I was twenty-one when I was left completely alone in the world. No, not completely - there was Charlie, the boyfriend I'd stayed behind for while the others left on their trip - and he put his arms around me and let me cry my heart out when I heard the news, my parents and brothers and sister killed instantly in that horrid train crash. But the last of all my family, till I made a new one.
A year of change, that was, for me and the world - King George had died of lung cancer earlier that year, but by the time I entered my mourning, the nation had left its behind, and was delighting in our new young, brave, and beautiful Queen. My parents and uncle had left me a bit of money, enough to get through nursing school, though we had to donate my uncle's old house to the National Trust, as the taxes were too high. I kept his old wardrobe, though. Maybe I was hoping...but no matter, I've had a good life.
I married Charlie, after all, and he was always a good and loving husband to me. He worked his way through medical school while I was training to be a nurse, and we set up a small practice in a little town in Wales, lovely and green, with the most beautiful gardens. I can't live without flowers, and greenery, and a bit of life around me, and London was so crowded, the air barely breathable.
Fifty years we've lived here, and more, and by now I can say that most of the adult population of this town took their first breath in my arms, or Charlie's, and many's the wrinkled, fragile hand I've held while the last breath slipped from dying lungs. We've treated their little illnesses and given them armor against the big ones, vaccines for all the terrors of my youth, measles and mumps, whooping cough and the biggest devil of them all, polio. I speak Jonas Salk's name in my prayers every evening.
Four of my own, I've had, too, three boys and a girl, all thriving and wed, with children of their own now. Patrick's a doctor like his father, Andrew a teacher, and Edward paints landscapes that sing of a magic I half-remember, and makes a living from it too. And my darling daughter, named for my long-lost baby sister, is a writer who spins tales of fantastical worlds and talking creatures, the delight of children and adults around the globe. I'm so proud of them all.
They've just been, for Christmas, a whirlwind of delight and kisses, grandchildren and presents and laughter, and all gone home again, leaving the house quiet and still again. Lucy seemed reluctant to leave, this time, almost as if she was afraid she wouldn't see me again. Maybe she will, maybe she won't - at seventy-five, one never knows, does one? Charlie passed five years ago, and it's only me, now, in our little cottage, but I'm content, I've had a good life, and I'll go when it's time and not before.
It's late. Time to drag my creaky old bones to bed. Ah, for the days I could bound up these stairs two at a time. I'll draw a bath, perhaps, have a good soak, and then the soft blue dressing gown I love so - my favorite color, blue as the sky, blue as the gowns I wore when I...oh, but my mind's rambling again. Bed, now, and sleep - old women need their sleep, after all.
I wake, startled, when the wardrobe opens of its own accord, and something impossibly large leaps onto the bed with me. Paws, huge paws, bigger than any housecat, and soft golden fur, a mane, an unbelievable sight - and I know him, I know him, and I'm weeping into his fur, holding on to him with both my arms and sobbing for joy.
"Daughter, daughter, has it been so hard?" His voice is gentle, a rumbling purr.
"No, no, I've had a good life. I'm not complaining, I'm just so glad to see you again!"
"And I you, my dear daughter. I am sorry you were left behind, little love, sorry to have left you all alone, but there is beauty in this world now that would not have been had you come with me then, when the others did. You have done well, dear child."
I think of my children, of the souls I've brought into this world, cared for, and comforted as they left it. I think of Patrick's strong, gentle hands, Andrew's patient kindness, Edward's brush drawing light and color in its wake, Lucy's brilliant eyes as she reads her stories aloud. I think of Charlie, smiling at me till the end, calling me his joy and his light. "I'm glad I stayed."
He nods, his mane brushing my cheek. "But now, dear daughter, it is time to go."
I pull myself onto his back, leaving my body and my old age behind, and grip his mane with fingers made of light. "I'm ready."
He leaps, one single bound from one world to the next, and we are in brilliant sunlight, in a meadow full of flowers whose colors are brighter and richer than any I've ever seen. My sister is the first to reach me, impetuous as always, leaping from her horse and pulling me from Aslan's back, calling my name through laughter and tears. "Susan! Susan! You're here, at last!"
Peter and Edmund and our parents aren't far behind, and I'm lost in the middle of a huge family embrace...until I see the one figure hanging behind, the one I hadn't quite hoped to see here, here in the world I left behind for his sake. He looks young, as he did when we were twenty-one, and so am I, a wave of long dark hair swinging behind me once more as I run to him and throw my arms around his neck. "Charlie!"
"You never told me you were a Queen, darling!" He laughs, bends to kiss me tenderly.
"I thought you knew," I tease, and turn my head to regard the great lion standing at our side. "Thank you, Aslan. It wouldn't be home without Charlie."
"I know, dearest daughter, I know." He shakes his mane at me, affectionately. "There are no permanent separations, my dears, not here." The words are a benediction.
Home. I am finally home again, for good this time - but I'm not sorry I stayed behind, once, no, not even sorry I lost everything for a time. I had a good life, I truly did - and now, it is time to start the next.