BUTTERFLIES FLY AWAY Page 3

  “No, no, no” she screamed. “Not my Rob … he wouldn’t leave me … he would NEVER leave me”

  “I have to go to him ... I need to see him ... Not my Rob not my Rob” She repeated over and over.

  And then she was on the tiled floor, the arms of her mother rocking her, trying to take away her pain, sobs wracking through her body. She had lain on the floor so long that the tile marks were indenting on her knees and legs. Her heart was aching as she fractured, a physical pain ripping through her.

  “Come on luv, let’s get changed” her Mum said and led her away holding her hand as if she were five years old again and being with Mum was the safest place to be. She wasn’t aware that her sister had been speaking to the police and trying to gain more of an understanding as to what had happened.

  She stood under the shower washing away the delicate oils but no matter how hot the water was she still shivered was. Would her body ever stop shaking? What had happened? It must be wrong, couldn’t be true. No not Rob, not Rob. She would know. It had to be a mistake.

  When she joined them her Mum had been crying but quickly wiped her tears away. Kate Reynolds would not breakdown in front of her daughter. She needed to be strong and help her baby.

  “What do we do now? I don’t know what to do? Where is Rob?”

  “Carrie, Dad’s on his way. The police said his body... I mean Rob... is still at the hospital” Claire had her mobile in hand and was soon speaking her words muffled as she spoke with her husband the tears choking her words.

  “I can’t breathe ... I need to get out of here!” Carrie could feel panic rising “I ... I have to go NOW!”

  “It’s okay Carrie, it’s okay baby.” Her Mum took her by the arm and the walked towards the door. “Let’s get some fresh air.”

  It would be months before Carrie was ready to talk through the events of that day. Information pieced together that she had blotted out at the time. It had been her coping mechanism to block out the beginning of her heartache.

  Weather conditions that day had been fine; no snow or ice just a little spring frost. The frost was the last of a long winter and the promise that this year just might bring a scorching summer. The same promise of good weather that everyone spoke of after another disappointing summer.

  The worry was always there that with the amount of travel that Rob did something bad would happen to him. But she would worry that he would get mugged in some far flung corner of the world not that it would be a multi-vehicle pile-up that would take him from her. The motorway was closed for hours whilst the debris of the six cars was cleared away and Rob hadn’t stood a chance. The lorry had crossed the barrier and it took the fire service over an hour just to cut Rob free. The driver of the lorry had suffered a fatal heart attack and triggered a tragic chain of events. But it had been too late. No chance to speak with him or hold his hand or promise him everything was going to be okay. In her mind she had imagined it over and over again his final moments. The evening news reported on the accident, the motorway closed for several hours, the emergency crews that had attended and a male in his 30’s had died at the scene. All summed up in less than twenty seconds. It didn’t include that her life had ended with that loss and would never be the same again.

  They tried to offer her words of comfort that he hadn’t felt any pain or been alone but that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. They told her that he had died instantly. She felt guilty for months afterwards that she had been pampering herself whilst her husband had been dying. Couldn’t face going to the hair salon. She didn’t want to be made pretty with glossy hair or nails. It wouldn’t bring him back. Nothing would bring him back. Ever.

  Claire didn’t want to go to the morgue. “I can’t Carrie, I just can’t” and began to sob. This time she had an arm of comfort around her sister. “Mum can you stay with Claire? Daddy can you come with me?”

  Carrie was 27 years old but she would always be a Daddy’s girl and at this moment she needed the protective arms of her father to make this journey. It was time to see her husband.

  The hospital technicians showed her to the viewing room that they had attempted to make look anything but what it was. Artificial flowers on a side table and a duvet over the bed the lights were dimmed. But it was the morgue, the room chilled with the air of antiseptic that stung her nostrils and she still was shivering from earlier her body in shock.

  “I want to go in myself”

  “If you’re sure … I’m right here for you outside.” Dan’s voice broke struggling to stay strong for his daughter. He wouldn’t break down. She needed him. She shook her head.

  He looked like he was asleep. It was a phrase she had heard before on TV and in films. But it was true. Only Rob never slept so still. Usually his arms and legs were in a tangle after their nightly struggle over the duvet. He would win as he slept entwined in the blanket. Her husband, her kind, sweet, sexy, funny husband was gone. She half expected that he would turn over and mumble in his sleep like he always did. The crisp white sheet pulled up to his neck. She touched his forehead, brushed the floppy fringe of brown hair away from his closed eyes. Those laughing sparkling blue eyes that had entranced her from the beginning. When she moved his fringe she noticed on his forehead was cut and a bruise had formed. She didn’t want to see any marks or cuts on his body. This wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. It shouldn’t have surprised her but his body was so cold to her touch. Icy cold.

  “Oh Rob, how could you leave me? You promised you never would, you promised” she fell to her knees and lay her head on his chest like she had done a million times before. But there was no comforting hand to stroke her hair and make her feel like she was there where she belonged in his arms.

  Her tears were falling onto the bedcover and she didn’t know how long she lay there.

  Pleading with God and promising the world to have him back for just one more moment. For that chance to hear his voice again but it was all in vain. No one heard her pleas.

