Coming and Going

My darling Mags,
I need to feel like I’m talking to you one last time, though it feels selfish of me to say that I am writing this more for my benefit than yours. You know I’m not one for letters or romance, but I wish I’d told you more of what you wanted to hear. Remember that film you liked? Well, I agree with something it says - I miss you like the rose misses the sun.

I went and stayed round Claire and Robert’s the other week. They didn’t want me to be alone after your funeral. Nice of them, but I can’t help thinking they wouldn’t be so good to me if they knew our secret – family or not. If they had found out, I would have lost my whole world. It would have been perfect to have our family around us that morning, but they wouldn’t have understood, least of all the kiddies. So, I made it about you and me. It didn’t quite make it to snow that day, either. You always said that nothing in life was perfect, and I can’t help but agree. Our love could have done anything. It was the only perfect thing in our unfinished world.

I can’t believe it’s been 10 days already since that weekend when... I can’t say it. You know what I mean. You always did. My old Mystic Mags, I’d say. First you’d tell me to cut out the old – ‘you’re older than me, remember?!’ Then you’d remind me that you were nothing special, that we’d just been married for 59 years.

We never quite made it to 60, did we, my love? My fault. I’m sorry. I don’t know if you could have held on for another 8 months though, my fault or not. I’m dreading having to live on. I don’t want to have to reach a hundred days, 8 months, or any length of time when 10 days has already been too much for me to bear. You’ve gone, and you were my life, my confidante, my everything. You were the only one I could share this huge secret with. You were the huge secret.

The kids have rallied round. You’d be proud of them. They’re just like their mum, full of spirit. They miss you, too. They’re always round here – comforting me, keeping me company, reminding themselves of you from the house we brought them up in together. Sometimes we just sit in silence, and think of you. Silence is still as precious as ever, though – there’s always somebody coming or going. I found out some news, too. I wish you could have heard it. If only we had done it a few days later, so you’d know. It breaks my heart to write that you won’t see the newest addition to our family. Our first great-grandchild! Emma is 8 weeks gone. I’m sure you’ll be smiling down on the new arrival. You were always smiling. Em says she hopes the baby’s a girl (despite having hated her 3 sisters!), just so she can name her Magdalene, after you. You always liked to toy with the idea of reincarnation, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed that your soul waits a while, and goes to the latest member of the Connor clan.

4 children, 9 grandchildren, and now a great-grandchild on the way – didn’t we do well! It’s odd to think that all of this has happened. I don’t know about you, but I had distant thoughts of the future. I expected to be able to take you out to parties the whole time, carry on our courting for years. You were the best dancer in the room those nights. You had limitless energy, always moving. You could never keep your hair in place, but I liked that. I hope it was fun, darling. I’ll never forget.

I thought I’d die before you. It’s the child’s rule, isn’t it? The eldest dies first. Well, I was the eldest, but I cheated. The cancer stopped you smiling, I couldn’t bear that. My family’s fun-loving, gentle whirlwind of a matriarch was in bed the whole time. Laryngeal cancer, spread to the lymph nodes, the doctor said. Towards the end you could hardly speak. It broke my heart. Your voice went a long way to defining you. You always had something to say. I still remember you pleading with me to help end the pain. It hurt you so much, having to ask me that. It wasn’t just the cancer. Dignity was the most important thing to you, but also you were thinking of your family, as ever. You didn’t want Jack to see his nana in pain at 5 years old. He’d just be starting to gather lifelong memories. You didn’t want any of the family to remember you like this. You wanted me to remember you as the 19 year old I first fell in love with. I fell in love with you at all ages, though. I hated to see you in pain, but you still looked as beautiful to me as when we first met. It took me a lot of thought to agree to help you, but you know I’d do anything for you. That sounds so bittersweet now. When I married you, it was in sickness and in health, and whilst the vows they ordered us to say only mentioned you obeying me, I knew that whatever you wished would be done. I never thought that would mean helping you to die though. I regretted it the moment it happened. I couldn’t help thinking that the doctor would notice something and call me a murderer. I can’t believe I am a murderer. Your murderer. I hope you don’t hate me, wherever you are. I tried to make your death as beautiful as I hoped your life had been. I sprinkled the bed with rose petals, like on our honeymoon. The curtains were closed and the lights off, but there were so many candles, I lost count. It might have been called a cliché, but it was romantic to us. The candles burned bright, and it was so hot in the room. That was ok, you loved the heat. Things keep rolling around in my head, and I wish I hadn’t lit the candles now. It was almost as if I snuffed out your life like a one of those candles, and you could never be snuffed. You were, are, and always will be more than a ‘candle in the wind’ – you are the sun in my sky.

You wanted me to say a simple goodbye, and this letter is to tell you the things I wish I could have said. I don’t know whether you heard me, but I just said I loved you, and thank you for sharing your life with me, making me so happy. That sentence had to squeeze a million memories inside. I’m so sorry. I wish you’d come back - I’ve changed my mind. A life without you isn’t fully lived, and it’d be a cursed God who made me live much longer.

I love you
Bill