Tomorrow Never Knows, part twelve

It was the 11th anniversary of their first kiss.

Neala sat out on her deck with a glass of red wine, listening to music, watching the night sky, reflecting on the years gone by.

She and Fergus had enjoyed a healthy and peaceful coexistence. Excitement was balanced with reason. Reason was paired with companionship. Companionship was bolstered by laughter and shared history. Although the passion may have faded over the years, their commitment to one another never faltered.

They never married. They had long ago reached a happy understanding: they did not need to be each other’s everything. Instead, they chose to be one another’s someone special. The bed they shared was whatever bed they chose to sleep in on any given night, dividing their time between his place and hers.

They never moved in together, each of them respecting each other’s need for personal space, having their own corners to which to retreat when they needed downtime. He had preserved the home he had shared with Anna; she maintained the home in which she had raised her sons. In this way, her boys always had a place to call their own and to stay when they came home to visit. She was resolute in her stance that she would maintain her financial independence and not be beholden to anyone for a roof over her head. Fergus respected her position and saw the merit in sharing their lives, but not necessarily households.

Her thoughts took her back to their first night together – how, like pieces of a long forgotten puzzle, they fit together so harmoniously. As they basked in the endorphin high from their lovemaking, Fergus wrapped his arms around her shoulder, nuzzled the top of her head, and took a long, deep breath. “I know this may not be the time or the place, Neala… but I feel like Anna has been guiding me towards you over these past couple of years. I feel like she would approve. I… hope it doesn’t make it weird for me to say that. But it’s important for me to tell you.”

“Of course it makes it weird,” she thought at the time. “Jesus, Fergus,” she kept to herself. Yet as she lay there in his arms that night, she could not deny that thoughts of his late wife had in fact passed through her mind. Although not at the forefront of her conscious thought, she acknowledged a certain presence. She and Fergus were in the bed he had shared with Anna, the same bed they had slept in throughout their married life, the very same bed in which he had cared for her when she was sick. Life, though, with all of its light and its dark, is meant to go on. She did not feel guilty or ashamed. Rather, in that moment, wrapped up in Fergus and on the cusp of this new development in their relationship, she felt… at peace.

Now they had come full circle.

Neala had retired from her position at the local health authority six months ago. She and Fergus had plans to travel, to share volunteer activities, to take dance lessons – all in the knowledge that tomorrow is not promised and that life is about making plans.

Then, three months ago, as he lay in that same bed, she did her very best to keep him comfortable, content, loved, nurtured, and reassured.

Shrouded in her love, Fergus left this life.

However, he did not leave without holding her hand and squeezing it tightly, trying to pass along what love he could through a single touch, transferring to her what life he had left, for her to carry with her for her remaining days.

Returned to the present moment, Neala took a sip of her wine. Then she opened a bottle of Fergus’ favourite beer and placed it on the little patio table.

“Cheers, Fergus,” she announced as she clinked the side of the bottle with her glass.

She lifted her wine towards the sky and offered a toast - to the moon and stars, to Saturn, Jupiter and Mars, to The Beatles, to banana bread, to clumsiness, to little blue pills and personal grooming, to good friends like Saoirse and Kelan, to pork tenderloin and chicken parmigiana, to pulled hamstrings, to Anna, and finally, to Fergus.

“I miss you so much,” she lamented, tears streaming down her face. “But more than I miss you, I am so grateful for you. You have made my life richer for having been in it.”

Gazing heavenward and sipping her wine, a familiar refrain echoed in the background.

“But listen to the colour of your dream…It is not living…It is not living…All play the game…Existence to the end…Of the beginning…Of the beginning…”

 FIN