Signs across the divide One last time

Maggie Elliott, 65, from Didcot, Oxford

L

iving 500 miles from my family in Scotland meant I didn’t get to see them much.

I was in Didcot, them in Airdrie.

I missed them all terribly, especially my dad Jimmie, 70.

Growing up, I’d been a huge daddy’s girl.

So, when he became ill with emphysema in 2006, I was tormented that I couldn’t be there. I called nearly every day, but it wasn’t the same as giving him a hug. Or holding his hand. Just before Christmas I received a call at work from my sister, Joan, now 66. ‘Dad’s in hospital,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t look good.’ Immediately, I got on a train from Oxford to Glasgow. On that train, I prayed that I would make it to see Dad one last time. Unfortunately, three hours later as the train approached Crewe, there was an announcement over the Tannoy… ‘There are delays due to maintenance work today.’ No! We didn’t move for an hour. As I sat there, I suddenly felt an urge to look up. Reflected in the window, my father’s face was clearly visible for a few seconds. Then it vanished. Checking my watch, it was 3.30pm – I knew he was crossing over. I love you, I mouthed.

When I finally arrived, my sister was waiting for me. ‘He’s gone,’ she cried. ‘I’m so sorry, you were too late to say goodbye.’

I told her no, I’d said goodbye and when.

Turns out, he died at 3.30pm – peacefully.

I am so grateful Dad gave me the opportunity to say goodbye to him.

I would’ve been heartbroken not to tell him I loved him one final time.