Lucy's Loss

“Why do we carve the pumpkins, Grandma?” At five years of age Lucy loved the festivities of this time of the year, but even so the jack-o-lanterns with their gaping eyes and toothy grins scared her.

Edith smiled down at her granddaughter. “The pumpkin faces scare away the bad spirits, my dear.”

Lucy looked up at her grandmother. “Are there really bad spirits, Grandma?”

Edith put aside the pumpkin she was working on and picked up Lucy, sitting the young girl on her knee. “I wouldn’t say bad exactly,” she said. “But there are some confused spirits out there, and some mischievous ones.” She tickled Lucy’s ribs as she spoke and the young girl squirmed and squealed, wriggling to get away.

“Like Tom, he’s mischievous, isn’t he?”

Edith looked surprised. “Yes dear. Like Tom.”

“He always likes to play tricks on everyone” she said. “He pulls my hair, then hides so no one can see. Mummy gets angry with me sometimes; she says that Tom can’t pull my hair anymore. But he does!” She stopped a moment. “You believe me don’t you grandma?”

Edith nodded. “Tom always was a mischievous little boy.” She wiped at tears with the back of a hand and turned back to the pumpkins.

Lucy looked sad. “Why do you want to scare Tom away grandma?”

“We won’t scare Tom with these little Lucy,” Edith said. “He’s one of the family, he knows he’s welcome.”

“Do you think he’ll come to our party?”

Edith nodded. “I’m sure of it.”

They worked away for the rest of the afternoon, Lucy helping her grandmother to fill up bowls of lollies and make apple pie and cinnamon biscuits. They went outside to where Lucy’s grandfather had prepared a large bonfire.

“Who’s that?” Lucy watched her grandfather set up a small round table just outside the back door. He covered it with a black cloth, placing several photos and a few other odds and ends on top. Lucy noticed a photo of Tom, one of his favourite toy cars sitting just in front. But this was not the photo she was asking about.

“That’s my grandfather,” Bert said with a smile. “I remember sitting on his knee when I was a lad, and he would tell me stories of the war, and being at sea. He had an old wooden pipe that was always in his mouth, whether there was any tobacco in it or not.” Bert laughed. “When I was a bit older he’d take me and my brothers out fishing. Taught me everything.”

“Wow.” Lucy loved hearing stories from her grandparents. It was more than she got from her parents lately. “And that?” Lucy pointed to a photo of a woman with a bright smile, and short curly hair. She wore a string of pearls.

“That’s my mother. She got to meet you, before she passed on. There’s a photo somewhere - four generations – you, your mum, me and my mum. That’s pretty special let me tell you!”

“Really?” Lucy wasn’t sure. “I don’t remember seeing her before.”

Bert laughed. “You were only a babe in arms when we took the photo. Poor mum was pretty sick, but she held on. She knew you weren’t far away from this world and she wanted to be here to meet you! She passed when you were about six months old.”

Lucy was getting tired. “Why do you have all these photos outside? And Tom’s car?”

“It’s Samhain today little one. Halloween. The veil between our world and the next is at its thinnest, and the spirits of those who have gone on before us can come back and visit. If you’re lucky you’ll see them, but it’s hard. They’re still there though, so you just remind them of how much they are loved and missed.”

“Like Tom?”

“Like Tom.”

Lucy looked at the photos for a moment longer. “I miss him lots grandpa,” she said. “Why can’t he come back?”

It was Bert’s turn to pick up his granddaughter and give her a hug. “Tom’s body wasn’t very healthy,” he said. “It wore out on him before he had a chance to grow in it. He can’t come back to us because he would need a new body to do that, and if he’s in a new body he isn’t the same Tom.”

Lucy nodded. “He used to play with me all the time,” she said. “And Mummy and Daddy were happy, and they used to laugh and we would read stories together, and go to the park. Now they don’t want to go anywhere, and they don’t want to play with me anymore. They must’ve loved Tom more than me.”

Bert gave Lucy a tight squeeze. “They never loved Tom more than you, they loved you both the same. But it hurts when we lose a loved one, and it can take a little while to get over the hurt. When people are sad they don’t want to play games or read stories. Your parents just need a bit of time Luce, they’ll get through this, and in time you’ll be playing again as you were.”

They looked up to see Lucy’s mother standing in the doorway, tears flowing down her cheeks.

“Oh Luce,” Emma said, holding out her arms. Lucy reached out and almost fell into her mother’s embrace.

“You are our most amazing special little girl, and don’t you ever think otherwise.” She said, holding her daughter tight as though doing so could make up for months of lost cuddles. “Come,” she walked back into the lounge room. “I brought a special book for Tom today. I was going to put it on the table. But maybe you and I could share it first.” They sat on the couch and Emma pulled a book from her bag.

“Dragons were Tom’s favourite,” said Lucy, brightening at the promise of a story.

“They were,” said Emma. “And I know he would love it if we read it together.”

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First published in the Independent Author Compilation No. #3, June 2013