Category: grief

“Ten, nine, eight, seven.” Charlie yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to distort the sound and make it echo around the living room.

“What is that?” his dad said, poking his head around the doorway. He was drying the dishes, though they had been left to air dry for nearly half an hour. Dinner was long finished, the usual Monday night offering of mashed potatoes, sausages and vegetables.

“Dad, you are ruining my countdown.” Charlie said, glaring at him.

His space shuttle was tilted toward the ceiling, held upright by a used kitchen roll he had drawn to look like a launch tower. The tower was crude, but the shuttle itself had been made with far more care. He had seen the design in one of the craft magazines his mother had brought home from the doctor’s surgery where she worked. He had spotted it nestled among a stack of Women’s Own and Hello magazines she had placed on the coffee table. She brought home the older ones to read, never having time at work as she was always so busy. She was even working now, having called earlier to say she would be staying late to train a new girl.

“Sorry. If you hang on a second, I will come in for the great lift off.” his dad said, returning to the kitchen to put away the plates. Charlie smiled and fixed the small army men he had placed around the ship as spectators.

“All set.” his dad said, getting down on his knees near the launch site. Charlie had built some buildings out of Lego which he informed his dad were the control centre. His father was impressed. For an eight year old, Charlie had built the shuttle entirely on his own, and it was a tricky build. His dad smiled and drummed on his knees.

“Ready.” he said.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four.” Charlie called out, his hands on the shuttle in preparation for lift off.

“Three, two, one. Whoosh. We have lift off.” he shouted, rumbling the model before zooming it high into the air. His dad applauded and whooped as Charlie flew the craft around the room, jumping over the sofa and around the coffee table, finally landing on the huge footstool which was the moon.

“That is some great flying we have seen today by Astronaut Walton, in the face of adversity. His first solo flight to Moon Base Alpha.” his dad said, happy to see him enjoying himself. The phone on the sideboard began to ring, and he got up quickly, careful not to knock over any of the space things. He pretended to be an alien as he passed the moon base, going over to the phone while Charlie played on.

They arrived at the hospital in less than half an hour, zooming like a spaceship through the inky black night. They would have gotten there sooner if it had not been for the traffic being diverted because of an accident. The market town of Bishopsgate was small, with a one-way system running through the old market route. The local hospital where they had taken Mrs Walton was on the other side of town and not large itself. A few critical wards, some infusion clinics and an x ray unit. Nothing major. Most serious cases were usually taken to the larger hospital thirty miles away in Wescox.

Usually anyway.

Mr Walton and Charlie made their way along the painfully bright corridor into a wing where they found a plump woman at a reception desk. She was eating a kiwi fruit with a small plastic spoon, the seeds sticking to the corners of her mouth. She wiped them away before speaking.

“I will call Doctor Ride. She will come and speak with you. Please have a seat.” she said with a small smile. Her eyes held the weight of her words, the only part of her face she had not been able to mask over the years working in the hospital. They misled and sympathised.

Taking a seat, Charlie sat quietly next to his dad, watching the flat television screen on the wall. It was the news, and he read the text that accompanied the pictures of the crisis in the Middle East. The volume was so low it was impossible to hear. He watched the report but did not see anything. His mind was a jumble of feelings and images. His dad held his knee to comfort him, the silence spreading like fog around them both, broken suddenly by the sound of a phone ringing.

“Hi, yes, we are waiting on one of the doctors. No, he is fine. Did you manage to… Ah, I see you now.” his father said, looking toward the side doors. Through them strode his aunt Heather. She looked serious and determined, but Charlie knew this was not her usual self. He loved his aunt. She was always fun to stay with and usually took him out for milkshakes or burgers. She had come with them the day they went to the science museum in London. He remembered she had been like a kid herself, pressing buttons and spinning displays. She had even arranged the trip to the planetarium that same day. A surprise treat for his birthday.

