, it’s still beautiful in its own unique way and that’s all because of Lou.

The wake has been beautiful in its own way too.

It’s being held in a marquee in the grounds of St Martin’s, on the side that overlooks the woods and fields behind the church, just like we’d originally planned to do for Lou’s party.

Drinks and food were served following the church service, and most of the mourners stayed in the marquee while Lou’s body was taken for a private cremation at a crematorium ten miles away, with just the closest of family attending.

Now we’re all back.

It’s one of those stunning autumn days, where the dappled sunlight of late afternoon perfectly highlights the kaleidoscope of changing colours, ambers, golds and russet reds all competing for attention.

Laughter is the soundtrack of the afternoon, as people share memories of Lou.

There have been tears too, but she’d have been so happy that there’s been more of a focus on the joy she brought to all of our lives.

My parents are sitting with Kate and her dad and stepmum.

It’s been a tough day for all of us, but I know they have felt as wrapped in the love from the community of Castlebourne as I have.

I hope it’s something they can take forward with them to finally find the help Lou so desperately wanted them to get.

Tom has been circulating amongst the guests, doing what Lou would have done and making sure no one feels left out.

Last night I gave him the first of the letters, as Lou’s note inside the box on her desk had instructed me to do.

There was one for him and one for each of the children, to be read on the eve of her funeral.

I’m aching to know what the letters said, and as I look up and see Tom heading towards me, I wonder if he’ll tell me, or if it’s something he wants to keep to himself.

I feel a little bit envious that Tom and the children have been able to hear Lou’s voice via her letters, but I understand why she only wrote to them.

The rest of the letters in the box were all for Stan and Flo, so I’ve no right to feel envious of Tom, but grief isn’t a logical thing.

‘Hey you.’ Tom kisses my cheek, wrapping his arms around me and holding me so tightly for a moment that it’s difficult to breathe.

Then he pulls away, letting me go.

‘Thank you for today, and for everything.

Not just these past few months, but from the moment I met Lou.

I’ve always felt so lucky that meeting the love of my life meant that I got to have you in my life too.’

‘Even when I was always around, like the third wheel no one needs.’

‘You were never that, not even for a second, but it turns out that a third wheel is the best thing you could have, when one of the other wheels is gone.

You’re the most wonderful auntie Stan and Flo could ever have been given.’ Tom sighs.

‘But you’re so much more than that.

You’re the sister I never had.

I always wanted a sibling and, when I met Lou, I finally got one.

I really hope that’s not going to change, because I couldn’t bear to lose you too.’

‘There’s no chance of that.

Whatever happens, and whoever else might one day come into your family, you have to remember that a bonus sister is for life, not just for Christmas.’ I smile and Tom does too.

I’m so glad he feels the same way I do.

All the notions Lou got into her head at one point about trying to control who Tom might one day have a relationship with, and even the idea that that someone could be me, were crazy.

She knew that in the end; it was just a symptom of her trying to have some kind of influence over a situation that had completely spiralled out of her control.

But she made this happen, this brother and sisterly bond between me and Tom, and I know she’d be delighted at how just strong it’s become.

‘I had the best sister ever, and because of that a friend could never be “like a sister”

to me, the way some people’s friends are to them.

A friendship could never compare to what Lou and I shared.

But you’re the only brother I’ve ever had, and you’re stuck with me now, like it or not.’

‘I like it, I like it a lot.’ Tom hugs me again, and then reaches down into his pocket and holds out an envelope.

‘Is that the letter Lou wrote you?’

‘No.

This was inside my letter, with very strict instructions to give it to you today.’

I don’t know how to feel.

Part of me wants to grab the letter and rip it straight open, but this is the last time I’m ever going to hear from Lou and I’m not sure I can bear it.

I miss her so much already, and my eyes are filling with tears for what feels like the hundredth time in the last few hours alone.

I wonder if it would be easier to face if Tom told me what was in it.

‘Have you read it?’

‘Of course not; this is between you and Lou.’ Tom kisses my cheek for a second time, before briefly touching my hand and then turning away.

As he disappears back into the crowd of mourners, I head out of the marquee, clutching the letter as if it was a priceless artefact, which is exactly what it is.

The path outside meanders around the church, to the spot at the back where our grandparents’ ashes are buried, and where Lou’s will be interred too.

There’s a bench close by, beneath a huge oak tree, and I crunch across a carpet of fallen acorn husks to reach it.

‘Well, you got me, Lou, I didn’t think I was getting a letter from you.’ I whisper the words on the breeze that is gently stirring the branches above me and a huge oak leaf flutters to the ground.

More gifts from Lou, or just the changing of the season? I don’t know, but I pick it up anyway and set it down on the bench next to me.

I hesitate for a moment, savouring this moment, the last time we’ll ‘speak’, and then I open the envelope and pull out the letter.

I want to savour every word, but at the same time there’s a voracious greed to read what she’s written almost more quickly than I can take it in, so I force myself to slow down and read the words out loud, not caring whether someone else might suddenly appear.

My voice and Lou’s were always the most similar thing about us, so it’ll be almost as if I can hear her speaking again.

My big sister, the best big sister there ever was,

You might only have arrived first by twenty-three minutes, an accident of fate based on who’d jostled nearest the exit at the crucial time, but you fulfilled that big sister role from the first moments I can remember.

You always stood up for me, and fought my corner, encouraged me and stepped forward whenever I needed help.

You were more than just a sister, you were like a second mum – often the only mum I had – and you were my best friend too.

You understood me like no other person ever really did, not even Tom, as wonderful as he is.

You knew why I always had to have a Plan B, and you never once got irritated by it, no matter how infuriating it must have sometimes been.

When I knew my Plan A for life had been shredded to bits by my diagnosis, I came up with a Plan B as usual, but this time it was a ridiculous one, and one that would never have worked.

You found a way to get me to see that, without coming out and saying it directly, because you knew if you did that I’d just dig my heels in even harder.

When I first worked out you were @itsnotalloveryet2 I felt angry and hurt, but it only lasted minutes.

As soon as I looked at your messages again, I could see what you were doing, and I knew how right you were.

You and Tom together was a crazy idea, not because I don’t think he’d be incredibly lucky to have you, but because you don’t deserve to be anyone’s Plan B.

For so long you’ve fitted around my life, and I’ve been so lucky and so grateful to have you all to myself, but it’s time you found your own Plan A for a change.

I know you’ll be there for Stan and Flo and Tom, but please don’t make that your everything.

I don’t know what that Plan A will look like, maybe another relationship isn’t what you want.

All I know is that you deserve to be loved by someone who knows that nothing could replace you.

I’ve known that my whole life, and it gives me to comfort to think that someone might just fill my shoes in that respect.

Whatever you want most make that your Plan A, make room in your life to let it in, and for once put yourself first.

I’m so glad the children have you in their life and, whatever the future brings, I know Tom will make the right decisions for them.

I should have trusted him from the start and left the Plan B to fate, but you know what I’m like!

Well, I suppose this is it, the last, last goodbye.

I miss you already, but I’ve had the most amazing life and through all the ups and downs, the one constant in it has always been you.

All my love forever, Lou xx

I haven’t stopped crying since halfway through the first line and I’m not even going to try.

I let the tears slide down my face as I re-read the letter again and silently make one final promise to the sister I adored to find my own Plan A.