dont-go

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Subject: Don’t Go All comments, good or bad, are appreciated – email matt_v_jellicle@hotmail Other stories I’ve written can be found on my website, in the ter or on Nifty at fty//authors.htmlmattbuck Usual disclaiming sort of stuff, I don’t know McFly, I don’t know their sexualities, this story is not in any way based on real life events. It’s an odd fact about stories – whether it’s TV, a book, a film… whenever there’s a funeral, there’s a burial. A coffin lowered into the ground and two men in ochre coats standing by with spades to back-fill the grave. But when does this happen now? No one has a funeral at a church and gets buried in the graveyard anymore – there’s no space. There’s a funeral service in a church, and then you get in your cars and drive at fifteen miles per hour in a big motorcade, following the hearse to the crematorium, where there’s another quick service, the coffin disappears and you all wander out to look at the flowers. The disposition of the ashes is left to the next of kin, in which case there might be another service a few weeks later for the ashes to be scattered or buried, but… I don’t remember my first funeral – it was my maternal grandfather, who died only a few months after I was born. I’m told that I was pretty much the only thing that got my mum eryaman escort through it. I probably went to several others before I became a teenager, but no one I was close to. The next funeral I remember is my other grandfather’s – he died in late 1999 of a heart attack. It hadn’t been more than a few months since my grandmother had ended up in hospital with a broken arm, and subsequently in and old people’s home, suffering from Alzheimer’s. The memorial service was held at the church where he’d been treasurer, and his ashes interred there a while later. Met a load of people who you know you won’t see before the next funeral. The next funeral in my life was that of my maternal grandmother – she died after being ill for a few days, living independently to the last. The funeral/cremation was performed by a priest who oddly reminded me of Alistair McGowan, then we had a get-together for the attendees at our house. The last funeral was my remaining grandmother – we hadn’t seen her for years, as the last time we’d visited she hadn’t recognised any of us. The memorial service was marred by a family squabble involving the ex-wife of one of my uncles, which was broken up by the funeral director. Four funerals – I never cried a tear. The next one etimesgut escort I know I will. Because the next one’s yours. *** It can’t have been more than a few weeks ago you went to bed complaining of stomach pains. We didn’t think anything of it – wouldn’t be the first time we’d got a dodgy takeaway. It was only the next morning we realised anything was wrong – when Danny burst through my bedroom door, shaking me, telling me you were pissing blood. The ambulance arrived pretty quickly and took you away with Danny, leaving me to drive Dougie to the hospital. You were undergoing tests or something when we got there – Danny had that frightened look on his face, and he sank into my arms in the waiting room. Fletch appeared after a while and paced up and down the waiting room. It took an hour before a doctor came out to see us. “Mr Judd is stable, but I’m afraid it won’t last…” I stopped listening. You, you were… They let us take you home with a load of pain meds, saying you probably had about a fortnight to live. They told us what was wrong, but I didn’t really understand it. It meant you had probably two weeks, the last few days of which would see you confined to a hospital bed. Fletch took care of things, letting us ankara escort all just hang out together while we could. We all took turns sleeping in Danny’s room and going to see you in the mornings. It was my third or fourth turn I think – Danny and Dougie had gone back to my flat after we’d spent a few hours playing on the X-box, and I was just making sure you were okay before going back into Danny’s room. “Tom,” you whispered, “Don’t go.” I turned round, moving back towards your bed, taking your hand in mine and squeezing gently. You felt so cold. “Please… stay with me tonight?” I looked into your eyes, that look I could never deny. I shrugged off my shoes and jeans and climbed into the bed. You rested your head against me, and even though you knew you might be just days away… you looked more at peace than I’d ever seen you. A few days later, you got worse and had to go back to hospital. We all knew that this time, you wouldn’t be leaving. I tried to spend as much time as possible with you as I could, make sure you weren’t lonely or anything. Maybe more for me than you – I hated seeing you like that, but anything’s better than being in the waiting room. The second day, when we were alone, you asked me to kiss you. The gentle caress of your lips against mine was like nothing I’d ever felt before. I again took your hand in mine, but this time, I think you were the one doing the comforting. That night, you slipped into a coma. We’ve barely left your side these past few days. This morning when we were woken by your heart monitor… Harry…

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