CHAPTER 10: Return to Scotland

The next few months seemed to go on forever. Mum, Aunt Amy, Alex, and I went to Scotland for the holidays to see Granny. I can still see this loving, sweet, caring woman lying in a hospital bed, and hooked up to all these machines, her once-gentle dark blue eyes now swollen shut, her once-healthy and robust body now wasting away, and immobilized by morphine, Dilaudid, and God knows what else. That's one image that I know will never leave me. Finally, just two weeks before St. Patrick's Day, the doctors made the painful, but inevitable decision to take her off life support. As soon as we were notified, Uncle Aaron and Aunt Amy booked a flight to Scotland for all of us...

None of us said a word, or slept, during the flight. Mum was either staring into space or crying nonstop, Steve spent most of the flight consoling her, and Bebe looked out the window for much of the flight, but I mostly looked down at my right hand.

On my right index finger was a ring with a black cross on it. It had belonged to Granny's great-uncle, who had given it to her for her sixteenth birthday, and she'd left it to me in her will. Just the fact that she wanted me to have it meant so much to me.

By the way, I should mention that Uncle Aaron, Aunt Amy, and their girls—Alex, who's Bebe's age, and Alissa, who was only two—went with us. They were in first class, and we were in coach.

We arrived at Heathrow Airport in London, which was where we were going to change planes and continue our trip to Glasgow. It was a little strange to be in the same airport where Diana Ross punched out a security guard that she claimed felt her up during a routine search. But I couldn't think about that now. We had a plane to catch.

When we arrived, we were met by Uncle Joe, Aunt Sarah, and their four boys: Paul, who's three months older than me; Mark and Matt, the twins, who are two years younger than me; and John, who's a year younger than Bebe. I hadn't seen them in a while, but I still remembered what they looked like. They all resemble Mum, Granny, Aunt Amy, or me in most ways, mostly the eye color, because blue or green eyes run in Mum's side of the family. Their hair color, by the way, is different. Uncle Joe and Paul have brown hair, Aunt Sarah and the twins are blond, and John has red hair.

"It's so good to see all of you again," Uncle Joe said as he hugged Mum and Aunt Amy. I could tell he was struggling to keep his voice steady. The boys, meanwhile, were all crying. "Also, I've been given the task of informing you that they disconnected Mum late last night, and she died two hours ago."

The tears just spilled down Mum's face. She and Aunt Amy wept in their husbands' arms. Alex and Bebe held each other and sobbed, and Alissa was looking around, confused by all this emotion. I put my arms around the girls and hugged them.

"I'm so sorry," Aunt Sarah said. "I know you wanted to see her one last time, but she was just suffering too much."

Mum nodded and sniffled, and our group walked out of the airport together. It was the longest walk of my life.

Granny's memorial service was two days later, and I can quite honestly say that there wasn't a dry eye in that entire church. I sat between Mum and Bebe in the center of the fourth pew. The whole time, Bebe clung to my arm and sobbed into my shoulder. I hadn't seen her cry that much since she fell off the monkey bars and skinned her knee last spring.

The eulogy was given by Mum's cousin, which would be my first cousin once removed: Father Glenn Mosley, a pastor and youth leader in Edinburgh, as well as the son of Granny's sister, my Great-Aunt Mary. "We'll miss your laugh, your smile, your sense of humor, but most of all, we'll miss your heart of gold," he said, blinking back tears. "I'm sure you're in a better place now, and we can take comfort in knowing that." He swallowed, then ended with the words, "So long for now, my dear Aunt Ruth. We'll see you in heaven. We promise."

After the eulogy, Father Glenn picked up the urn that contained Granny's ashes and led the mourners out of the church.

About an hour and a half later, we arrived at the Firth of Clyde. It was a gray, cold, drizzly day, and the fact that a majority of the men were wearing kilts didn't make standing out there a pleasant experience. But despite the dreary weather we were having, even I had to admit that the Firth was absolutely breathtaking.

Whilst Father Glenn read the Scripture, Mum and Aunt Amy spread Granny's ashes over the lake. As I watched what was left of my beloved Granny being scattered across that freezing cold water, I remembered a story she'd told me about how she and her grandfather—who died when Mum was six—would go there every summer when she was growing up. I thought it was very appropriate that she was being laid to rest here, of all places.

The last thing to happen was Uncle Joe playing "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes. The tears just gushed down my face as he played. It was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard, and I just knew that Granny was up in heaven, looking down on us and smiling that beautiful smile of hers.

