How To Say Good Bye

I watched from my chair as she sat the boys down on the floor in front of the flaming gas fire. It only seemed to be lit this one time of year.

But it looked the part now. Two stockings hanging from each end of the decorated mantle, a thick rug in front, and two little lads now illuminated by the light.

They wore the matching red tartan pyjamas she had given them especially to wear tonight, and they drank from reindeer glasses full of chocolate milk and marshmallows.

"Who remembers the story Daddy told us?" She asked.

It had been the Christmas before last that I'd read it to them for the first time.

"The one about the snowman getting lost?" Asked Connor.

"I don't remember it." Lied Carter. "Tell us again, Mummy?" He begged.

She did. She started from the beginning, did her best with the voices, and had them giggling by the end.

I laughed along, delighted by their joy.

Soon it was time to put the kids to bed; tomorrow would be Christmas Day.

I watched them set up Santa's treats by the mantelpiece: a glass of milk, a cookie, and of course, a carrot for Rudolph. I smiled and waved them off as Olivia ushered them upstairs, the boys laughing and chasing each other. I loved to hear the sounds of happiness again. It made me feel at peace.

"Good night, lads, Daddy loves you; sleep well, my boys." I called after them.

After a little time, Olivia came back down the stairs, struggling slightly with a full sack of gifts in each fist. I went to get out of my seat, but, of course, she had this in hand.

"Don't need my help now?" I observed.

I watched her arrange the presents to her liking and then fill a tumbler with coloured gin and flavoured tonic.

Drink prepared, she flapped out our now threadbare blanket, the one we had cuddled under since we moved into this house, and rolled it up lengthways into a long sausage shape.

She took the bottle of my cologne from a drawer, shook the dwindling dregs of it, and sprayed it along the length of the blanket roll.

She sat with her legs under her on the sofa, the blanket around her shoulders, wrapped tight, like a hug. She took a huge swig of her gin and then began to weep.

And, in what once was my living heart, I wept with her.

I moved to her side, once more trying to comfort her with non-corporeal touches and ethereal whispers of solace.

"You've made an incredible Christmas, Livy; you've made it wonderful for the boys. I'm so proud of how you've coped."

She finished her drink and poured another. Then another.

An hour or two passed. We sat in silence, next to each other, but an unbridgeable distance apart. The bottle of gin emptied.

I hadn't seen her drink like this since the early days of my death. Today was obviously a tough one.

She rose unsteadily and headed for the stairs.

"Don't forget Santa's treats." I called.

She stopped, as if hearing me, turned to the mantelpiece, ate the cookie, and took a swig of the milk.

A coincidence. She'd never once shown the slightest acknowledgement of my continued existence.

Obviously drunk, she made her way to bed, our blanket still across her shoulders.

Her hand gripped the bannister, and she surveyed the perfect Christmas scene, perhaps imagining it from the boy's point of view in the morning. Twinkling gold and ivory-decked tree, wreaths, and warm white fairy lights, presents, and festive throws. And so many cards from family and friends. She flipped a switch and left me in darkness.

I thought in the dark. I thought of the way she coped, the strength and courage she'd shown for the boys, and about my continued existence here. I followed her up, stepping on every creaky floorboard without making a sound, my ghostly body no more substantial than spider silk in a storm.

I walked through our bedroom door and felt a tormented twist of longing in what used to be my guts. I had walked in on Olivia in just her black knickers, about to slide one of my XL tees over her naked torso. She looked thin and fragile, but it belied her inner strength. She was still the love of my life, even in death. The woman I had fallen for and had left too early.

The problem with pleasures of the flesh is that you still long for them, even after that flesh is gone.

She flicked the lamp off and fell into bed, curling into a foetal ball, still gently sniffing away tears.

She mumbled something incoherent. I think she lay somewhere between drunken stupor and a confused dreaming.

I lay next to her, not even creasing the sheets, and, as I'd done every night, reached over and stroked an inconsequential hand across her cheek.

Tonight, for the first time, she turned towards my touch, spinning onto her back, eyes still closed. But it was as if she sought out my fingertips.

