Dearly Missed

I'm eighteen years old. Oh, how sweet it is. I've been in foster care for three years and spend as little of my time at home as possible.

I have work today at the local supermarket. But when I arrive for my shift, they tell me I'm needed in a different store. I struggle with change; I do not drive and have little money. I have a fear that I will get stuck in places, unable to get home or let anyone know where I am.

I call my boyfriend and ask him to drive me. The store is almost three towns over, and I'm tired from lack of sleep the night before. I don't sleep well at all, but can you blame me? I'm overworked and underpaid, and my young mind is burdened; by things that are well beyond my years. Worry has been my only constant for as long as I can remember.

Standing outside of the building, he promises he will be here when I finish and he insists won't be late this time. I accept my fate and walk into the busy shop, find the manager, introduce myself, and get shown to my locker. I put nothing in it except for my jacket, I’m too dependent on my phone and the few coins I have to my name to risk parting from them, however temporarily. I receive a quick briefing of my expected duties and start the day's tasks, feeling widely out of my depth. I watch the clock as I do so, counting the hours until I can leave.

A couple of hours pass as I potter around, trying to look busy. I hope no one will ask me where anything is, as I don't have a clue.

All of a sudden, this strange sense of urgency comes over me. It isn't a panicked feeling, more of a calm reassurance that I have to leave and I have to leave right now.

Now, I am not a spiritual woman by any sense of the word. I do not believe in a higher power or fate, for that matter. But I swear to you, every word of this is the absolute truth.

I walked up to my locker, took out my coat and made up an excuse to the boss. I think I said I had a tummy ache or a headache or something... anyway, I digress.

I walk out of the building and into the pre-spring sun. The traffic was loud, and people bustled past me on their daily errands. As I look around I take a deep breath, confused what I'm supposed to be doing. I decide to head towards the train station. I board the train without a ticket and sit in silence as it rocks; I've never liked trains, too much potential for disaster.

I get off at the next platform. I know the town because I know the hospital. In fact, it eventually becomes my hospital as we get intimately acquainted over the next few years. But that's the future, so we don't know that, yet.

I know the hospital because my uncle has been there for weeks now. I know what you're thinking, fostered, right? But he is my blood. One of the very few members of my family I have a relationship with. And he is dear to me.

I head in that direction.

I've spent the last couple of years helping nurse him, to a degree that is. I don't know much about medicine and procedure or hospitals at this point in my life, so I mostly keep him company. The at-home nurses do the hard stuff. We mostly lay in bed and watch reruns of Friends or Somewhere in the Sun whilst I make cups of tea and roll his smokes for him. That’s on a good day, mind you. On a bad day, it's painkillers and a bucket to throw up in.

As you can imagine, he was in and out of hospital a lot. So I'm not sure why I'm power walking up to the hospital doors as if my life depended on it. As I take the elevator up to his ward, I wonder what version of him I would spend time with today.

The pain could make him quite grumpy, and rightly so, causing him to be hard work. Or the morphine could make him hallucinate, which could be funny but also bittersweet. Sometimes he would tell stories of my childhood and my mum when she was young. I like those the most. I very rarely get to reminisce with anyone who knew me as a child.

I open the door to his room and find him sleeping. He looks peaceful, so I don't wake him. Instead, I lay claim to the armchair next to his head.

I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the need to sleep. I don't mean I felt tired either - I mean, I'm suddenly unbelievably shattered. The most tired I have ever been in my whole life and it hits me out of nowhere.

I mutter 'blimey' to myself as I kick off my shoes, slightly angle my chair and put my feet on the bed next to his. I lift the covers to find his hand and take it gently in mine, careful not to knock his IV. He is older than me, yet his hand feels small and warm in mine.

I feel my eyes close and force them back open. I'm embarrassed to sleep, I snore and I don't want anyone looking at my squish face... you know the face you make when you're sleeping? So, I grab a magazine from the table next to me, open it and put it over my face.

