drove
      her
      to
      it.
      It
      was
      all
      you."
     
    

    
     
      Then
      she
      spun
      and
      swept
      out
      of
      the
      church.
     
    

    
     
      A
      neighbour
      came
      up
      to
      me
      to
      take
      my
      hand
      and
      give
      me
      her
     
     
      sympathies,
      but
      I
      could
      only
      focus
      on
      my
      daughter
      as
      she
      walked
      away,
     
     
      looking
      like
      she
      was
      never
      coming
      back.
     
    

    
     
      And
      she
      wasn't;
      I
      was
      right
      and
      God,
      how
      I
      didn't
      want
      to
      be
      so.
     
    

    
     
      I
      did
      not
      want
      to
      be
      the
      grandfather
      who
      never
      saw
      his
      grandchildren.
      |
     
     
      may
      as
      well
      have
      been
      dead
      then,
      but
      I
      carried
      on.
      I
      had
      a
      few
      girl-
     
     
      friends,
      joined
      a
      few
      clubs,
      kept
      Hot
      Chocolate
      for
      the
      Soul
      books
      by
      my
     
     
      bed.
     
    

    
     
      I
      would
      like
      to
      say
      all
      those
      things
      worked,
      but
      again,
      horseshit.
     
     
      They
      kept
      the
      wound
      together,
      but
      never
      cured
      the
      redness.
     
    

    
     
      Without
      hesitation,
      I
      hit
      the
      green
      button.
     
    

    
     
      They
      say
      it
      takes
      twenty
      seconds
      for
      the
      machine
      to
      work.
      For
     
     
      me
      it
      is
      the
      longest
      time
      of
      my
      life.
      It
      amazes
      me
      that
      at
      the
      end
      of
      the
     
     
      day,
      or
      more
      precisely,
      this
      minute,
      I
      will
      be
      in
      my
      sweetheart's
      arms,
     
     
      forgiving,
      more
      warm
      than
      the
      night
      I
      found
      her,
      supine
      on
      the
      bed,
      her
     
     
      long
      lashes
      covering
      motionless
      eyes,
      a
      brown
      pill
      bottle
      on
      the
      night-
     
     
      table,
      flanked
      by
      tequila.
     
    

    
     
      I
      often
      wondered
      how
      my
      Wendy
      could
      be
      content
      in
      heaven
      if
      I
     
     
      was
      not
      there
      -
      how
      could
      that
      be
      when
      she
      always
      said
      she
      was
      happiest
     
     
      with
      me?
      How
      can
      that
      be
      if
      this
      so-called
      heaven
      is
      the
      happiest
      place
     
     
      imaginable?
      I
      suppose
      time
      passes
      differently
      there:
      perhaps
      fifty
      years
     
     
      is
      nothing
      more
      than
      twenty
      seconds
      down
      here
      among
      the
      mortals.
     
    

    
     
      The
      liquid
      pushes
      closer
      to
      my
      arm.
      I
      watch
      it,
      then
      close
      my
     
     
      eyes
      despite
      my
      plans.
      A
      tear,
      perhaps,
      slips
      out
      of
      my
      eye,
      but
      at
      this
     
     
      point,
      I
      know
      little
      -
      at
      least
      until
      I
      see
      my
      porch
      door
      open:
      reality
      floats
     
     
      to
      the
      surface
      like
      clumps
      of
      powder
      in
      hot
      chocolate,
      a
      day-old
      cup
      of
      it
     
     
      sitting
      next
      to
      the
      pills
      that
      have
      kept
      the
      pain
      from
      ruining
      my
      last
      few
     
     
      days.
     
    

    
     
      I
      see
      a
      face.
      Black
      hair.
      A
      smile.
      Forgiving.
      It
      is
      a
      little
      imp
     
     
      who
      came
      to
      visit
      me
      even
      when
      her
      mother
      discouraged
      it.
     
    

    
     
      I
      hear
      mumbles
      of
      something
      as
      she
      comes
      away
      from
      the
      bright-
     
     
      ness,
      a
      vision
      in
      a
      floral
      dress
      that
      reminds
      me
      of
      Monet,
      it's
      so
      blurry
      I
     
     
      cannot
      make
      out
      all
      the
      colours,
      they're
      far
      too
      vivid,
      blinding
      me,
      but
      it's
     
     
      good
      blindness,
      damned
      good.
     
    

    
     
      I
      am
      glad
      I
      left
      my
      eyes
      open.
     
    

    
     
      "I'm
      so
      glad
      I
      made
      it
      in
      time,
      Grampy,"
      she
      says,
      so
      beautiful
      to
     
     
      my
      ears,
      long-deaf
      to
      words
      of
      love.
      "John
      was
      talking
      to
      one
      of
      the
     
     
      constables
      down
      at
      the
      detachment.
      He
      =
      them
      say
      they
      had
      to
      check
     
     
      on
      you
      because
      ...
      because
      ...
      you
      had
      ..
     
    

    
     
      I
      am
      certain
      of
      the
      moment
      the
      liquid
      collides
      with
      my
      skin;
      it
      is
     
     
      also
      the
      moment
      the
      woman
      at
      my
      side
      takes
      my
      left
      hand.
     
    

    
     
      The
      last
      feeling
      I
      have
      is
      of
      the
      warmth
      of
      someone's
      hand
      in
     
    

    
     
      _mine
      as
      another
      reaches
      forward.