Voices from beyond
Each month a reader writes to a loved one in the afterlife and Mandy Masters tunes in to share their reply. This month Denise Moore writes to her sister Trish
The door flung open and there stood Granny with a big smile on her face.
‘Haven’t you grown?’ she beamed, hugging you, me and Mum.
The minute we were inside, we were rummaging round Granny’s pantry…
‘Oh you didn’t come to see me, you came for your sweets,’ Granny chuckled, as we popped open the lid of the tin she’d filled with Smarties and penny sweets. We giggled mischievously. ‘Just one!’ Granny would say, but we always sneaked a few extra in our pockets.
Mum couldn’t afford to take us away on a proper holiday so staying at our grandparents’ house in Sevenoaks, Kent, was how we spent our summers.
You and I would make our own fun, whether that was shutting Granny’s poodle in the bedroom to see how long until she noticed he was missing, to loosening the lid of the salt shaker so it would tumble out all over Granddad’s dinner.
We’d go scrumping in people’s gardens for apples and bring them back for
Granny to make us apple pie.
‘We got them from a tree in the park,’ we’d fib.
I was five years older than you and the ringleader when we were little.
But when my first child,
Lisa, came along when I was 18, I had to grow up fast.
Not that the mischief completely stopped…
‘Why aren’t you at school?’ I asked one morning when you showed up at my house, aged 15, with your schoolbag on your shoulder.
‘I’m skiving,’ you giggled. ‘Don’t tell Mum.’
But then the doorbell went. Mum!
Hiding you under the dining room table, I threw a tablecloth over it and let Mum in.
‘I had a call from the school to say Trish isn’t there. You haven’t seen her, have you?’ she asked, heading for the table.
I nearly died as she took a seat at the table and sat there sipping tea… for an hour! I tried not to laugh as I saw the tablecloth wriggling.
It took us decades to fess up to that one.
We remained close as adults and just as close to each other’s kids.
I had three more, Donna, Danny and Laura while you had Karl, Zoe and your youngest Zak, in 2009.
He was born in the back of an ambulance, on the way to the hospital and he shot out so fast, the paramedics had to catch him!
When he was just three days old, the shock of what
Mandy doesn’t read your letters in advance. She is given only your first name and relationship to the person you’d like to speak to in Spirit
happened brought on a heart attack and you had to have a heart transplant six years later in August 2015. I was by your side when they woke you up from the anaesthetic.
‘Pat,’ the nurse kept saying. ‘Pat, your sister Denise is here…’
‘Her name’s Trish. She’ll smack you in the mouth if she hears you calling her Pat,’ I joked.
The nurse just laughed and we watched as you groggily opened your eyes.
‘My name’s Trish,’ you slurred, half awake. ‘Don’t ever call me Pat, or I’ll smack you in the mouth!’
You made a good recovery – unlike the nurse who I think was a bit taken aback!
That precious heart gave you a new lease of life.
You were there to watch Karl, now 33, get married the following year and we spent our summers enjoying days out in Great Yarmouth.
But in October 2017 you began to feel unwell again.
We went back and forth to the hospital, but the doctors couldn’t find anything wrong.
‘I feel worse,’ you told me one evening. ‘Could you take me to the doctors?
I feel too poorly to drive.’
‘I can’t tomorrow,’ I said. ‘It’s Danny’s birthday and I’ve arranged to spend the day with him. How about the day after, the 24th?’
‘Yeah, thanks, that would be fine,’ you said.
I thought nothing more of it and had a lovely day with Danny – until Shaun, your husband, messaged me at 7pm that night to say you were in hospital.
Everything happened in such a blur because, just a few hours later, at 10pm, Shaun called to say I needed to get down there quick. I flew there at record speed – but I was too late.
You’d died. It was the worst day of my life.
My mind was a mess as I called my partner Trevor to tell him you’d gone.
No one could believe it. You were only 49.
By then, Mum had already gone to bed for the night.
It was her birthday the following day and we’d all planned to meet.
But when we broke the news to her just before midnight, she said she’d woken up at the exact time you’d passed and knew.
‘I said to myself “my Trish is gone”,’ she wept.
An autopsy showed that, although your heart was fine, one of your arteries had become blocked.
Soon it will be four years since you passed but we’ve had so many signs from you.
Your grandson, Harry, four, saw you standing at the bottom of his bed, telling him you would look after him and Mum and I see robins when you’re close by. There was one when we went to Pontins for my birthday the year after you passed, sat right outside the door of our chalet. And another on the anniversary of your funeral last year when I was in my car thinking about you and a robin sat on the bonnet.
Trish, I miss you so much and wish you were here still. One day we’ll be together again, making mischief like we always did but until then, keep sending those robins.
All my love, your sister
Denise xx
A robin sat on the bonnet of my car