Past Tense

I think about dying a lot. I have this recurring dream about my death, or rather the aftermath. The loved ones at my funeral, or more so at some dingy function hall buffet after; eating finger sandwiches and sausage rolls, chatting it up with each other while I start to decompose. Maybe they share a few stories about me, but it’s mainly about themselves – how the kids are doing or who at work is an arsehole. The moving on begins but there is no moving on for me. I become past tense.

I had the dream last night and it clings to me as I dress and make my coffee. The coffee is tasteless and I make a mental note to buy new pods when I can bring myself to go to the shops. I’m still awash with that sticky sleepy feeling, unable to get myself to wake up properly. It’s a Saturday and I have no plans. I could ring up my friends, go for brunch or get cocktails but they all have children/ partners/ dogs. Their calendars are booked weeks in advance. Mum would be happy if I came round but I can’t take her ‘constructive criticism’ when I’m already feeling off.

I don’t have a bad life. I have a steady job, nice friends and a flat that feels like home. My mum loves me, but I’m sure she wishes she had grandchildren and a son-in-law. She still hasn’t come to terms with the fact her only daughter is a child-free lesbian. My dad works overseas but he sends me regular texts and tries his best.

It’s just that for a while now I’ve felt on the periphery of my own life. It’s like everyone I love is the main character of their story but I am always a supporting character. I worry that nobody thinks of me in their spare moments.

I could wallow, stay in bed, watch reality TV until it’s time to go to sleep again but I feel an urgent pull to leave. Outside It’s an overcast, drizzly day but I barely register the rain. I feel light now that I’m outside, I don’t know where I’m going exactly but I feel the heaviness from earlier sluicing off me as I head towards town. Nobody looks at me as I walk, they have their umbrellas up and their heads down. I make an effort to look at their faces anyway. Everyone deserves to be seen.

I left my phone at home and I’m not sure of the time or how long I’ve been walking for but for once I don’t feel the pang of anxiety at being unreachable. It feels like freedom. I stop suddenly. I’m standing in front of my favourite pub, The Pale Horse Inn. I always joke to my friends it’s like something out of Lord of the Rings; a cosy place with a log-fire and comfy chairs where Hobbits wouldn’t seem out of place.

I blink and I’m inside, and for a moment I wonder if it’s my birthday. Sitting in the pub is everyone I know and love. They take up every one of the armchairs and Charlie the barman is passing around trays of sandwiches but no one notices me.

Oh. I think I know what this is.

There’s mum and she’s crying lightly but with a small, sad smile on her face and, my god, my dad is sitting with her and his hand is on hers! His eyes are misty and he’s saying:

“Our girl, she was so special”

“Do you remember when she found that poorly kitten and put it in her school bag so she could nurse him back to health, then turned out she was bloody allergic and she came out in rashes and couldn’t stop sneezing – she was so sad we wouldn’t let her keep him ” my mum sniffles.

He nods, “how could I forget, she never met a soul she didn’t want to help. I’m glad I did one good thing for this world – bringing her into it.”

“I’m glad you’re here” my mum says.

They’ve not spoke in ten years but they’re hugging now. I smile.

I walk around the room. No one sees me of course, but I can feel their emotion, their love for me is like a light pulling me forward.

My friend Chris and her wife Jill are laughing and crying.

“I’m going to miss the way she would walk in the door” Chris says.

“Hello, hello hello” Jill imitates my greeting. They really noticed me.

All around the room people I love, showing me they loved me too.

“This was her favourite pub you know – always said she felt like she was in the Shire”

“Her drink order was a vodka cranberry always served tall”

“If you started talking and everyone else was talking over you, she’d be the one to listen”

My name a chorus in the room.

I hear my Auntie Ellen say through a thick throat “a major bleed in the brain, she was asleep, they say she didn’t feel a thing.”

So that’s how it happened.

I really didn’t feel a thing. And looking around the room now all I feel is peace. It wasn’t like my dream. I was so loved.

And now it’s time to go.