Please note: this piece contains descriptions of loss that some readers may find distressing.
There was something wrong with time. I looked at the clock and, five minutes later, hours had passed. It had been happening for a few days.
I was on a moving pavement. I couldn't get off. Everything was speeding up. It was like that when our mum was dying. Feeling more alive than ever before. The excitement, the anticipation.
I felt restless and couldn't settle to anything.
At 5pm, I put on the tv to watch The Chase. I thought I'd seen the episode before so at 5.15 I switched off. I had switched off my phone at 4.15 after my brother's message that all was well in his world.
It was a glorious August evening. A perfect summer's day.
I was sitting quietly in my favourite living room chair. The kitchen door was open.
Suddenly a beam of light came in and surrounded me and I felt a huge surge of joy coursing through my body. A voice in my head said, 'I'm really happy now.'
I got up and went into my kitchen, which has magnificent views over the city of Glasgow to the hills beyond, where I always sing – I used to sing in a chorus – and light my candles, and I sang three songs: 'You'll Never Walk Alone', 'One Moment In Time' and 'Like Sister And Brother'.
I looked at the clock. 5.45pm. I put the tv back on to catch the final part of The Chase.
Shortly after 7pm, I switched my phone back on to find three messages, one mentioned the police. I called the sender. Then I was told the news. I heard an animal noise – a howl-coming from somewhere – was it me?
A 999 call brought a young policewoman to my door, both of us wearing covid masks and socially distanced with the back door open to the garden. A balmy summer's evening, sun still shining. The noise of laughter, glasses clinking and the smell of barbecues.
I sat on a kitchen stool by the door. I didn't trust my legs to hold me up. My blood had turned to ice. I was frozen in time and lost in space as if I was watching myself from outside.
Her name was Ellen and she had kind eyes. She was very efficient, reading word for word from her notebook. '5.15pm, 999 call from neighbour who heard a thud. CPR is given. Paramedics arrive. There's a slight pulse. CPR again. A slight pulse. A third time. 5.45pm. Life pronounced extinct.'
That night in bed, still ice cold despite the heat, it suddenly hit me. '5.15pm,' she said. Then, '5.45pm.'
That's what that earlier experience was. That's why the kitchen door had to be kept open. It was a portal and the tv and phone switched off so that the energy field was clear!
I was on his journey with him but I could only go so far. He was sharing his experience with me, teaching me, showing me, being my big brother, still looking after me, sending me those three songs.
Morning came and reality dawned. I worried about his last moments – the CPR – no peaceful ending for him.
I asked him 'did you feel it? Did it hurt you?' I heard his voice clearly in my head.
'No,' he said, 'it powered me up!'
I replied, 'Show me.'
Next thing I know I am beside him travelling along at great speed. I could feel it in my body. At first, I thought we were going through a tunnel. Then I realised it was a road – a golden road – and on each side, sparkling gold trees. At the end was an archway like a rainbow but not rainbow colours, filled with white light. Inside it were all these grey figures, all shapes and sizes but with no faces. They were clapping and cheering and saying, 'You made it. You made it!'
Months later, I was able to get his belongings from the house. For what turned out to be his last birthday, I had a star named after him and bought him a frame to put it in. I later bought myself one and, by coincidence, it was next to his.
I wanted to put my certificate in beside his but I hesitated. I was conscious that the last hands to touch the frame were his and his DNA was on it.
Eventually, I opened it. Out came two items used as backing. One was a photograph. The other a picture.
The photograph was of a priest and behind him a statue of the Madonna and Child. Was he telling me father, mother and son are reunited?
Then I remembered the night before his death I dreamt about our mum. She was wearing her favourite black dress he bought her one Christmas and she was smiling. She was waiting for her son.
I had never seen the picture before. It was of a golden road with sparkling gold trees on either side and at the end an archway filled with white light. Just as he had shown me. I caught my breath. Time stood still.
I decided to wind up his watch. I looked at the clock – 1.10pm – and then at his watch that had lain there untouched for months. 1.10pm.
Songs of Praise came on tv. A song 'Underneath The Stars'. I had never heard that before. Then 'There's A Green Hill Far Away' and 'Danny Boy'. Three songs. Three signs.
Then I remembered three things he had said a few weeks before:
'I've had enough now.'
'I need a new life.'
'I want to go home.'
All those journeys he had made with me that winter, picking me up from the cancer hospital. Whenever I saw his car come round the corner, I knew I was safe and going home. Jess Glynne's song was always on: 'Take Me Home'. I was so broken and trying to be so brave. And so was he.
This last time I realised it was not my journey. It was his and he had to go alone.
Home safe.
Journey's end.
Here's hoping.
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