A Lifetime of Goodbyes

by Samantha Touchais

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. No part of the contents relate to any real person or persons, living or dead.

  Fiction

  Copyright Samantha Touchais, 2019

  Published by Divinely Inspired Books, 2019

  Library of Congress Control Number:2019945909

  Print Edition

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9969941-2-5

  ISBN-10: 0-9969941-2-2

  Ebook edition:

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9969941-3-2

  ISBN-10: 0-9969941-3-0

  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Chapter 1: Decisions

  Chapter 2: The Neighbour

  Chapter 3: The Best Friend

  Chapter 4: The Brother

  Chapter 5: The Ducks

  Chapter 6: The Goddaughter

  Chapter 7: The Nurse

  Chapter 8: The Daughter

  Chapter 9: The Son

  Chapter 10: The Dance Class

  Chapter 11: The Boss

  Chapter 12: The Wife

  Acknowledgements

  Reading Group Questions

  About the Author

  Born in Sydney, Australia, Samantha Touchais has now lived in a total of six countries and has extensively travelled the world for her career in international marketing, as well as to quench her thirst for adventure. Discovering a love and talent for writing in recent years, as well as a passion for helping make the world a more conscious and better place, Samantha has decided to dedicate her time to weaving words into life-changing messages that re-awaken a deeper yearning for meaning in her readers.

  She currently lives in Germany with her husband and two young sons.

  To my husband.

  My dreams have come true because of you.

  Prologue

  You are about to embark on an adventure. Perhaps not an Indiana Jones-kind of adventure, but it is an adventure nonetheless, and one that happened to me. The living never know what happens when they die, but I discovered that we have a wonderful opportunity to review our lives one more time before we pass over. I was given two days to say goodbye to the life I had built for myself and only two short days to reflect on and review what I had considered to be a life well lived.

  I ask you to read my words with an openness of heart as well as mind. There are many messages in this book that I want to share with you, dear reader, and while I can no longer do anything with the lessons I have learned, I am hoping that I can touch the lives of those still living, and help them to see that life is a gift to be enjoyed and cherished and explored. Dare to live, if you will.

  Here is my story.

  Chapter 1

  Decisions

  They say your life flashes before your eyes when you die. I always thought that sounded a bit strange because I couldn’t really see how a whole life that had been stitched together piece by piece, could just blink and be gone. And while my life didn’t flash by, I have been given the opportunity to say goodbye to it, person by person, until I then walk off into whatever is next.

  We all fear death, but really it’s nothing like I imagined. I feel great! No pain, no concerns, but a wonderful sense of lightness and a shifting level of consciousness that I can’t quite figure out yet. It’s really rather pleasant, in an odd kind-of-a-way.

  Everybody has regrets in life. Some people wear them like a great big fur coat that they never take off, while others shrug their shoulders and throw them to the ground for someone else to pick up. I chose to live a simple life as I thought simple would be safe. Simple would mean no great challenges and therefore no real opportunity for regret or disappointment. But here I am, no longer living but more alive than ever, finally free of the worries and concerns I had carried with me in this life, and I am facing a last chance. ‘Last chance’ sounds a bit drastic, and I am not one for drama, but simply and plainly, this is what it is.

  You see, as I am no longer technically alive, I cannot communicate with anyone. I know this because I found myself on the 204 bus heading to the park where I used to feed the ducks every morning, and I couldn’t find my ticket. I approached the driver to see about purchasing another and he completely ignored me! He just stared ahead and no matter how hard I tried to get his attention he just would not respond. So I went to sit down and on gets a rather well-fed lady who nearly sits on me! I leapt out of the way just in time and despite my protests, she ignored me too! It was when she heaved her enormous shopping bag up on the seat where I was sitting, and the BAG WENT RIGHT THROUGH ME, that I realised what must have happened.

  I’m getting rather excitable but it really was the most peculiar experience that I haven’t quite recovered from yet.

  But with instinct and purpose accompanying me on the way home, I knew what I had to do.

  There’s nothing like dying to sharpen the mind. I had let mine get somewhat dull lately and thought that crossword puzzles would help but they only ever succeeded in sending me to sleep. But my wits had found me again and so I sat down on the bench in our garden and thought about who I wanted to visit one more time.

  I never really had a lot of friends. Frivolity is a pet peeve of mine, and I found throughout the years that a lot of friendships were based on trips to the pub or watching sports games. I never saw the point really, and so the few friendships I had in my younger days I slowly let drift away. My wife’s very sociable, so we always had people coming and going in our house and the occasional dinner party or barbeque to attend. I never really enjoyed them but I’m a traditional kind-of-a-man and wanted to show good social graces.

  But my idea of a good weekend was sitting down with a hot cup of tea and opening up a crisp fresh newspaper to get up-to-date with the local and world affairs. I would then put on my overalls and go and tinker with my vintage car, lovingly taking the dust cover off and admiring her beautiful shape.

