Beluga

Chapter 1. Another man's horizon.

Beluga

Chapter 1.  Another man's horizon.

Bishop Brent once wrote that in death, the spirit of our loved one is merely a passing ship on the horizon. For part of its life, it is with us, in earth, and we see it clearly. And then when its time comes, it slowly sails further and further away from us, until it is only a dot on the horizon. And then finally it is gone. Kaputt. The end. The curtain falls. We no longer see them, we turn off life support machines and we start making arrangements to cremate or bury their body. Except that's not really "them". And they aren't really gone - that's just what you think. It's what you believe. Even those who believe different; that death is not the end don't take that belief the whole way. They believe the spirits watch over from heaven and one day, if we're really good, we will see them again. But that is just the tip of the iceberg. I should know. Bishop Brent said they - the spirits of our loved ones - are just another ship on another horizon somewhere else. They never leave. As the days turn in to weeks, turn in to months, turn in to years, turn into lives lived after they die, the ship simply passes over that horizon and onto a new world. It is still there, and if we were to rent a little rowing boat and row out to sea, in the direction of the boat, we would eventually see it again. We may even be able to wave to our loved ones, ask them for help, and maybe even come aboard for a short while. Bishop Brent never wrote that last part, but he was probably getting to it. What he did write was,

"And just at the moment when someone at my side says,

"She is gone",

There are others who are watching her coming, and other voices take up a glad shout:

"There she comes"

And this is dying. An horizon and just the limit of our sight.

Lift us up, Oh Lord, that we may see further."

For Frank Whitfield, his ship was nearing the horizon. He wasn't the dot on the horizon quite yet, but he knew it was coming. For the last year or so, he had been battling cancer, and now it had overcome his body and he had been given weeks, rather than months to live. His ship was coming in for one last voyage.

He had always wondered what death would feel like when it finally came. He'd spent his life communicating with spirits on the other side, and now finally, he was going to cross over himself. It sounds so flippant to write it like that, but that was what it was. Believer or non-believer, Frank had spent his life picking up an imaginary ringing phone in his head, uttering "hello?" in to the dark, and then, as if by magic, a voice would always come back.

"Frank? My name is Margot - I need to get a message to someone. Please help."

"I've heard you can carry messages - tell my daughter I'm watching over her."

"Cederic Bonzo -52 Alby Way, tell him his keys are behind the sofa. Thank you. God speed."

And then the line would go dead.

Most people just listen to that ringing in their ears their whole lives and think it's to do with their ear drums. It's not. It's really not. Frank knew that then, and he knew that now. Dying in his hospital bed, the ringing had stopped. Now there was just silence - his ears felt full of water and there was pressure around his head. He felt cold and slow. There was nothing but for one quiet message whispering somewhere in the depths of his subconscious.

"We're on our way Frank. It's time. Do what you need to do."

In a few days, the line would go dead for the last time. Proper dead. Frank Whitman was dying.