Peter was driving home, when the call came through. He slowed the car, pulling into an entranceway to a field.

“Hello doctor, do you have the results?”

“Hi Peter, Yes, is it ok to talk?”

“Yes, of course. I am on my way home and have pulled over. Did I pass?”

“Well, it’s not so good. The PSA is higher than it should be, and I am referring you to a specialist.”

​Peter hung up the phone without saying goodbye and turned it off. He slung it down hard in the passenger seat, it bounced and made a loud crack as it hit the glove box before landing in the passenger footwell.  His hands slammed the steering wheel and then he flung himself backwards, crashing into the seat making it shake.

Although he was facing forward, eyes wide open, he saw nothing, felt nothing. His body was totally numb. He was alone and his mind was a thick fog of cotton wool thoughts blurring, running wildly throughout his head, colliding and banging the side of his brain. Just as suddenly as it started, it stopped. All thoughts gone – except one. As he looked ahead tunnel vision, black as coal, leading to a small mound of grass. Standing beside it a lone figure, in black, sobbing and weak kneed. It was his grave, desolate, damp and fresh. It was his wife standing there alone, looking down at his final resting place.

So this is it, the end. But how long? He needs to tell Sue, his wife.

‘No, please, I can’t, it will tear her apart. Not yet. I need time to plan this. I need to make it as easy as I possibly can for her, now and when I am gone.’Thoughts coursed through his head.

A scream came next, loud, deep and long. Agonisingly haunting. In the hedge a bird took flight, scared no doubt by the wail unexpectedly rising from the car. Then a struggle for breath.  Deep were the gasps forcing air into his lungs, panting to get more oxygen inside him. What was happening to him?

Still he remained oblivious to his body and the world outside. One thought gouged its way deep into his brain, taking root and spreading just like the disease inside him. Death. It was certainly earlier than he had planned it, but there it was staring him in the face and there was nothing he could do about it.

Peter’s thoughts were never again about himself and his illness, for the result was a forgone conclusion. Now he must think beyond this. He must find a way to makes this work for everyone else.

He thoughts remained with Sue.

‘She needs to be provided for. My will needs to be checked. It needs to be watertight with minimal tax to pay. I need to plan and pay for my funeral, coffin, service, music, burial or cremation. Can’t leave anything for Sue to worry about.’

Peter looked at his hands, both sides, hoping to find a sign. Instead of a sign, he saw tired hands, starting to wrinkle, the odd little scar, that piece of graphite from the pencil he managed to stab himself with as a child – now barely visible, and his wedding ring. That small, round shiny piece of metal, that meant little to anyone else but to him meant everything. This was the reminder of who he was, who he loved and the vows he made. It was a reminder of the heart he was about to tear in half when she found out. The fingers of his right hand touched it, turning it round, gently, he felt every vow he made with each movement. He closed his eyes reliving the marriage, the joy, her smile and that first married kiss.

His heart grew heavy, the thought of her future alone. ‘A holiday. Yes, a holiday. The most fantastic holiday. I will pay for it all. A world cruise. Every possible sight, sound and smell. I don’t care what it costs, I will pay. We will have the best time, together. Sue will have wonderful memories to cherish after I am gone. I will not have her last thoughts of us with me drugged up and emaciated, barely able to move, laying in a bed waiting for the number 9 to heaven to pull up. No, it will be all action to the end.’

Turning his head, he saw the field beyond the gate. It was different now. The soil held life giving nutrients that made crops grow. The crops offered food and shelter to wildlife. The world was a truly beautiful place. Why had he never really noticed before?

‘Treatment. No. What use will it do. It may extend my life for a few weeks or months, but what life will that be? Tired, drugged, lifeless and wasting away. Not to mention all those trips to hospital and then to be dumped in the bus depot with all the others waiting for the number 9. Sue will have to look after me, watch me as I disappear, turning slowly into an oversized baby, totally dependant on her, unable to function for myself. Absolutely not. Painkillers but that is it. I want to be able to be me for as long as possible. That’s how I want Sue to remember me.’