  Everybody takes their car everywhere these days, and they wonder why the air is so polluted? I’m not one of those environment types, but when we have a perfectly respectable public transportation system, why not use it?

  Driving is for sport and pleasure not for sitting in traffic jams stuck behind buses that could have just as easily taken them where they wanted to go. Driving is a privilege and a pleasure and something that I took very seriously.

  So I would pick up my gloves and feel the leather stretch and creak as it moulded to my hands in a familiar way. My hat would come out of its box and I would slowly and lovingly lower it on to my head. I didn’t need a hat as I was still the proud owner of a thick head of hair, but it’s part of the tradition so on it would go.

  There’s a certain smell that comes from old leather seats, and I savoured that first moment when I opened the door of the car after a week of her sitting in the garage. That familiar welcoming and comforting smell. I had been driving this car for so many years that the seat fitted me perfectly. The engine would start with a small moment’s hesitation and then would purr to life, like a cat waking from a luxurious day time nap.

  Alas, I will not be able to drive her anymore, and I don’t know what will happen to her, as my wife never learned to drive and has no use for her. But death brings with it a certain perspective change and with that an ability to view things from a distance. This doesn’t dull the experience but allows us to love without holding on too tightly to anything. To appreciate without obsession which opens up a new level of experience and takes away fear. Fearing loss seems so unnecessary to me now.

  I’ve lived a good life. While it was not an extraordinary or particularly memorable life it was one I am quite con
tent to look back on. Do I have regrets? Of course. But I found myself a good woman to marry, we had two beautiful children and I was able to fulfil my role of husband and father to the best of my abilities. I wouldn’t say I have any great achievements to be proud of, but why must one stand out from the crowd? All this self-obsessed culture these days is really rather baffling! Why do people splash their lives around for everyone to see, opening themselves up to criticism while searching for approval? I never really worried about what people thought of me. I wasn’t popular at school, and I certainly had my fair share of run-ins with bullies, but with age comes experience and with experience comes wisdom, and I discovered that bullies are really people who are not comfortable in their own skin. They try to re-direct their pain onto someone else, as if pain is something that can be packaged up and thrown to another to catch, so that they don’t have to deal with it anymore.

  I worked at the same company for forty-five years. Forty-five years! Now that is an achievement I suppose. Young people these days might find that rather boring, but there is a great sense of security that comes from knowing what lies ahead. That may seem dull to some people, to get up every day and to put on the same shirt and tie and head off to the same office, but I’m not one to push myself outside my comfort zone. I like to be in the driver’s seat so-to-speak and know what each day will bring.

  Did I ever wonder what life could be like if I tried something different? Of course I did, but I suppose I let fear hold me back. I thought I was doing the right thing by focusing on the steady pay check my job provided and after a few years I couldn’t see myself doing anything else. I suppose I came to define myself through my job rather than on a deeper level. I can see that now and it gets me wondering what life would have been like had I dared to live my dream life rather than the life I thought I should live.

  As I sit here on the bench, I notice the handprints of my children in the concrete path leading to the gate. They were so little when I laid that cement. I remember trying to stretch out my daughter’s fingers so that her hand would go evenly into the wet ground but it took a few goes. I lost my temper with her because she wasn’t listening to my instructions but I don’t think she really understood. At that age everything is a game. I could tell she liked the feeling of the wet cement as it ran over her fingers. She didn’t know, couldn’t know, that it would dry soon and how special it would be to see her little handprint all these years later. Young children don’t seem to have the same concept of time. It is now or yesterday. There is no future to worry about. They have complete and utter trust in the world and in their parents, never questioning or thinking about what could happen, good or bad.

  My son used to love throwing himself off the brick wall in our garden. He would land with a thud in the grass and each time my wife would call out to him to be careful. She would watch him from the kitchen window muttering under her breath how it was all going to end in tears. It rarely did but there were definitely a few scrapes and bruises on a regular basis.

  Luckily we never had to make any visits to the emergency ward for broken bones. We seemed to get through childhood relatively unscathed. It’s rather a miracle really considering how active our children could be.

  We didn’t escape the hospital altogether though, and there were a few emergency trips on weekends when the GP’s office was closed. Our kids never seemed to get sick during office hours. Oh and that dreadful time when my son Benjamin decided to experiment with peas and his sister’s ear. They had both been in a silly mood that day and when it came time to sit still at the table for dinner, they both seemed to have ants in their pants. I have little tolerance when it comes to children and dinner tables, and I had quite a few stern words to say that evening. However, as my wife and I were discussing the day’s affairs, the children suddenly went silent. Benjamin was looking intently at his plate and Alice was sitting there gaping like a fish.

  ‘My ear feels funny,’ she said. ‘I can’t hear very well.’

  ‘What have you done?!’ I demanded while looking directly at Benjamin. ‘What have you done?!’ I demanded again, grabbing his arm for attention.