  She felt the warmth of her father’s arms as he held her and she sobbed into his shoulder.

  They didn’t prompt her to leave but she couldn’t have said how long she stayed in the room. Her father signed for Rob’s possessions and she held on tightly to the little brown envelope where at home alone later she emptied the contents onto the dining table. The screen of the mobile phone was smashed. It had survived the week before when she had it accidently washed with his jeans and she had carefully dried it out but it would not work now. She was glad. Didn’t want to turn the phone on and see missed call notifications, texts and alerts. The band of his wedding ring scuffed from wear and tear rolled round and round on the table until it fell flat. She didn’t want to be holding his wedding ring. It belonged on his finger like hers did. She picked up his watch, held it close and she could still smell him. The scent of his aftershave embedded in the leather strap. The face of the watch smashed and the dial stopped at 11.35am. Was that when it happened?

  Tucked under his wallet a parking ticket dated last week that he hadn’t told her about. He was always getting them, mistiming when the meter would run out and she was forever chastising him for it. Who would have thought that it would bring a smile to her face through her tears? She stuffed everything back into the envelope not ready to discover anything else.

  CHAPTER THREE

  In-laws or out-laws? … Well, where did she begin? Rob had come from a loving family too but they were from an older generation and she had never felt a connection with her in laws. They were kind to her but there wasn’t a deep bond. She felt at times like a girlfriend Rob had occasionally brought home, not that she was his wife. She called them Mr & Mrs Davies for months and they didn’t encourage or correct her to use their first names.

  Her father had contacted them and told them that their only son; their only child had passed away. Carrie was incoherent.

  They lived a few hundred miles away and visits had been few and far between as the Davies’ embarked on their retirement trave
l. They spent most of the winter in Spain and Carrie and Rob had joined them for the occasional Christmas in the sun. But it wasn’t the same as her Mum’s turkey dinner surrounded by the swarm of family that was the Reynolds brood. Her Mum never quite knew just how many people would be there for the festivities but chairs were added and sometimes the dinner service didn’t match. But who cares about that?

  She had been chastised by her mother in law for not having a tea set to serve tea for the visitors who had come to pass on their condolences. This was quickly rectified by her Mum who brought an old service from home. The fridge was over flowing with casseroles and home baking but who felt like eating? She certainly didn’t.

  Decisions had to be made, ones that she hadn’t been ready to do but that’s the funny thing with death... it doesn’t wait. It’s not like you are making an appointment for the boiler to be serviced or getting your nails done. Appointments have to be made, protocols followed and certain traditions maintained. You can’t put off seeing the undertaker until you are ready. Well I suppose you could but then that wouldn’t follow tradition. The decisions you make are what are right for you at that time. Life shouldn’t be for regrets after the fact. When her in-laws arrived most of the arrangements had been finalised to maintain those etiquettes. They were on a driving trip round the Lake District and drove straight to Carries. The camper van parked up in the driveway. They refused the offer to stay in the spare room and opted to stay in the ‘van. It was their home from home with everything they would need. At the time she was hurt they didn’t want to stay but with hindsight could understand they needed their space too for her home was overflowing with family and friends. A collective of grief.

  “What have I done wrong Mum, why don’t they want to stay here?” Carrie asked confused.

  “I think it’s just overwhelming for them with all the visitors to the house. They just need to be on their own just now.”

  Carrie returned from the undertakers arrangements finalised. And so this was when the fireworks began. The taper slowly lit by Carrie’s adherence to refuse to do in their minds ‘what was right and proper’. The booklet held tight in her hand. She tried to show them the casket she had picked but broke down leaving her father to continue. Couldn’t find the words to express what she had picked for what she had repeatedly been told was her husband’s final journey.

  Did she feel guilty at not involving them more? Not then but she did now, on reflection she could have asked their opinion on certain things. At the time she couldn’t wait for their input as decisions had to be made.

  Dignified, non-religious and a cremation all what Rob would have wanted she explained to them.

  The decision not to have a religious ceremony and burial was what sparked outrage from her in laws.

  “No Carrie ... we can’t let you do that … please don’t be selfish we need a grave to mourn our son. How could you deny us that? We need somewhere to go and remember him”

  “Selfish ... you think I’m selfish. It’s what Rob would have wanted. He wasn’t religious and didn’t want to be buried. We talked about it in the past. . . If you need a place to mourn go to the motorway, you can put flowers there if it means that much to you!” She knew it was a cruel thing to say but then life was cruel sometimes and the hurt made the words spew out.

  It was the beginning of the end of her relationship with her in-laws. She knew she should say more, could do more for them as she knew they were hurting. They were hurting for the loss of their only son and for the loss of future grandchildren. Grandchildren to spoil. Of all the 1st days at school, birthdays and Christmases. School nativity plays and trips to the zoo. Of all the never could or would be’s in their emptiness. But she was hurting too and couldn’t express this to them. This was a barrier that she did feel guilty over.

  That’s were her memory of all the details from the funeral ends; blocked out in a combination of grief and exhaustion. She had dressed in a simple black dress but included Rob’s last gift to her. He had travelled with work a few weeks before his death and returned with a beautiful turquoise and black silk butterfly scarf. For as long as she could remember she had loved butterflies and cherished this last gift. She wore it with pride.

