THE YOUNGER SONS LAST WISH
I sat in the sterile hospital corridor, unable to take my eyes off the glowing red sign above the door marked Operating Theatre. The words seemed to blur as the hours dragged on, my heart pounding in my chest. I absentmindedly fiddled with my little Henrys favourite toyhis plastic red tractor with its little loader. At first, hed begged for a blue one, just like the tractor in his favourite cartoon, but this red one, a gift from his dad, soon became his treasured companion.
At long last, a blurry shadow moved behind the frosted glass and the doors swung open. A weary-looking doctor stepped out into the corridor, and I leaped from my seat, my voice trembling.
Doctorplease, how did it go? Hows Henry?
The doctor looked away, removing his mask with a heavy sigh. Mrs. Bennett, Im so sorry We did everything we could
***
I curled up on Henry’s bed, clutching his pillow and breathing in the lingering scent of his hair. Across the room, I could still see his biscuit-smeared handprint on the mirror. I was glad now I hadnt cleaned it off. Hed never leave another. Never again would he nestle his tired little head on this pillow.
A fresh tear trickled down my weathered cheek. My heart felt hollowed out by grief. I was left with a heart that still beat stronglyunlike my precious Henry, my youngest son, who had not been so lucky. My older boy, Samuel, was healthyhe was away at university, already forging his own path at eighteen. Henry had been my unexpected late-in-life joy, and now he was my deepest pain. The doctors had promised all was well throughout my pregnancy, only for a doctor to discover a serious heart defect quite by chance before the birth. Something went wrong during the operation to fix it, and now Henry was gone.
***
Somehow, I drifted into a restless sleep. Once again, as I had every night since losing Henry, I found myself standing in a sunlit meadow bursting with wildflowers of every shape and hue. Far off, Henry stood smiling, radiant in his favourite shirt covered with little cars, his spare hand clutching a huge bouquet of daisies.
Henry! Darling! I called, but he seemed not to hear, gently plucking at the petals of his daisies.
I began to run toward him across the flower-strewn field, arms outstretched. Yet no matter how far I ran, Henry remained just as distant. Worse still, he seemed to glide further away with each step. I called out, desperate, reaching for himunable to close the gap. Then suddenly, Henry looked up, locked his eyes with mine, smiled, and vanished into the air. Only a soft cloud of daisy petals drifted to earth where hed stood.
Running to where the petals fell, I glanced downand there, picked out in neat white petals on the grass, was a full address.
***
A shrill ring jolted me awake. I blinked at my phone: Samuel.
Yes, love? My voice barely croaked out.
MumIll be home for tea. Can you make something nice?
I managed a weak smile. Enough now. It had been nearly three months since Henry had left us, and I still had my eldest son. I needed to find the strength to carry on for himand for Richard, my husband.
Of course, darling. Fancy some pancakes?
Thatd be brilliant, Mum! Im on the coach, Ill see you soon!
Samuel had made a point of coming home every weekend since it happened, trying his best to support me and his father. He too was grieving, but life carried on, and we would get through this together. Thats what families do.
I mustered myself, pushed up off Henrys tiny bed, and shuffled to the kitchen. Peering in the fridge, I realised we were out of milk. Richard was sitting hunched over his laptop at the table, soldering something with tiny wires.
Everything alright? Need anything from the shop? he asked, looking up over his glasses.
Samuel rang. Hes coming. Asked for pancakes, I replied, carefully steady, but weve run out of milk. Ill nip out, clear my head.
Richard raised an eyebrow at that. Youre getting there! he thought, though he said nothing.
I put on my coat and stepped out into the soft, cool breeze of an English spring. Birds chirped overhead, and the hawthorn trees in the park shimmered with fresh new buds. The world was waking up again after winter’s sleep. Poor Henry never saw his fifth spring, I thought, before shaking my head to chase away the creeping sorrow and heading toward the corner shop.
***
I grabbed a bottle of milk, a pack of Samuels favourite Hobnob biscuits, a loaf of bread and a roast chicken. As I queued for the till, I suddenly heard a familiar giggle from behind a shelf display. My heart gave a painful lurchHenrys giggle, light and unmistakable. I hurried around the aisle, but only caught a fleeting glimpse of a small child disappearing between the shelves.
