Hello loves! This is a melancholy little thing that just wouldn't leave me alone. It's not been beta'd for mistakes, so please excuse them.
I died on a Tuesday. It was raining when my husband of twenty years woke to find me cold, with a small smile of contentment still on my face. He had shaken my lifeless body, knowing it was too late. He kissed my forehead and buried his face in my bosom for a long cry before going to call the necessary people. It was a warm rain, not the cold harsh rain of autumn, but the warm rain of spring turning into summer. I died on a Tuesday.
They buried me on a Friday. In the ground. Everyone wore black. Mrs. Mason, Daisy, and even Anna cried. My husband stood tall with Miss Sybbie's hand tucked snugly into his. The family all came, even the uppity minx that my husband was so fond of, who didn't come visit after we retired. I saw everyone speak to my husband, Dr. and Mrs. Clarkson telling him they would pop round for a visit. Mr. Branson saying how I was like a mother to him, an anchor for him. My husband nodded and thanked him for always bringing Miss Sybbie to visit. Even Lady Edith came down with Miss Marigold from London to bid me farewell. They buried me on a Friday.
It's a Wednesday. My husband takes flowers to my grave, then pops by the church to pray. He walks back, stopping by the Crawley house to see Richard Clarkson and Isobel, to reassure them he is okay. He isn't. He cries sometimes at night, sits on our swing in the back yard like he is waiting for me to come home. He always carries one of my handkerchiefs with him. Never washes them, nor uses them. He kept my pillow sham the same, and always breaths in my scent first thing in the morning. He murmurs to me at times. Talks of me leaving him, and want me to come back home. But really I'm waiting on him as always, ready for him to come home. It's a Wednesday.
It's a Thursday, and I see Anna, pregnant, walking to town. She had been the surprise. When my gravestone had been first put up, she was the second to visit it. She told me she was sorry, that she had been horribly selfish in our relationship, of how I was the mother she had always wanted, had lacked, and that it had taken me dying to see that. She had sobbed when she heard the news. John had been supportive, but surprised. Anna and I had fallen out of touch. Like mothers and daughters do occasionally. Anna blamed herself, and once upon a time I blamed both of us, but now I know that's how life works sometimes. We lose touch with people we love. But it doesn't make our love any less. It's a Thursday and I watch Anna place a lovely bouquet of posies on my grave.
It's a Saturday as I watch Beryl rolling out a crust for apple tart. One that she will take Charles as she and Bill make their weekly check up. Daisy's little girl helps, and grins toothlessly as Beryl praises her. Beryl has turned into quite the softy with her granddaughter. Bill laughs at the child as she asks about Uncle Charlie. She asks if he is lonely since I went to the angels and I watch Beryl falter and nick her finger with the knife. She still tears up at the mention of my name. Bill suggests that he and Maggie go see the lambs, and she eagerly agrees and Beryl wipes at her eyes as she finishes her tart and then starts packing the hamper to take to Charles. It's a Saturday when they set off for our cottage.
It's a Sunday as I watch Mr. Branson and his wife, Patricia watch their children at the lake. Sybbie is teaching Little Elsie to swim and Jack has fishing pole near the docks. He has caught three fish and Sybbie rolls her eyes as he laughs at her. Elsie takes off like a shot as their mother calls them to shore for their dessert. She's all smiles, and warm and love. Exactly what Tom needed. I had come to love her very much after they had married. She challenges him, and soothes his ache. And I know that he will be okay. She loves Sybbie and the young lads loves her just as much. Tom and Patricia are a great team, and their family is one that has all it needs. It's a Sunday as I watch over the little family beneath the sprawling oak tree by the lake.
It's a Monday when my husband, when my Charles finally comes home to me. He died quietly, and Richard Clarkson happened to find him. But that doesn't matter. We are finally back together and it's lovely because I have missed him and he has missed me, and we are together with everyone that has gone before us. We can look down and watch over everyone together, and we are finally, finally home together, forever. He smiles, and embraces me, and we walk hAnd in hand to see every else we have missed in our life.
It's a Monday when Elsie and Charles Carson are reunited for eternity.
let me know what you think!
Much love,
Samantha:)