She hugged her brother, whispering something in his ear, then embraced Charlie. She had just started to speak when Dr Ride came walking down the hall calling for Mr Walton. His dad squeezed Charlie’s shoulder and left with the doctor. Charlie watched him disappear up the corridor. What they spoke about he could not say. His mind groped for answers and reasons, confused until they had left him alone with his aunt.

She stayed with them that night, sleeping in the spare room above the garage. Though no one really slept. Charlie heard his dad crying downstairs. He lay there, staring up at the glowing stars on his ceiling. His glow in the dark NASA sign threw a greenish hue around the room. He heard his aunt go down the stairs, and some mumbled words through the floorboards caused the crying to stop.

“She has been in an accident. It is serious. A car smashed into her on the ring road by St Michael’s.” his aunt had said earlier, her arm around him in the waiting room.

“Will she be alright?” Charlie asked, gazing up at her lunar grey eyes. She sighed and looked away.

“I do not know, Charlie. I do not know.” she said, squeezing him. “But I am here for you both, no matter what happens.”

“What…” He did not finish. The realisation dawned on him like a wave of truths and memories washing over him. He had been here before, when his grandma was sick. Not long ago, last year in fact. His dad had been upset, and he remembered his mum saying to him, as they sat in a waiting room just like this, no matter what happens. What happens is death, Charlie had come to realise. People go away and do not come back. He had never seen his grandma again after that day, and a new feeling had grown within him, one he had never touched before called grief.

He had not asked much about death when his grandma died. Everyone had been so sad that he found it difficult to ask the questions his curious mind had conjured. They had kept him at a distance from it all anyway, not talking about what happens or where people go after they die. It was still a mystery to him.

“What happens after people die?” he asked his aunt suddenly, searching her eyes for answers. She looked at him with a galaxy of sorrow and respect.

“Well, people who believe in God go to heaven.” she said, though something flickered in her expression. His mum believed in God. She went to church every Sunday morning, though his dad had stopped going after his grandma died. That was when Charlie had stopped going too. He had actually liked it, finding the songs and prayers fun. But Sundays had become father and son days, so he had not said anything. He preferred the new time they spent together, making things in the garage or watching space documentaries his dad downloaded.

“Where is heaven?” he asked quietly, noticing the receptionist looking over.

“It is up in the sky, above the clouds. That is what they believe. It is a peaceful place with no pain or fighting, and everyone is happy there.” his aunt said. Charlie was silent, processing this. How could they be happy without the ones they love? He wanted to ask but did not. His dad returned, his eyes full of tears that had not yet fallen.

Lying on his bed later, listening to the voices downstairs, Charlie thought of his mum. He thought of heaven, up in the sky. He started to cry, a silent stream sinking into his pillow.

He pushed back the duvet and went to the wardrobe. He opened the door and reached for what he wanted. A lifelike space helmet his dad had bought him for Christmas. He put it on and went to the window, opening it and climbing onto the small ledge. The night was cold but clear, the empty sky promising frost by morning. Charlie climbed the drainpipe that led to the top of their old Victorian semi. Two stories up, he crossed to the crumbling chimney and sat with his back against the bricks, gazing up at the sky.

He knew the constellations. His telescope had shown him worlds far away. They looked bright tonight, sparkling like winking eyes. Lost souls in space. He saw the moon, its hazy glow encircling it like sugar in water.

“Heaven.” he said aloud. The streets were empty below, the early hours silencing the world. He thought of the missions to the moon and the small probes sent deep into the cosmos to search for other worlds and beings. What places would they find, he wondered, as the night dripped down. The moon looked close, yet he knew it was far away. He reached up, his fingers piercing its soft sphere. The lunar man smiled down at him in his eternally knowing way, as if answering the question in his head.

With his helmet on, he shut the visor and stood, steadying himself on the chimney. He stretched his arms out beside him like the wings of a small craft preparing to soar into the galaxy.

“Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one. Blast off.” he said; and jumped.

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From the newly revised version of ‘Impermanence of Things’