The Daily Dormouse. (aka Bike) Part 2064 by Angharad Copyright © 2013 Angharad All Rights Reserved.

While I was downstairs feeding the kitten, I expect we’ll still call her that when she’s about twenty five, I let Kiki out and then fed her. I made myself some tea and sat at the kitchen table thinking–least I think I was–when I had that creepy feeling of being watched. Apparently they can stimulate the same sensation by use of high power magnets. As far as I know we don’t have any of those in the kitchen, other than the strip round the fridge door, and that barely rates high anything.

I spun round quickly nearly swilling tea everywhere and Billie was standing by the door. I could see her, she smiled. “You are special, Mummy,” she said smiled again and faded from view.

I felt shocked. I mean one minute I’m sitting here minding my own business and the next I’m seeing my dead daughter. Maybe I do need to see Dr Thomas. Still musing on that and feeling sad that I’d seen her for so short a time, I wiped up the small amount of tea I’d spilt.

“Ye’re up early?” remarked Tom wandering into the kitchen.

“I’ve fed Kiki,” I said.

“Aye, sae I see.”

“The kitten woke me up and wanted her breakfast.”

“Oh aye,” he muttered pouring himself some coffee.

“Well I needed a wee and she just kept bouncing off the walls once she got me out of bed–so to preserve the peace, I came down and fed her.”

“Aye, ye said.”

“Daddy, just before you came in, I saw Billie.”

“Whaur?”

“By the door, I got this feeling of somebody watching me, it was her when I turned round.”

He looked at me with a strange expression. “Jest noo?”

“Yes, barely five minutes ago. You think I’m cracking up, don’t you?”

“No, ye micht well hae seen her, but it’s unlikely.”

“You think I’m imagining it?”

He shrugged and slurped his coffee.

“She spoke to me.”

“Oh aye, and whit did she say?”

“I went to sleep last night thinking that all this Shekinah business was my unconscious mind creating ways of dealing with the way life has turned out, of dealing with the dramas including losing Billie. I decided that it was all in my head and that I wasn’t special at all, and she just appeared and said, ‘You are special, Mummy.’”

I looked at him but he wasn’t looking at me, he was looking beyond me. “Ye are special.” His expression was flat and his voice sounded distracted.

“Are you okay, Daddy?”

He looked at me and his eyes seemed tearful, “Aye, I’m fine. Ye did see her.”

“How d’you know?” I asked as the penny dropped, “You saw her too?”

“Aye, I did. She has a serenity aboot her.”

“Yes she does, doesn’t she?” I agreed, though I hadn’t really taken that on board until he mentioned it.

“She said my Celia and my Catherine were fine and were proud o’ thae way I look efter ye.”

“I’m glad,” and smiled at him.

“Aye but they’re even more proud o’ thae way ye look efter me.”

I stood up and walked round the table and sat on his lap and hugged him. “We look after each other,” I said although neither of us could stop an occasional tear running down our faces. We hugged for long enough that his coffee went cold then we got on with life as if nothing had happened, possibly both being a little embarrassed by our sentimentality or display of it.

Anne Thomas was able to see me just before lunch. I sat down in her consulting room and she asked me how I was. I burst into tears.

She waited patiently for me to control myself, “Sorry about that,” I said feeling very hot.

“Care to tell me about it?”

“I thought it was a while since I’d seen you and it might be good to get your take on things.”

“Which things?”

“Tom reckons I’m still grieving over Billie. I’ve seen her a few times, or thought I had.”

“I see. Does it give you comfort to see her?”

“In some ways, though I’d love to give her a hug–just hold her once more.” I felt the tears form and drip from my eyes. At least I’d remembered not to wear any makeup so wasn’t leaving trails of black down my cheeks.

“How do you see her?”

“Like I did in life, she looks so well and usually happy unless I’ve done something to upset her.”

“Does she wear the same things?”

“No–I don’t think she does–why?”

“What did she have on last time you saw her?”

“Um,” I racked my remaining brain cell, “I think it was a yellow dress–that’s funny because I don’t ever recall buying her a yellow dress.”

“I think you’ll find it’s gold not yellow.”

“Okay, gold–I still didn’t buy her one that colour.”

“No you didn’t buy this one, she was given it.”

I looked at Dr Thomas and she was looking behind me, I glanced round quickly but couldn’t see anything. Dr Thomas looked back at me and smiled. “She did love you, didn’t she?”

“You saw her?”

“Seems like, if not that was one of the nicest hallucinations I’m ever likely to experience.”

“So I’m not crazy?”

“Not unless I’m in the same state.” Dr Thomas smiled. “She told me to tell you that you’re special–what does that mean?”

“I wish I knew. Tom is always saying it but he doesn’t know why, as if it’s something he doesn’t quite recognise consciously.”

“We all know you’re something very special as an ordinary human being, but I got the distinct impression that this was like some sort of purpose you had to fulfil.”

I shrugged. “I’ve been told this several times but no one seems to know just what that is–it’s very frustrating. It’s like I’m being prepared, but for what? And why me? Why couldn’t whoever, pick an ordinary woman, not one like me?”

“You are an ordinary woman, Cathy. Or rather you are an extraordinary one, considering your route to womanhood, you have made a wonderful mother and wife as well as managing to hang on to your career which is very busy. That you’re also a rather beautiful woman means that people will pay attention to you, though some possibly in ways other than you’d like them to. You are special, but beyond that I can’t say.”

“Why was she wearing a gold dress?” I asked changing the subject.

“Who is this goddess again?”asked Anne Thomas.

“Shekinah–she’s from the Old Testament.”

“Hold on,” she rose from her seat and brought over her iPad upon which she typed in various things. “Got it, I think. Kabbalistically, the colour corresponds to the sphere of Tippharet, on the Queen’s scale.”

“Which means?” I asked as bemused as I was with the quantum stuff last night.

“It’s the sphere at which the traveller gets the first glimpse of the godhead through a veil. It’s tree of life stuff.”

“But I don’t believe in gods of any variety.”

“That doesn’t stop them existing outside your beliefs, does it?”

“So are you telling me, they do and I’m wrong?”

“I’m not telling you anything of the sort, Cathy. We must all believe what we think is appropriate, but I’m saying that the gold corresponds to this sphere.” She passed me her iPad and sure enough the tree thing was displayed with the middle sphere of the middle column being gold. I handed her back the tablet.

“So you don’t think you’re special?”

“Other than being an incomplete woman, why?”

“You have a golden aura all round you–oh now it’s gone.” She shook her head.

“I hope you’re not getting migraine,” I suggested.

“That was so unusual, goodness.”

“What is it?”

“My back, it’s been giving me hell for the last couple of weeks–I pinched a nerve when I was gardening.”

“It’s suddenly got better, has it?”

“Yes,” she looked suspiciously at me.

I shrugged, thanked her and left feeling more confused than ever about everything.