MANDY HAGER
Page 4 of 4
Reaching the point
Remember when we watched Dad die? How his chest rose and fell in slow slow motion? How the gaps between grew ever longer, until we leaned forward in each stalled silence and willed the next breath in?
Did I ever tell you that I dreamt of Dad the night before he died? I dreamt I sat beside him on the bed and held his hand. He was terrified of dying – told me this, inside my dream. He rose up from the bed and paced, and in my dream I marvelled at the sight of him back on his feet. But, I tell you, he was mighty scared of Hell. The Keepers of the Gate, who he’d threatened had the power to purge our frightened little souls, were standing fast before the door and refused to let him enter – that’s why he took so long to die. Just too damn scared to front up to his Maker, plain as that.
Within the dream, I took his hand and told him not to fear. I said that what came next was beautiful. Don’t ask me why or how I knew, but he relaxed again until he lay quite still upon the bed. And then I woke with the resounding ring of his kiss clear in my ear, and I swear I heard him say ‘goodbye’.
You wondered why I didn’t grieve as long or hard as you - and, I must admit, that on the surface it made no sense. You, the family’s Indiana Jones – usually as impenetrable as those rock formations you read with such great skill. Me, the Mrs Normal – heart on sleeve and elbow-high in dishwater.
But in some funny way I felt that I’d been passed a gift – the chance to say goodbye and help him on his way when, back in real life, his voice had dried up weeks before.
Eddie never had that with his dad. And if you ask him now, he’ll say he doesn’t feel the loss – but, then, he doesn’t have the memories, either, though he hates for me to point this out.
What will Rach and Mattie hold of me?
Here, this’ll make you laugh . . . don’t cry. I figured out this theory of what Heaven’s really like. All the suckers, read here you and me, we slave and sweat to pass the test – to get us through those pearly gates. But when we get Up There we find there ain’t no door charge after all! And all the rapists and the murderers somehow got themselves Up There too – and they’re so goddamn relieved they made it anyway, they make an oath right there to change. So they become the goody-goods, while we’re all so pissed off we ‘pass’ on Good and go for Greed and Lust instead! No parallel universe at all, just a mirror image of life down here – role reversals on the grandest scale! And we can just go on flipping – good to bad; bad to good – on into eternity.
How d’you reckon Dad would handle that, eh? He’d so spew.
What? You think I shouldn’t joke? Shit, I’m long past caring for the journey of my soul. There’re two kids here on earth who need my smiles; a loving man who watches me groan and limp with guarded eyes and broken heart. Remember that great song from Harry-boy? It’s got to be the going, not the getting there, that’s good.
And I guess that gets me to my point. Can’t fudge it any longer, even though I’ve tried.
I'm going.
But, like the winding way I’ve lead you to this point, trust me when I tell you that it ain’t quite over yet. Please, don’t rush home. Don’t cut short your research just to sit here, helpless, like we did for Dad.
And if it is all over before you break for winter, precious baby sister,
don’t feel too sad. Just close your eyes and think of me Up There – picking my nose in public, and telling people straight up to their face that they are fat! Farting in lifts and not owning up. Taking Ecstasy and dancing on till dawn. Yeah, dancing, Sis.
Just close your eyes and think of . . . dancing.
Till then,
M xxx
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