Feeling a ridiculous sense of accomplishment, I close my eyes, feeling an oddly warm sense of calm flow through me. I can tell I am going to sleep well as I squeeze Sean's hand and drift off, listening to the quiet beeping of the machines.

I wake with a start as a nurse enters. The magazine has nearly fallen from my face. I quickly grab it and instantly pretend to be reading. I snatch my feet off the bed, not wanting to look disrespectful. The machines have become loud; their beeping seems harsh and grating.

I’m about to greet the nurse when she rushes past me. She bends over my uncle, checks the machines and then his pulse.

'I think he's gone,' She doesn't look at me as she says it.

My stomach turns cold.

'Sorry, what?' I ask as I stand up and put my shoes back on. I'm not sure why, in that critically life-changing moment, I felt that I needed my shoes, but apparently, I did.

'He's gone,' she looks up at me, 'I’m afraid he has signed a DNR. I'm sorry for your loss.'

I sit back down in stunned silence as the nurse turns and leaves the room. I’m not sure what I expected to happen when someone dies, but this surely wasn’t it.

I look at him in his bed. He's slightly lower now than he was before, his head has slipped off the pillow. My mind races as I struggle to understand; he was fast asleep, and he was holding my hand, I should have heard something, felt something, surely?

I look at him closely, but he looks the same... like he's sleeping. As I watch him, I see his chest rise. My heart explodes with relief as the nurse walks back into the room with more staff in tow.

'He's breathing! I just saw him breathe. He's alive.' I tell them in a panic.

She looks at him and frowns, shaking her head.

'It's just gas leaving the body.' She tells me with a clinical bluntness that every seasoned nurse knows well. They ask me to leave the room. They must run some checks. I frown in disbelief, not that they have procedure to follow, but that this is happening at all.

I get up and leave the room. I don't know where to go. I'm not sure what to do. I turn back and watch them through the window, they've left the blinds open. I watch as they check his vital signs, lift him back onto his pillow and tuck in the covers.

I barely hear the patient in the next room call me, asking if I need help, as I realise I am crying. I shake my head and lean against the wall behind me, sliding down it into a heap on the floor.

A little while passes. I’ve stopped watching the nurses in his room. I don’t like the way they manhandle him.

A nurse approaches me from her desk.

'We need to inform his next of kin.' Her words seem distant and quiet.

'Miss, excuse me.' She continues. I look up at her. 'We need to inform his next of kin. Are you family?'

'Neice.' I answer flatly as I get up from the floor and follow her to the phone.

'Okay,' she says as she flips through some paperwork, 'If you'd like to make the call, it's always better when it comes from family.'

She takes a long look at me.

'How old are you?' She asks.

'Seventeen… It's fine, honestly. I take care of him; it should be me.' I insist as I pick up the receiver and put it to my ear. My heart starts to thunder as I think of what to say.

'Okay.' She nods, looking back at her paperwork. 'Next of kin is his sister. Do you know her number?' She asks, pointing to the name on the paperwork.

I swallow hard as I read my mum’s name.

My heart pounds as I try not to panic. How am I going to manage to keep it together when I hear her voice? How do you even tell someone their sibling has died? I hesitate long enough for the nurse to take the phone from me.

'It's okay, dear. Go and sit down. I've got it.'

I try to insist, tripping over my words but she interrupts, 'There's a waiting room just behind you. It's private.'

I walk over to the room and find a seat. I'm too far away to hear, but I watch as she makes the call. She isn't on the phone long when she hangs up. I feel a spark of anger. The call was too quick, too insensitive. But it was done now.

Nothing to do but sit and wait.

* * *

Authors note:

That day still bothers me. I have no answers, no explanation. I have no idea why I left work that day and went to the hospital. I have no earthly idea how I knew or why I so incessantly needed to sleep.

It was the closest I've ever come to the unexplainable.

To magic.

All I know is that someone I loved dearly, died peacefully, as we slept hand in hand. That moment will be with me forever.