An Angel on My Shoulder. Theresa Cheung

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СКАЧАТЬ four years before. I had been so tired after a night shift that my breakfast tray had slipped out of my hands. Food had gone everywhere. What a mess. It was embarrassing, too, but Sarah – that was her name – just giggled. It really broke the tension. She helped me clean up and we got on instantly. After that I started to look out for her in the mornings and we’d have a quick chat and a giggle. I realized I was falling in love with her when she didn’t show up one morning and I felt out of sorts all day. The next time I saw her I asked her out and we were married 18 months later.

      We’d only been married a year when she died. She was fine in the morning, but in the afternoon she kept complaining of headaches. I didn’t think much of it because when you’re a doctor headaches – along with bags under the eyes – are part of the job. She went to work as usual and then I got a phone call telling me she had died of a cerebral haemorrhage.

      As a doctor I’d given people news like this on many occasions, but it’s a whole different ball game when it happens to you. For the next few days I was literally numb. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t think. I just busied myself with the funeral arrangements. I was told to take time off work, but that was the last thing I wanted. I needed to be distracted. So two weeks after the death of my wife I was back at work.

      I guess it was about four months after Sarah died that denial was replaced by grief. I can’t say what the trigger was, because there wasn’t one. I was doing my rounds one morning and then it hit me like a bullet. My legs felt weak and I nearly passed out. Colleagues ushered me away to an office as I sobbed uncontrollably. My wife had been everything to me. I didn’t think I could live without her. I must have sobbed for hours that afternoon. I can’t remember much about it, but I was told that I was found curled up in a corner of the office singing to myself. I simply can’t remember it.

      What I do remember is that the next two months of my life were harrowing ones. I was given a month’s leave and I spent almost all of it locked up in my flat. I don’t think I ate, but I drank far too much. Physically there was nothing wrong with me, but my heart was smashed to pieces.

      Three years later I was still getting severe episodes of grief that came over me without warning but they weren’t as frequent as they had been at the beginning of my mourning. I learned to cope with them by shutting myself away and spending the rest of my life on automatic. I wouldn’t let anyone get close to me. I was rude and bitter to friends and family. I didn’t want to know. Eventually they gave up and stopped calling. The only thing that got me up in the morning was my job. To numb the pain I worked harder than ever.

      One morning I was driving home after a 20-hour shift listening to the car radio when I felt my eyelids grow heavy. I was so familiar with the feeling of barely being able to keep my eyes open that it didn’t bother me. Besides, I had driven to and from work so often it was if I could do that journey on automatic. Then, as I turned a corner, I heard a clatter. It sounded like a tray clattering to the floor and I was instantly reminded of the time I met my wife. I’d been exhausted then too. Tears stung my eyes and I put my foot down on the accelerator to distract myself by driving faster. I looked in the mirror to see if there was any traffic behind me and there in the passenger seat I saw my wife as plain as day. She smiled and blinked several times and then said in the voice I knew and loved, ‘Open your eyes.’ Then she giggled and looked back at the road. I screwed up my eyes in disbelief and when I opened them up again she had gone.

      Wide awake now, I put my foot on the brake to slow down, and as I did so, oncoming traffic rushed by. I realized that without Sarah’s warning I would most likely have run off the road or straight into the oncoming traffic. She had woken me up while I was asleep at the wheel and saved my life.

      I’ve never told a soul about what happened to me that night on the motorway but it was a lifesaver in so many ways. I still miss Sarah terribly, but there is no doubt in my mind that she is watching over and guiding me and on that morning she saved my life. Clearly she wants me to live my life to the full. This Christmas I’ll be spending it with my brother and his family. I’m not ready for anything more yet, but one day I’m sure my heart will be ready to share again. In the meantime I feel that my experience has enriched me both as a person and as a doctor. For one thing, telling partners and relatives about the death of a loved one isn’t as painful an experience as it used to be because I know that death is not the end and that if we remember them with our hearts, the people we love never die.

      Like David, Marcia, who tells us her story below, suffered deeply with grief, confusion and a sense of emptiness when she lost her only son, Jack, in an accident. And, again like David, a visit from the afterlife gave her not just strength and comfort but a new lease of life. Here’s her incredible story:

       Für Elise

      No mother expects to bury her son. Jack was my only son and my hope for the future. I was a single parent and it was just the two of us as he was growing up. I spoiled him rotten, but I couldn’t help it. He was adorable. I never got much love and care when I was a child. My mother gave me up for adoption at the age of two – she was a drug addict apparently – and I grew up in care. So when Jack came along I was determined to give him everything I never had. I worked long and hard to send him to private school and when he showed a talent for music I paid for piano lessons. He was really gifted. I remember when he was only eight he played Für Elise with such wonderful touch and depth that he won first prize in a local music competition. There were over 30 competitors and he was the youngest entrant.

      When Jack left school along with a string of ‘A’ grades at A-level he applied to a prestigious music academy. I felt as if my heart would burst with pride when I heard the news that he’d been accepted. He never made it to college, though. He died three days before he was due to start his course. He’d begged me for a motorbike but I’d thought it was too dangerous, so eventually we’d agreed on buying him a second-hand car. He’d only just passed his test when he was involved in a fatal collision on a roundabout. Apparently he swerved to avoid hitting a car full on, but in the process his car jammed right into the railings. He died instantly. I can’t help wondering if I’d allowed him to have a motorbike he’d still be alive today.

      I could hardly take in the news when the policemen came knocking at my door to tell me. It was impossible for me to think of my Jack, my talented, fun-loving Jack, the centre of my world, as dead. I don’t know how I made it through the first few weeks. It was like a nightmare. It felt unreal and I longed to wake up and find that everything was back to normal. The hardest part was not having the opportunity to say goodbye. There were days when I was quite literally numb with grief. Friends tried to comfort me by telling me Jack was at peace in the afterlife but I’d always believed that death was the end and when someone died that was it. So I knew Jack was gone, but every day – sometimes several times a day – I’d wander over to the cemetery. I just had this overwhelming need to be with him. Even though I didn’t believe in an afterlife I couldn’t accept that he was dead. I’d spend hours chatting away to him by his grave.

      On one particularly dark evening I decided to go to bed early. Sleeping was hard and I took a few pills to help me. I heard the phone ringing but decided to ignore it. I didn’t have much interest in anyone or anything. I tried to sleep, but much to my frustration the pills didn’t seem to be working. I was still wide awake when I heard the phone ringing again. It was more persistent this time and I counted up to 30 rings. Nevertheless there was no way I was going to answer it. If someone wanted to speak to me they could speak in the morning. About half an hour later, when I heard it ringing again, I put my head under the pillow to blank out the noise. As I did so I heard the faint tinkling of piano music. It was Für Elise. I sat bolt upright. The piano playing was even louder and it sounded as if the music was coming from downstairs.

      I clutched onto the banisters as I went downstairs. Yes, there was no doubt about it – the music was coming from Jack’s piano СКАЧАТЬ