Читать книгу An Angel on My Shoulder - Theresa Cheung, Theresa Cheung - Страница 15

No mother expects to bury her son. Jack was my only son and my hope for the future. I was a single parent and it was just the two of us as he was growing up. I spoiled him rotten, but I couldn’t help it. He was adorable. I never got much love and care when I was a child. My mother gave me up for adoption at the age of two – she was a drug addict apparently – and I grew up in care. So when Jack came along I was determined to give him everything I never had. I worked long and hard to send him to private school and when he showed a talent for music I paid for piano lessons. He was really gifted. I remember when he was only eight he played Für Elise with such wonderful touch and depth that he won first prize in a local music competition. There were over 30 competitors and he was the youngest entrant.

When Jack left school along with a string of ‘A’ grades at A-level he applied to a prestigious music academy. I felt as if my heart would burst with pride when I heard the news that he’d been accepted. He never made it to college, though. He died three days before he was due to start his course. He’d begged me for a motorbike but I’d thought it was too dangerous, so eventually we’d agreed on buying him a second-hand car. He’d only just passed his test when he was involved in a fatal collision on a roundabout. Apparently he swerved to avoid hitting a car full on, but in the process his car jammed right into the railings. He died instantly. I can’t help wondering if I’d allowed him to have a motorbike he’d still be alive today.

I could hardly take in the news when the policemen came knocking at my door to tell me. It was impossible for me to think of my Jack, my talented, fun-loving Jack, the centre of my world, as dead. I don’t know how I made it through the first few weeks. It was like a nightmare. It felt unreal and I longed to wake up and find that everything was back to normal. The hardest part was not having the opportunity to say goodbye. There were days when I was quite literally numb with grief. Friends tried to comfort me by telling me Jack was at peace in the afterlife but I’d always believed that death was the end and when someone died that was it. So I knew Jack was gone, but every day – sometimes several times a day – I’d wander over to the cemetery. I just had this overwhelming need to be with him. Even though I didn’t believe in an afterlife I couldn’t accept that he was dead. I’d spend hours chatting away to him by his grave.

On one particularly dark evening I decided to go to bed early. Sleeping was hard and I took a few pills to help me. I heard the phone ringing but decided to ignore it. I didn’t have much interest in anyone or anything. I tried to sleep, but much to my frustration the pills didn’t seem to be working. I was still wide awake when I heard the phone ringing again. It was more persistent this time and I counted up to 30 rings. Nevertheless there was no way I was going to answer it. If someone wanted to speak to me they could speak in the morning. About half an hour later, when I heard it ringing again, I put my head under the pillow to blank out the noise. As I did so I heard the faint tinkling of piano music. It was Für Elise. I sat bolt upright. The piano playing was even louder and it sounded as if the music was coming from downstairs.

I clutched onto the banisters as I went downstairs. Yes, there was no doubt about it – the music was coming from Jack’s piano in the front room. I opened the door, halfexpecting to see him sitting there. He wasn’t there and the notes on the piano were not moving, but still I could hear the music. I walked towards the piano and suddenly the music stopped ringing in my ears. In its place I heard the telephone ringing again. I was standing right by it. Hardly knowing what I was doing I was in such a daze, I picked it up.

‘Hello,’ said a male voice on the other end of the phone.

I didn’t reply. I was still in shock about the piano music.

‘This is hard for me and I know it will be hard for you but I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days now,’ said the gentle but strong voice. ‘Please don’t be shocked or frightened, as I promise not to disturb you if this isn’t what you want, but I’d really like to meet you. You see, I’m your twin brother, Jack.’

‘Brother,’ I mumbled. ‘I have a brother? My son was called Jack.’

‘Yes, I only heard a few weeks ago about your terrible loss. I don’t want to intrude, as this is a vulnerable time for you, but I’d like to be there for you or help if I can.’

The following week I did meet up with my brother Jack. It was an emotional reunion for us both. I’d had no idea I had any siblings, let alone that I was a twin. I also found out that my brother had two children of his own. I’m an auntie. Nothing will ever replace my Jack, but I have a family again.

Apart from the amazing coincidence that both my son and my brother were called Jack, I am convinced that I was guided to the phone that night by Jack’s spirit. He clearly wanted me to pick up the phone and speak to my brother. And although there were no bright lights and no spirit to be seen, hearing Jack play the piano again filled my heart with unimaginable joy because I knew that my amazing son had not gone far away at all.

Denial and depression are perfectly natural defence mechanisms following the death of a loved one. Everyone works through the stages of grief in their own special way, but in most cases denial is replaced by anger, followed by despair and then eventually acceptance. In Lisa’s case, however, the experience of grief and loss led her on a dangerously self-destructive path.