The funeral dinner was held at Granny's house, where Mum and I had lived until I was four. I spent most of the time in my old room, looking out the window at the rain. Being in that house again reminded me of when I was little, as well as the day that Mum announced that she and I were moving to America. I felt like everything was being taken away from me all over again.

"Are you all right, Jason?" a voice asked. I turned and saw John. He was looking at me like he knew I needed company.

"Aye," I said softly, patting the spot beside me on the bed. He sat down, and I put my arms around him. We sat and talked, watched the rain, and shared memories of Granny, until Uncle Joe came and told John that it was time to go home. Both of them gave me hugs, then went out the door.

I had a lot of trouble falling asleep that night. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get my mind off the fact that Granny was gone. It just isn't fair, I thought. I can't believe I'll never see her again. Why did she have to die so soon? Finally, I got out of bed and went to the kitchen to make some cocoa.

While I waited for the water to boil, I sat on the floor next to the dishwasher with my head on my knees and my arms wrapped around my legs as I cried. Just then, I started to get the feeling that I wasn't alone. I pulled myself together and looked to the left to see a man sitting beside me. He was wearing a navy blue Scottish Army uniform, and when I got a good look at his face, I saw that he looked an awful lot like me, right down to the peaked eyebrows. The only difference was, his eyes were brown.

"Hi there," he smiled.

I immediately jumped back in alarm. Where did this guy come from?

"Whoa, easy there, Jason," he said. "It's all right."

And how did he know my name? What was going on here?

"Who—who are you?" I managed to ask, once I'd found my voice.

"You mean, you don't recognize your old man?" he asked, pointing to a little gold-plated name tag on his left breast pocket. I took a closer look at it, and saw the insignia: D. CROWE.

"Holy Mother of God," I whispered. I watched as my shaking hand took the ID tags out from under my shirt. I looked at them, then at his jacket again. "Dad...?"

"Aye, it's me, son," he answered. "I knew it was you right away, because you look the same way I did when I was your age, except that you have your mum's eyes."

I wanted to know if what I was seeing was real, but when I reached for his hand, it went right through his. "How can you be here?" I wondered. "Mum told me you were dead." After what I'd just been through, and with what I was facing now, I thought I was really losing my mind.

"I realize that I'm scaring you, Jason, and I'm sorry," Dad told me. "But I had to come."

"Why?"

"I wanted to see you for myself. Every day, I wish I'd lived long enough to see you be born. In fact, I still remember watching you being born from above. The nurse said that you were one healthy lad, and from what I'm seeing now, she was right."

I was speechless. Here I was, sitting on the kitchen floor, talking to a man I'd only seen pictures of. When I was finally able to speak again, I said, "So, am I dreaming now or what?"

My father laughed gently. "I'm afraid not," he smiled. Then he noticed the scar on my face. "What happened to you?"

"I got this in a fight at school a few months ago," I answered. "The other kid hit me in the face with a board that had a little nail sticking out of it. Almost tore my eye out, too."

"Well, like father, like son," Dad commented. "I had a bit of a short fuse when I was a kid, and I got sent to reform school because of it. You know, it's so ironic that my temper's what made me go into the military, wouldn't you say?"

"Really?"

Dad nodded and scratched the back of his head. "I'm just glad I was able to do something constructive with my life before they shot me down," he said. Then he changed the subject. "So, I hear your mum got remarried. Is he a nice guy?"

"Steve? Oh, absolutely. He taught me self-defense, and it's come to great use over the years."

"I can tell by that little badge of honor you've got there," Dad commented, pointing to my face. I had to grin, too, in spite of myself.

"Well, the water's boiling," I said as we stood up. "I was just getting ready to have some cocoa. Care for some?"

"I'd love to, son, but I'm afraid I have to be getting back now," Dad answered. "After your granny's service, they sent me down here to get her. You know, it's a good thing they spread her ashes at the Firth of Clyde. I still remember when your mum and I had picnics there during our courtship."

"Really?" I asked. Mum never told me that.

Dad nodded. "Nobody could make haggis like she could. I can still smell it. In fact, it was the only thing that was served at our Army base that was any good, but it was nothing like your mum's."

"Yeah, she always made good haggis," I agreed. "So did Granny."

"Well, I really should be going now," Dad said at last. "Tell your mum I'll always love her, and I'll see both of you in heaven someday."

"Thanks, Dad," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I love you."

"I love you, too, my son," Dad smiled. Then he turned around and walked away, vanishing into the darkness.

As I carried my cocoa into the living room and sat on the couch, a million thoughts went through my head. I'd heard stories about people getting visits from dead friends and relatives, but I never believed them until now. It was nice to finally meet my dad, even if it was just for a few minutes.