  ‘I, I… I… nothing!’ he stammered.

  Alice had been fiddling with her ear this whole time, and my wife jumped up from the table, pulled Alice’s hair back and tried to look inside her ear.

  ‘She has a pea in her ear!’ my wife screeched. ‘I can’t get it out!’

  So off we went to the emergency ward to join the countless other parents and children, waiting quietly for snuffly noses, tummy aches and broken bones to be fixed. It was a Sunday night, everyone was tired and it was the last place anyone wanted to be. Oh how I could have strangled Benjamin! Luckily for him my wife had decided to stay home with Benjamin while I took Alice to the hospital. There was no point in us all being there.

  The pea was eventually removed and given back to Alice in a plastic bag (she wanted to show her friends at preschool the next day). When we got home, Benjamin came to us with head down and looking all forlorn. I was too tired to say anything more on the matter, so both children were washed, teeth brushed and were sent to bed.

  Ah children. Nothing is more stressful nor more perfect than being a parent. Who could have thought that such little people could cause such big trouble but there you have it. Each night I would tuck their tiny bodies into bed, pulling the blankets up around their ears so that their small faces poked out, looking even smaller than they ever did running around during the day. I would kiss them each on their forehead, tell them to sleep well and I would slowly walk out of their room.

  If ever anyone was sick during the night, or had woken from a bad dream, it was my wife who would go to them. I had to work the next day and I needed my rest. If I think about it now, I suppose she was working too, running the household and what not, but men just didn’t think like that in those days.

  I’m glad we had the life that we had together. We were a happy family and while I wasn’t always the most patient of fathers, I loved my children very much, and still do.

  People are starting to come home from work now. It’s that time of day where we transition from one world to another. Where coats are hung up on hallway racks, slippers gently slipped on to tired feet and families prepare to sit down to a nice hot meal and to discuss the day’s events. It’s where energy shifts from work life to family life, where the wife is expected to look after the husband when he walks in the door. I think things have changed, what with women entering the work force. I don’t really know how young families manage these days. A lot of rushing around, short cuts and stress I suppose.

  I hear my neighbour’s key enter his front door and I know who I will visit first.

  Chapter 2

  The Neighbour

  We have lived next door to each other for forty years but as I walk through his front door for the first time, I realise that I never took the time to get to know my neighbour. Even after George’s wife died, I was always too busy to see if he wanted to share a cup of tea together and simply talk about the weather. I kept telling myself I was too busy but now I know I was scared. Scared of having to face raw human emotions. Scared of having to deal with death and despair. It was easier to just keep up the premise of an over-the-fence friendship by waving hello every morning and throwing a ‘How’s it going?’ at him before walking out my gate and down the road to the number 204 that took me to work every morning, and that lately had been taking me to the park to feed the ducks.

  As I step over the threshold, I notice photos on the walls in his hallway. One photo in particular catches my eye. It is my neighbour in Egypt standing in front of the pyramids. He is looking rather pleased with himself and is holding a shovel in one hand and handkerchief in the other. I suppose it is hot in Egypt.

  I continue down the hallway and I find George feet up on the coffee table watching the television. I excuse myself as I walk in front of him to take the spare seat next to him on the sofa. He lets out a snort of laughter that makes me
jump. He is watching one of those silly game shows where the contestants make fools of themselves jumping all over the set trying to catch as much money as they can as it falls from the sky. George clearly finds this amusing but as I look at his face, really look for the first time ever, I notice a sadness in his eyes. The ad break comes on and he leans back into the sofa and stares blankly at the screen waiting for his show to come back on. There is something in his expression that I can’t quite place. A certain loneliness perhaps?

  I get up and cross over the room to his bookshelf. I see titles of adventure, a few of romance (his wife’s I suppose?) and some well-known detective novels lining the shelf. But several books jump out at me. ‘The Dummies’ Guide to Archaeology,’ ‘How to dig for Dummies,’ and ‘Archeology 101.’ I feel taken aback. Here I was living next to someone all these years and I never knew we shared a passion. I say passion, but really for me it was a closet interest that never came off the hanger. Archaeology always fascinated me, particularly when I saw a re-run of Secret of the Incas at the cinema. Something changed in me the day I saw that movie. My curiosity was piqued and I felt suddenly inspired. I have always had a fascination with history, and being rather good with a shovel, as my garden would attest to, I thought I could combine these interests and skills and become an archeologist. I remember that feeling of pure joy and possibility as I headed home after the cinema and proudly announced to my father that I had found my calling. I will never forget the look on his face. He screwed up his nose and with a voice higher than usual and certainly louder, said ‘Archeologist? What preposterous nonsense.’ And that was that.

  It’s a shame to never pursue one’s dreams. I realise that now. But I traded a life of discovery for a life of certainty and as I stand here looking at my neighbour’s bookshelf I realise what a loss that was.