"Hmm...David? I miss you." She mumbled through groggy lips.

""I'm still here, Liv," I soothed, just as I'd said hundreds of times before.

"I wish you were, my love. I wish I could still feel you with me."

It was the one Christmas wish I desperately wanted to come true too.

She could hear me. She wasn't fully with me, and I wasn't fully with her, but we were together; I was sure.

"Can you feel this?" I asked her in a trembling whisper and ran my fingers down the side of her neck and along one shoulder.

She murmured again, and this time reached for my hand, but passed through it and found only her own neck.

"Mmmm, David, I miss you touching me; I miss your hands on my body."

I still wasn't sure if she was dreaming or awake.

I felt a yearning knot spiral through my being, of a strength I'd never felt before, even when alive, so I pressed a cupped hand to her breast.

"Hmm'mm," she moaned, her hand joining mine, passing through it and squeezing her boob herself. She pinched her nipple through her tee shirt, teasing it into a point under her thin tee shirt.

Whatever passed for my heart these days hammered at my chest, and shakily, I let my hand fall to hover between her thighs.

I began to whisper in her ear,

"Does it feel good, Liv? Does it feel like it used to?

Can you feel me, Liv? Can you feel me inside of you?" I sighed into her ear, my bodiless touch exploring further.

The hand that wasn't massaging her breast slipped under her oversized tee and under the waistband of her cotton panties; shadowing my own movements, she pushed one, then two fingers inside herself.

"David, I miss you so much." She breathed heavily, "I just want you back."

Her words were a cruel torment. There was nothing in heaven I'd want more than to be here with her now.

Christmas had always felt like a magical time. A few days where anything seemed possible: you could believe in a white-bearded man in the sky, in miracles of kindness and love. A time of reuniting fractured families and of returning lost lovers. Could this be a Christmas miracle for me?

Her rhythm was steady. Her one hand had joined the other, pushing her knickers to one side, she rubbed and teased at her clit.

Her writhing form was dimly lit in soft, warm, white light from the window illuminations. I took in her perfect body, her beautiful face. I thought myself naked, and I was, my clothing no more than an idea of me, my mind being what formed my shape now.

Her feet planted into the mattress, her knees were together, squeezing her hand between her thighs. She let them fall open. She raised her hands over her head and could do nothing more to invite me in. I crawled onto the bed, onto my knees between her legs. I pushed my length down with my hand and flexed my hips forward, in an approximation of penetration, and watched as I disappeared inside her without making any physical difference to her wet lips. But she felt something, and she reacted with a long, slow groan that made me shiver.

"David, I can't let you go; I need you." She moaned through a building orgasm as I began ghostly thrusts.

"You have to, Olivia. Let go, let me go."

"A part of me is always here with you. I gave you that when I was alive. Keep that, but let me go. Let go, Cath, let it go." I told her, my hand stroking her cheek.

Her body started to spasm in the familiar way that made me recall the greatest nights of my life. She dug her heels into the mattress even harder and pushed her hips into the air, moving them up and down where my hips would be.

"Let it go, feel it, let go..." I suddenly felt like I wasn't talking to her any more. "It's time; let go."

She shook and convulsed as her orgasm took hold, my hand with hers as she rubbed at her clit, letting the rapture of her gratification surge through us both.

I felt weightless; I felt my knees leave the bed.

Olivia flopped down on the bed, exhausted. Her eyes sprang open, and for the first time I felt she was fully present, and we occupied the same space.

I said no words.

She said no words.

But our eyes conveyed a million thoughts, recounted half a lifetime together, and communicated every thought that sat in our souls.

They said, "I love you."

I felt myself dissolving, my energy dispersing. I felt my atoms return to the universe that spawned me.

I saw her arm raise, reaching out to me, but I could do nothing but reach back to her, our fingers almost touching. I thought her eyes conveyed not only sadness but also a flare of hope and acceptance.

With my last conscious thought as David, I wished for happiness for my wife and children. I wished for them to move on.

I let go and embraced a new existence, a new start, and wished the same for the people I left behind.