Even knowing it was impossible, I felt compelled to follow, accidentally swiping a cardboard offer sign off its stand. As I bent to pick it up, I froze: written large in bright red letters across stark white, was the same address from my dream.
Henry, what are you trying to tell me? I whispered, shaken.
I walked home deep in thought, certain now that Henry was trying to send me a message. I would look up the address online later. But not today. Today, Samuel was coming home, and I needed to be present for him.
***
The evening passed surprisingly easily. I even managed to smile as Samuel regaled us with stories from university. He sat contentedly, demolishing pancakes as Richard and I watched on in quiet gratitudehe was our firstborn, our only child now. Eventually, everyone drifted off to their rooms.
I must have fallen straight to sleep. Suddenly, in the early hours, I woke to the muffled sound of humming from the bathroom. My heart poundedI would know Henrys sweet voice anywhere, humming the tune of his favourite cartoon song about the blue tractor.
Barely breathing, I tiptoed to the door and gently nudged it open. Of course, the bathroom was empty. Hot tears pricked my eyes.
What was I thinking? That Henry would be standing here, waiting? Hes gone. My mind is just playing tricks, I scolded myself.
I splashed my face at the basin in an attempt to snap out of it. I had to let go, for Richard and for Samuel. Staring into the mirror, I hardly recognised the pale, drawn face gazing backdark shadows under my eyes betraying sleepless nights.
In a sudden burst of frustration, I soaped up my palm and swiped it across the glass. As the suds dripped downwards, they seemed to spell out the letters of that same address once more. I shivered.
Then, as clear as anything, I heard a faint, childlike whisper: Im waiting for you, Mum
***
Why arent you asleep? Richard asked, woken by the blue glow of the laptop.
I was slumped in the armchair, laptop on my lap, staring at the screen.
Richard, come here If you feel this too, then all these things happening to me arent just my imagination
He grumbled but got up, coming to look. His heart gave a strange skip as his eyes fell on the picture of a small, four-year-old boy.
Elliot Morrison, age 4, read the heading. Both parents killed in a car accident three years ago; raised by his nan. Placed in care six months ago when his grandmother passed away.
Thats the addressit’s been following me for days, I explained. Henry gave it to me
I told Richard about the dream, the incident at the shop, and the strange events in the bathroom. After a moment, he nodded resolutely.
We have to go.
***
Mrs. Cartwright, the head of St. Marys Childrens Home, greeted us at the gates and led us along a clear, sunlit corridor, all the while filling in the gaps.
When little Elliot came to us, we assumed hed be with us for a short while. Hes well-mannered, bright, brought up well despite losing his parents and his nan. Weve tried three times to place him with adoptive families, but every time he closes off, wont interact. He insists his real mum and dad are coming for him. And in these last three months, hes started to talk about his imaginary friendHenry, he calls himwho told him his parents would come for him soon.
Richard and I exchanged an astonished lookcould it be our Henry was looking out for this poor child?
Well, please meet him. Perhaps you two can help heal his heart, Mrs. Cartwright said kindly, pushing open the playroom door.
I saw him at oncesmall, thin, sitting among other children, stacking building blocks and quietly humming Henrys favourite tractor tune. Sensing us, Elliot spun around, let his blocks fall, and hurtled across the room, arms outstretched.
Mum! Dad! I knew youd come!
***
With Mrs. Cartwrights help, the adoption proceeded smoothly; she was overjoyed when she heard about Henry and our loss, saying she felt Elliot had been waiting for us. A month later, we returnedthis time with Samuelto bring Elliot home for good.
Just as we were leaving, Elliot yanked his hand from mine. Wait, Mum! he called, gazing down the corridor. Henrys over therehe wants to say goodbye!
My heart ached, but warmly nownot with sharp pain, but the knowledge that whilst nothing could bring Henry back, it was time to move forward. We had to be strong for little Elliot, whod let us into his fragile heart. I would always cherish the memory of Henry but now had another child to care for.
Elliot scampered to the end of the corridor and gazed out the window. A beautiful white dove, gleaming in the British sunlight, suddenly darted up from nowhere, fluttered around the building, and soared over our heads as we left together.
Sometimes, even the deepest loss can lead you towards someone in need of your love. And in reaching out, you find your own heart mending, piece by piece.
