Fly away home
When my nan made a promise, a little bird told me she’d kept it. By Susanah Summers, 64
Placing a cream cake down on the table, I was careful to avoid the array of old photos.
‘You look beautiful,’ I grinned, taking a seat beside my nan Joyce and pointing to a photo of her in a fabulous dress.
Nan and I had always had an incredible bond and I visited every Tuesday without fail. We’d eat her favourite cream cakes and she shared her whole life with me over those special afternoons.
I shared things with her too like my belief in reincarnation and spirit.
‘Tell me more,’ she said, fascinated. ‘I didn’t know you had these beliefs.’
‘I think when you’ve passed over, all your friends and the people you’ve loved will be reunited with you,’ I explained, mindful that she wouldn’t be here forever.
Perhaps a belief in the spiritual could offer her some comfort for her next journey.
Nan listened intently.
‘I’m coming round to your way of thinking,’ she said eventually.
One day, we were chatting when she dozed off in her chair.
‘I saw a little dog beside me,’ she explained when she woke up.
Though I didn’t say it, I realised that
such visits from animals may be a sign the end was near.
Sure enough, Nan’s health soon began to fail.
‘My time is getting near,’ she confided in me during one visit.
We spent that afternoon discussing her funeral plans. I listened closely, keeping a brave face, though I wanted to cry.
I couldn’t bear the thought of a life without her.
‘Nan, when your time comes, will you come back and look after me?’ I asked suddenly.
‘Of course I will,’ she promised. ‘I want to come back as a robin so look out for me.’
Over the coming months, Nan stopped eating. She was ready to go.
The last time I saw her, she’d stopped talking, and could barely open her eyes.
‘I love you,’ I told her, leaving the room before I let myself sob.
The following day, a family member called to say she’d gone.
My darling nan was 92.
Struggling to accept the sad reality, I put my coat and wellies on and climbed into my car.
Parking up on the edge of some local
woodland, I began walking aimlessly. Nan was all that was on my mind. ‘Nan, if you’re here with me, show me,’ I suddenly called out loud.
Seconds later, I stopped in my tracks. A robin flew across my path. It landed on the fence right next to me, fluttered its wings and looked at me.
‘Nan!’ I gasped, bursting into laughter. She’d heard me and come back to comfort me!
In the 10 years since Nan’s passing, I’ve seen robins quite a few times when I most needed her. I know now that she’s always with me.
Whether here on earth or in the great beyond, our bond is unbreakable.