  She remembered the kindness and words said by her brother in law. He made them laugh with a tail of Rob’s home DIY which was well known amongst friends and family to be non-existent. Why build it yourself when you can pay someone to do it was his mantra. With a brother in law as a bricklayer there were lots of favours traded between them he had joked.

  How the sun shone. It shouldn’t have been a perfect sunny day. The skies should have been as grey and thunderous as she was feeling but it was gloriously sunny for spring.

  How the undertaker told her that he wouldn’t be cremated with his shoes on. The regulations on omissions didn’t allow it. She thought of him lying there without shoes and it brought a small smile to her face. It didn’t matter how new the socks were he always managed to get a hole in the right toe. Did he have a hole in his sock now?

  How her heart broke and she felt like she would never be complete again.

  During the service her tears had slipped down her face and dropped onto the wooden floor in the crematorium. She looked down and could see the perfect circles of her wet tear drops. After the service she bent down to pick up her handbag and looked at the floor whilst trying to find the strap. Her tears had dried and joined the perfect circles of tears on the wooden floor – united in grief with many others who had stood where she did now.

  She didn’t remember much of the wake, just a multitude of people offering her words of sympathy. Her numbness of grief was a shield and she couldn’t absorb anything that was said to her.

  Then to return to the emptiness of a place that was called home. She hadn’t changed the bed sheets, wanted the smell to remain unchanged as if it would bring her closer to him. She hadn’t slept in their bed but wherever her exhausted body fell into a slumber. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to leave. They had wanted her to come back home with them to her childhood bedroom.

  But all of this she declined – needed the solace – needed to wail and scream at all the injustice of her loss. People have good intentions and sometimes these go awry. Her sister was changing bedding, trying to make her room feel more welcoming, a haven again. Carrie screamed at her to get out of the room. “Leave it ... don’t touch anything!” The en-suite was just as it had been that morning. Towels in the hamper. Shaving foam marks on the counter next to the twin sinks. She didn’t want to create a shrine but she wasn’t ready to do anything else, wasn’t ready to move on or disturb anything.

  They hadn’t spent every waking moment together due to their work commitments so being in the house alone wasn’t strange to her. She expected him to walk in the door, pour a glass of wine and put the world to rights. She closed the blinds, turned off the lights and sat in the darkness. Maybe if she blocked it out it would all go away, it would be a big mistake or like Bobby from Dallas and he would be in the shower. Anything but never coming home, never walking through the door, never making her smile, never feeling his touch.

  The phone would ring and she didn’t answer but let it go to the machine. They didn’t have a personalised message – just the factory default and she was grateful for she couldn’t have borne that then. To hear his voice then again as a reminder of her loss. Her mobile rang out – again she didn’t answer. Then texts.

  “Carrie answer your phone or I’m coming over” her sister warned. She could hear Harry crying in the background. Still teething and she knew her sister was worrying. She sent a text to try and pacify her. Days merged into weeks and she was still in a grieving free-fall. She couldn’t say if it was Monday or Saturday. The days all seemed the same to her. At first there were a deluge of condolences from friends and family on her face book account. The phone didn’t stop ringing and there seemed to be a constant stream of people at the house. The notifications she couldn’t face and turned them off th
en closed the account. She stared at the packet of biscuits and again couldn’t remember what day it was. The calendar in the kitchen was stuck on March. Two crumbling biscuits all that remained in the packet. Turning the TV on she could hear the familiar jingle of “This Morning”. That narrowed it down to a weekday. She knew they would eventually announce what day it was. She hoped it wasn’t Tuesday. Her Mum was due to come round then. Flowers were withering in a vase. The occasional decayed leaf falling off. The water almost gone. The bright pink gerbera flower had drooped and the soft petals had fallen, scattered on the glass table top. She couldn’t remember when she bought them. All she could think of was Rob. Her Rob was gone. Then the pain would tear through her again. It was so wrong.

  How was it possible that she was a widow? It couldn’t be. She was only 27 years old. What happened to sharing the next 50 or 60 years of their lives together? Her beautiful home mocked her with its emptiness. Empty bed, empty fridge, empty rooms.

  It must be Tuesday as the front door opening announced the arrival of her mum. Carrie was still in her pyjamas wearing Rob’s dressing gown, fluffy socks on her feet. They were sitting at the dining table drinking tea and Carrie couldn’t remember when she had last eaten anything apart from the packet of hob nobs. Better think of an answer before her Mum went nuclear with her at not eating properly. Carrie hadn’t moved the pile of mail that needed sorting which was growing by the day.

  “Okay ... let’s check this then ...” Kate began methodically sorting into junk, bills to be paid, stuff that could wait and stuff that couldn’t.

  “There’s a reminder here for a parking fine. Threatening court action.”

  “Oh let them take us to court ... What’s the worse they can do!”

  Kate added it to the ‘bills to be paid’ pile.

  Carrie noted there was a letter from work. HR would like to visit and by the date of the letter they were planning on coming that day. Oh Great, visitors she thought.