Peter thought about his mother, the widow. His father had died when he was a boy. He had cancer, in the days when it wasn’t really understood. They cut him open to investigate. A scar from his chest to his abdomen and then across it. Peter saw it once, matted with dried blood. The vision made him wince then as did the memory now. It was the last time he saw his father, but the sight he never forgot.

‘Oh mother, poor mother. No mother should lose a child. No mother should watch them go the same way as her husband had all those years before.’

His head shook from side to side, bowed, remorseful.

‘How can I do this to her? For all her faults she doesn’t deserve this. No one does. How can I tell her? That will be heart breaking for her.’

Outside the light was fading and the temperature was dropping. Passing cars had their lights on. It seemed like minutes but already death was an hour nearer.  He must get home or Sue would start to wonder where he was. He reached for the car key, held it between his thumb and forefinger. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t have the strength to turn the key. The key released, both arms wrapped themselves around him and he hugged himself tight bending overso his head rested on the steering wheel.

Once more he sat back, hands resting gently in his lap. Staring blankly ahead the cotton wool fog became heavy once more. His head began to ache as the cotton wool thoughts banged and crashed as a plane in heavy turbulence. A solitary tear fled from his eye and rolled its way south, falling from his lower jaw to be soaked up by his shirt. It was joined by another and then several more. Each tear following the path of its predecessor ending up with an ever-expanding patch of salty, clear moisture staining his shirt. This was silent crying, motionless apart from the tears themselves. Peter knew they were there, but he paid them no heed, unfocussed on the fog before him.

The tears stopped flowing and Peter wiped each side of his face with his hands. The fog was clearing once more, and his thoughts were becoming clear again. Death. It was still there.  Tormenting, refusing to move.

For the first time he thought about work. He had loved his job and he was well respected. But outside work there was little or no contact with them.  

‘What would they say? What can you say to a dying man? Frankly who cares. They are just casual acquaintances, and he would be replaced and forgotten soon enough.’  

Then his thoughts turned to his home. The home that Sue and he had bought just a few years earlier. It was their first home together.

‘I will have to get the house on the market soon. It will be far too big for Sue to manage on her own. There is a mortgage. She won’t be able to afford that and the running costs. Let’s get it sold and buy her somewhere smaller that is mortgage free that she can manage on her own, or at least until she finds herself a new partner.’

‘A new partner, will she? Should she? What do I think? Of course she should. The last thing I want is for Sue to grieve for me all miserable and in black until her time comes. I want her to live her life to the full. When she is ready that is what she should do. I will give her my blessing before I go.’

He could see before him a figure, black, hooded and carrying something long in one hand. A weapon of some description. It was walking towards him, slowly, purposefully. A bright light was behind it, obscuring everything else. Peter felt sure this was the grim reaper marching to take him into his fold of souls. To the place of the immortal, unhindered by this world. But Peter didn’t want to go. Now was not his time, not yet. He still had Sue and the rest of his, albeit short, life to organise and finish. He needed to make sure that everything was in place.

Still the figure approached, with each step it grew taller. It was a menacing figure and Peter was scared. He wanted to open the car door and run, but his body would not react. Pushing himself back, deep into his seat, desperate to get as far away as possible. But there was nothing he could do.

The figure was at the front of the car. It moved round to the side, coming for the door, nearer and nearer. A hand at the window, tapping. A bright light pierced his vision from beside the figure, round obscuring all else. Peter felt no pain, but terror gripped him like an iron maiden slowly being closed.

The door was pulled open and the figure leant in. The light filling Peter’s face once more.

“It’s alright Sarge, he’s alive.” A human voice boomed.

Another figure came rushing forwards, throwing itself against the other side of the car, grasping at the handle and wrenching it open.  Sue jumped in, kneeling on the passenger seat, leaning over. She took her husband in her arms, kissing him frantically, before saying,

“Its OK Peter, its OK. I know. The doctor called me when the phone went dead. He was worried. He told me about the call, we will get through this together. We have been looking for you for hours. Come on let me drive you home.”

Peter looked at his wife, tears streaming down her face and said simply,

“I am sorry, I love you so much.”