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Touched By An Angel

“I’m sorry, but she’s dead.” Those few words will haunt me for the rest of my natural life. There I was, at the tender age of seventeen, thrust brutally into a world of adult decisions, bleak outlooks and fervent heartache.
My family had completely crumbled at the news, mother dissolving into father’s arms like ice melting, and Ben, his stiff upper lip trembling under the weight of the situation. Only eight years old, people would say he was too young to understand what had happened to his other big sister, but he knew. He understood completely. He was the product of many costly attempts at pregnancy, where eventually perseverance paid off. Mia and myself were also the result of expensive IVF treatments, and brought much joy to our weary parents, who now, had to face the loss of their precious one.
While they were crying, I stood, staring blankly into oblivion, the words I’d heard unable to sink fully in it was as if my mind was rejecting them repeatedly, refusing to listen. As this was the case then maybe, just maybe none of it was reality. But the truth was, that my lifelong friend, my best friend was gone. She had left me, granted against her will, but still, she was not with me anymore. No tears came while they could see, I wanted to be strong, not only for those who remained, but for Mia, she now would rely upon me to fulfil her dreams, a responsibility I was proud to have, to be trusted with her future, helping her to live on, when everyone believed she had ceased.
We were allowed briefly into her room, after she had been ‘cleaned up’, as they had put it. The room was dimly lit, splashes of light coming only from the cracks in the blinds leading into other rooms. The nurses had moved on to the next person in need of their assistance. In the centre of the room, was a bed, covered in clean, white linen, the blood had vanished. Laid out on the bed, as though asleep, was Mia. My twin sister. ‘My partner in crime’, I used to say affectionately. But this time, the crime had not been committed by either of us, but by a man. A man who thought the law concerning legal limit’s of alcohol to be consumed before driving, did not apply to him. Who must have thought he was in control, even as he sped around the corner, he felt in control, it was only when he swerved to miss me, and hit Mia, that perhaps this control he felt he had, wavered.
I remember it all in such painfully vivid slow motion. The screeching of the brakes, tyres failing to grip the road anymore on the rain soaked concrete, the screams that echoed in the night when he hit her. The confusion when people didn’t know what to do, who to go to offer futile assistance to. I ran as fast as able to her side, I remember every sickening second with the same intensity as on that night.
She was lying on the hard roadside, rain pouring over her, people crowding round uselessly, offering suggestions of actions I to which should comply. “I’m cold Maddy” Her voice shivering, body vibrating rapidly, as though shaking the life out of her. All I could do was hold her, reassure her with some sense of vigour that everything was going to be fine. Lying through my teeth? Yes, but it was all I could do. There was blood everywhere, so much blood, she had been slipping away even as I held her
Someone in a fit of helpfulness had phoned an ambulance, and the sirens approaching cut through my flitting thoughts. She called for me as the paramedics moved me out of the way and strapped her up, checked her over and hauled her into the ambulance. I remember them asking me if I wanted to go with them, and recall thinking how much of a stupid question it was, but nodded numbly in reply, to ensure I wasn’t left behind.

She looked so peaceful. Beautiful. Nothing could harm her now, I leant near to see if she was breathing. I knew she wouldn’t be, but I had to check, just in case. Doctors do make mistakes you know. My family started sobbing again, I hated this, this raw display of emotion, no barriers. It all seemed so, just so weak. She would hate to have us all bawling over her. ‘Such a fuss’ She would have said. Don’t worry Mia, I thought, I’m here, Madison’s here. The nurse came in to ask us to leave, I begged to be allowed a moment longer. They reluctantly left me to be on my own with her. As soon as the doors closed, the tears broke free. Deep sobs found their way to my throat. I stood rooted to the spot, crying like a baby. Tears streaking down my face, hands refusing to wipe them away. My fingers found their way to her face, I recoiled at the thought of touching her, she was dead, but she was also still my sister. On contact I could feel how cold she was. It was like stroking smooth pebbles that had been left in chilled water overnight. Her whole being was cold, so very cold. I leant closer, cupping her face in my hands, hair falling over her. I embraced her as though reunited after an eternity, hugging her tightly to myself, choking on the pain.
The nurse knocked on the door, disturbing my remorse. I placed her back down gently, so as not to wake her from her restful slumber, rearranging her so she was the same as before I disturbed her and composed myself again.
We travelled home in silence. I couldn’t believe that in the space of twelve hours, I had lost my sister, my twin, my other half through everything. We’d only gone to get some fish and chips for tea, a regular errand we underwent. We hadn’t even purchased our food, when my world changed forever in a matter of a few minutes. I shuddered involuntarily as the memory tried to surface.
On arriving home, we all went our separate ways, I chose the shower route. I closed the doors on the cubicle, turned the water on full power, and let it soak into me. I wished I could drown under it’s force, join her where ever she was. The scorching water rained heavily down on me, but the heat didn’t matter, I knew nothing would ever be the same again, the futures we’d planned together now void. I could never be her Maid of Honour, nor her mine. We’d never be able to see each others children grow up; annoy each other; have fits of hysterical giggles; fight over the little things, and find it funny afterwards, none of it. It was so unfair. I cursed it all for taking her away from me.
That was the day I died inside.

