Final Waters

Gleaming from the light of the looming full moon, the tears flowing like waterfalls from Danny’s eyes were not easy to hide. Luckily, he was all alone up on the bleak cliff edge, legs hanging over the tumultuous waters below. In daylight this spot was always teaming with tourists, whether they were watching the yachts, with their sails spanning all colours of the spectrum, or simply looking out at mainland Portsmouth, attempting to spot landmarks such as the Spinnaker Tower. Tonight however, the cold easterly winds that were making the sea so unsettled were also keeping even the most intrepid of holiday makers at bay.

***

His granddad had been diagnosed with terminal bowel cancer in December the previous year and Danny had last seen him on Christmas Day. That day had been one of the worst of Danny’s life. His normally bubbly, youthful and slightly plump Grandfather had wasted away to become a weak, gaunt old man with greying skin hanging in translucent folds from his newly skeletal form. That night Danny had gone home and sobbed relentlessly into his pillow.

Four weeks ago, on an uncommonly balmy day in March, Danny Thomas was due to visit his Granddad at his residential care home in Ventnor. The trouble was he was scared, terrified even, so he developed a sudden stomach bug and told his mother that he would visit as soon as he felt better.

Two days later he woke up in the early hours of the morning to the phone ringing. His Mother picked up the receiver but he knew what that call was. He heard her voice breaking on every monosyllabic word and he silently walked what felt like the mile between his room and hers, head hung not just in grief but from the extreme weight of guilt bearing down on his shoulders.

The days leading up to the cremation passed in a busy haze for Danny, as he tried ineffectively to cast aside the guilt coursing through every inch of his being and to help his mother with all the tireless work of planning her father’s final farewell. His Mother was too distracted by the meticulous details and by her own soul consuming grief to notice that Danny had yet to shed a single tear.

The day of the cremation Danny woke before sunrise and dressed soundlessly. He crept down the stairs, making sure to avoid all the floorboards he knew would awaken his lightly sleeping Mother. Out in the garden, he struggled to find the stepping stones set in the lightly frosted grass, with only the dim light of the distant moon and stars as guidance. He planted himself upon the wall surrounding his mother’s treasured vegetable patch and lit a cigarette remembering that the first time he had smoked was when he had stolen some of his Granddad’s rolling tobacco to impress the cool crowd at school. Inhaling deeply, he willed himself to cry, convinced a single tear would open up the raging torrent of salt water building fruitlessly behind his grey, stormy eyes. Nothing happened.

Throughout the service his mother gripped his hand tightly with one hand whilst using the other to blot at the river of tears flowing endlessly from her tired eyes. Danny stared into his lap, too ashamed to look into the tearstained faces of the speakers sharing their cherished memories of his grandfather. When the vicar called him to the stand, Danny sat frozen to his chair. His legs felt as if they were anchored to the floor. His mother turned to him and gave him a timid nudge, unable to see her son’s pained face. Letting go of his mother’s hand, he slowly rose to his feet, legs threatening to buckle beneath him. His face still angled towards the floor, he turned on his heel and walked out of the crematorium amid a wave of hushed whispers.

Never had he seen his mother so angry at him.

“What was that Danny?” his mother fumed, voice shaking with vehemence.

“I can’t stand there in front of all those people and tell them how much I loved Granddad after...after...” Danny stuttered at a barely audible whisper.

“AFTER WHAT?”

“After I couldn’t even bring myself to visit him.”

“You were ill, it wouldn’t have done Granddad any good to catch that on top of everything else, Danny,” his mother soothed, her face losing the previous lines of anger.

Danny bowed his head lower, “I wasn’t ill.”

“Yes you were...”

“NO I WASN’T!” Suddenly Danny erupted. All the anger he had felt towards himself over the previous week accumulated into those three simple words. “I faked it Mum. I pretended to be ill because at Christmas it ripped my heart out seeing Granddad like that. He wasn’t my granddad any more. He was... he was so weak... so frail...” Danny shook his head, rage still flowing through his veins, washing over him like a tidal wave causing all his muscles to become rigid.

“Oh Danny... Don’t be so angry at yourself. If I were your age I wouldn’t be able to cope with it either. I heard you crying on Christmas night. I didn’t know how to talk to you about it. I didn’t know if you would even want to talk about it. I saw the pain on your face for weeks after and I’m sorry I didn’t try to talk to you. Please Danny, don’t feel guilty, Granddad knew you loved him...he knew.” The final words catching in her throat she fell forward into her son’s arms and they stood together. Tears streamed from the eyes of both mother and son, guilt lifting from both their shoulders.

***

Beside Danny on the cliff top sat the simple stone urn. This was his Granddad’s favourite place to be on nights like this. He used to tell Danny that the foam tipped waves crashing against the white chalk cliffs reminded him of his younger self braving the rough ocean when he served in the Navy. Danny had never seen its beauty until now. Opening the lid he paused, drawing in breath.

“Goodbye Granddad, I love you.”