Unfinished Business

          Falling,

                    Falling,

                                           Falling.

Then darkness, then nothing at all.  No pain, no sorrow, no happiness.  No consciousness of being, no awareness of self.

Then bright, burning light.

 

Ben tried to shield his eyes but found the action impossible.  The light faded somewhat and Ben was aware of movement blurs all around him.  His perception stabilised and the blurs became people, sort of people, shadows of people. And they were all moving briskly in the same direction.  A shadow person passed close to Ben, the feeling of being determined to arrive at wherever he, or she, was heading was palpable.   

Ben found himself moving alongside the shadow, trying desperately to attract their attention, “Excuse, me, excuse me.” 

He felt, rather than saw, the shadow give a turn of the head, then, feeling the words arrive in his mind, not hearing them, the shadow said, 

“Quickly now, you don’t want to be left behind.”

Ben looked up from where he was sitting, he had no idea how he had arrived there, not that it mattered, not to him, not any more.  There were a line of shadow people, also sitting, to his left and to his right.  He too was a shadow person now.  He had no illusions that he was dead.  But his thoughts held neither question nor fear on his condition, just mild curiosity as to why he was sitting in a line of others facing…..his attention became focused upon who he and the others were facing.  Again it was a shadow, tall and authorative, the features and details unseen, and this shadow’s voice was entering and resonating in Ben’s mind.

“Being dead means you have no bodies, no brain, nothing left of the corruptible flesh your parents made.  The shadows that you are, and that you perceive, are the mind’s last ditch attempt at being rational and putting what you know to be there into some sort of context. We are now but the essence of the people we once were.  This part never depended upon flesh and blood to sustain it, in a way it is the immortal sum total of a person’s being.  For some that essence can live on in great works of art, literature, or historic deeds, but not you, you have unfinished business. What that business may be, how you will complete it, and the outcome of completing it, I have no idea, nor do I have any wish to know.  I have just completed mine by talking to you, so farewell and good luck.”

And he was gone, along with the line of shadow people; all that was left was a feeling of familiarity, a sense of knowing where he was.  Ben took a ‘step’ forward………

……….into his mother’s living room.  Full of sombre attired relatives and friends.  His mother’s friends of course, not his, she would never allow his friends in her living room.  Ben felt some element of surprise that the animosity he felt toward his mother was still with him.  It shouldn’t matter now, but it seemed to Ben that it was important that it did, it kept him here, in this room of people that he had never liked, and who had never liked him.

The wake, his wake, was humming with conversation punctuated with the occasional clink of sherry bottle on glass.  

He heard an elderly aunt say to his mother, “Our condolences,” 

Ben saw his mother shrug in answer before passing on to attend to another guest.  

The aunt turned to her husband and muttered, ”You can’t tell me she doesn’t feel some kind of relief he’s gone, I’m not one to talk ill of the dead, but, he was a wrong ‘un, and that’s the truth.”  

Ben couldn’t remember if he was a ‘wrong ‘un’ or not, it was too late to go back and change, it was no longer of any importance.  What mattered to him, what had always mattered to him in life as well as death was close, very close.  The door to the kitchen was pushed open and Ben felt an old familiar feeling of love, gratitude, companionship, and more that he had never had, or needed. the words to express.  His unfinished business had come waddling into the room.

Ben felt his being drift on the wave of unconditional love that was the still living essence of this intruder into his mother’s room.  The intruder’s presence had not gone un-noticed by the wake guests, or his mother.  The majority had given a moue of disapproval and his mother had grabbed a magazine off the coffee table and rolling it up delivered an unkind whack to the intruder’s rump.  “Out, get out.”  

She hadn’t shouted, but the words were full of venom.  The whack hadn’t been over hard, but his arthriticy old bones had felt it keenly, giving a yelp of pain and a whimper the old dog returned to his now lonely life of waiting in the kitchen.

As Ben drifted through the door to his truest friend he heard his mother say, “…only thing he cared about, he thought more of that stinking old dog then he did of me, well, it takes a one way trip to the vet’s tomorrow, and good bloody riddance.”

Ben felt no fear or anger at his mother’s words.  The old dog was aware of him and started to lash his tail in greeting, his waiting at an end.  Keeping his essence hovering just above the dog, and opening a channel of feeling Ben let the dog know that he was going to stay with him until the end.

The next morning Ben felt a small, very small, jolt of guilt from deep within his mother.  It passed quicker than it had arrived. Clipping the lead to the dog’s collar she gave a hard jerk, 

“Come,” a harsh command, not a kind request.  

The old dog did his very best to comply, but his ancient bones were slow and stiff.  Another hard jerk of the lead brought him to his feet.  Still trying to please, the dog allowed himself to be dragged mercilessly through the house and out to the car.  Ben kept up his vigil of comfort above the dog.

As his mother left the veterinary’s surgery, the dog gave a small yip of despair at being left in a strange place by the last living human that had shared his long life.  

The veterinary nurse reached down and ruffled his ears, “All right mate, I know it’s all scary, but it won’t hurt, I promise.”  

Ben sent waves of comfort and love and the dog quickly settled.  The nurse was kind and patient and allowed the old dog to follow at his own pace into the veterinary’s surgery.

It was over so quickly, and peacefully.  Ben looked down on the once russet red of his dog’s coat, now it looked dull and grey, almost dirty.  He felt a pull at his essence, feeling that his unfinished business was now complete; he allowed the pull to take him.  He drifted away from the dead dog, now free from pain and the agony of pining, on the table and toward the entrance of a tunnel.  But he didn’t feel alone.  Reaching down he felt…..

…….the warm crisp bounce of a russet red coat.  They were lying beneath a tree, its dappled shadows giving an almost surreal view of the cloudless blue sky.  The dog was resting his noble head on his chest, and together they drifted into a sleep of forever after.

                                                                        The end 

                                                                                                                                      ©2014cvb