The funeral came and went, a group of sullen people who hardly knew us telling us how much they understood, how sorry they were. People saying how wonderful Mia ‘was’, how the good die young, these meaningless catch phrases they use to avoid real conversation. I didn’t go in black. Never was my colour. I went, much to mother’s disapproval, in Mia’s favourite colour, blue. Baby blue. I ignored the looks of surprise and disgust, knowing that Mia would approve. She would be chuckling at my rebellion, encouraging me. She was always the one who came up with the plans, the brains behind it all, you might say, and I was the body, the one who carried out her schemes, and often took the flak. But we laughed about it every time together, while hatching our next plan.

A cloud fell upon our family. Ben became a recluse, internalising everything, he wasn’t the cheeky, fun loving little brother of before, I worried dreadfully for his sanity sometimes. I heard his little voice quiver sometimes when talking, and late at night, he would cry himself to sleep after waking, probably thinking of Mia. I went into him, and when he was exhausted from crying, would hold him and gently rock his little body into a gentle slumber. I did this most nights, but I never cried myself, that was his time to grieve, I was just there to be with him. He once said that sometimes when he looked at me, he would squint and I would become Mia, just for a second. I couldn’t help but smile.
Mother and father argued about everything, who was going to be at work the latest each evening, so as to avoid being with the ones they have left I’d imagine. They never kissed each other farewell at the door like they used to, grunting their goodbyes was as close as they got.
Under no circumstances were we allowed to mention the one no longer with us. I wanted us to laugh, spend time as a family again, to howl hysterically at some of thing we did, but at the same time I was torn for I also longed to keep them sacred to her and me, not for those who wouldn’t understand our bond. The outsiders.
I didn’t let any of the family to even consider moving anything out of our room, I told them it was for when Mia came back. I knew it was irrational, but I couldn’t get the thought out of my mind that if we gave up hope, then how could we return to normal, with her by our side. Part of me refused to succumb to the reality I was drowning in, unable to escape and choose a different life.
We had always shared a room, we never wanted it any other way, most sister’s want their own space as the teenage years hit, but we chose to be together. For comfort I took to sleeping in her bed every night, and every night I would soak it with my muffled tears for her, or maybe they were for me. Selfish tears, tears of my own loneliness at being left behind. Angry tears for the man who killed her, and maybe a few because I wasn’t able to share in this with her, her new adventure.
I became a ghost, a shimmer of my former self. Everyone noticed a change, people cling to you in your times of need like a leech, suffocating you in ill-meant, well thought out shallow pitiful comments. They want to be seen as helping the ‘sad one’. Sick isn’t it?
To be truthful, I didn’t want to go on, not without her, I knew we could wreak havoc together in Heaven. At night I often created my own plans on how I could do it, I saw it as a desperate measure yes, but a necessary evil to form a new beginning with her. An adventure, like so many before, except I was in charge of planning, maybe that’s why it was such slow going, Mia would have had it sorted by now. I was spiralling into the depths of despair, with no visible way out.

The wind howled outside, as though screaming just for me, calling, I sometimes even thought I could hear her voice, spurring me on as always. It had only been two weeks, but it had been too long apart, each hour seeming like an eternity without my Mia.
I sat in the creaky old rocking chair that Grandmother had left us when she passed on, and Mia being the eldest, had of course inherited it. Rocking back and forth, in time with only itself, it lulled me gently into another dreamless and desperately restless slumber where I was neither fully awake or fully asleep. The kind where the pain never fully left. I stirred uneasily as a vision of Mia came to me. A sinister chill surrounded me like a blanket, her voice exactly how I remembered, only it sounded like it was coming through a hollow funnel. It haunted me, yet placated my fears for her. I knew it wasn’t really her, no matter how much I wanted it to be, but it was like she had come to talk to me, as if we could reunited in my dreams. The thought of her squeezed my heart dry of all liquid, blood now irrelevant. I had the most powerful feeling fall over my mind, like she was simply letting me know she was okay, I shivered, a ripple travelling through my body, as though touched by her, by her essence. Like being touched by an angel.
The panicky, desperateness had departed, replaced by a warm calm, a reassurance that my sister was waiting for me, watching me. I wanted right there and then to make it a good show for her. I knew how much she would hate all the tears being shed. She always loved being the centre of attention, but only for good things, if something bad happened, she was more than willing to let me get the credit. I smiled in spite of myself. The new reassurances becoming the strength I needed to dry the tears.
~
In death as in life it was Mia who showed the way forward. I still miss her of course, sometimes more than I think I can bear, but then I recall the vision, and hope returns steadily. Every day I still think about her, but we’re coping. My family will never be the same, I wouldn’t want them to be, but at least now they’re healing. Slowly, but they re. Ben has turned out well adjusted, speaks fondly of Mia, even though his memories of her are somewhat dim. Mia was more than a relative, she was my partner in crime, and is part of who I am. I still have visits in my dreams, they don’t scare me anymore, I welcome them. It’s a wonderful comfort to know that she hasn’t forgotten me either.