The Waiting Room - a dilemma at the end

The Waiting Room - a dilemma at the end.

Peter eased the gate open, just wide enough for him to slip through. He saw a lone man waiting. The man, no doubt a weary traveller, was sat on one of the benches that lined the Waiting Room outside the gates. The man didn't look up when Peter shuffled nearby but kept his head in his hands, a hunched, troubled figure. Peter checked his list for the man's details. Ah yes, he remembered, this is George Parker. He'd had a long, hard journey. I'll leave him a while, let him gather himself, thought Peter.

It proved to be a busy morning. There was a constant stream of people, young and old, male and female, from all corners of the Earth passing through the Waiting Room. Peter welcomed them all and ushered them through. In truth Peter had forgotten about George and it was only during a lull, when Peter and George were the only two in the room, that Peter remembered the weary traveller. Peter went and sat down next to George, who remained hunched over his knees, head in hands, but still managed to shuffle away to the other end of the bench. George shook his head, as if disagreeing with himself. This was not a good sign and sat this close, Peter could hear that George was mumbling to himself.

Peter rummaged in his pockets for something to break the ice, feeling a balloon, a small teddy, some tissues and finally a packed of mints. "Mint?" Peter offered. George lifted his leaden head and seeing Peter for the first time, George looked from the friendly face that had welcomed and soothed so many, to the ornate gates behind him that were the only exit from the room and his despair doubled. His head fell back into his hands, his body curled further over itself and the sigh was more heartfelt and desperate than ever before.

"George, you do know where you are don't you? Do you know who I am?" No answer. "George, honestly the hardest part is over. Just a few more steps, through the gates and you're home and dry. You've come the right way, if you know what I mean. This is 'up', the good place. The pain is all done with now." Peter would normally have held a hand or offered an arm. He reached out but pulled away at the last minute, this was a delicate one.

He was interrupted by the noise of new arrivals approaching. A group of six children arrived in the room, not one of them older than eight or taller than a rocking horse. Peter went to them and welcomed them with open arms calling out "welcome, welcome, in you all come" and under his breath to himself, "my goodness, so many of you." Aloud again he cheerily called "come in! come in!" He scooped the smallest child into his arms and produced teddies for the others. Somehow the Waiting Room took on the air of a meadow on a glorious summer's day; a gentle breeze dried their tears, the stark white of the Waiting Room was soften by a hint of blue overhead and green underfoot and the warm smell of grass calmed them. Holding the hand of the second smallest child, Peter led the children across the room, their tears turning to smiles with every step as he shepherded them thought the gates. The Waiting Room fell silent and still George sat, hunched and alone.

Peter, in search of a clue, went to read his notes once more. He couldn't have George wait there forever, that just wouldn't do. George Phillip Green, aged 71, pancreatic cancer. Widower. Left behind two daughters, neither of them due for a long while yet. Nothing obvious struck Peter and yet there sat poor George, the picture of despair. Peter tried again.

"Come on George - it's not that bad. I know you left some behind, but they're ok, they've got their families, their lives still to lead. Through there," Peter nodded towards the gates, although George, head still in hands, couldn't see, "through there it's lovely. Look at how those kiddies went in, laughing after all they had suffered, which believe me you wouldn't want to know." No response from George, Peter tried a different tactic, "through there are people that are keen to see you." Peter, who didn't often get the chance to chat at any length, was just about to start on a few stories he thought George might find inspirational when he realised that now George was sobbing into his hands. "Hey, George, George" Peter was so tempted to put his arms around the sobbing man. It was his natural instinct to do so, why he was so good for the job, but as he raised his arm George lent away, denying himself such comfort. "What's got you George? Let me help you. You know who I am? I've seen so many come through here in so many situations and circumstances. Tell me your story."

George sat silent and still; at least his tears had stopped. Peter flicked though his notes. There was a wife, Dora. "George, Dora will be waiting for you, how about that?" He read over the page of his notes. "Oh... I see... and Margaret. Margaret will be waiting for you too." George's shoulders began to shudder and for the first time he spoke, "and Betty". Peter flicked over the page, "oh yes and Betty too. I see. I think George, that you should tell me all about it. I am a good listener, I have heard so many stories, let me hear yours, please?"

George collected himself, took a deep breath and finally, in a croaking voice, told his tale. "Betty...Betty was my first love. I sat behind her at school. She was fifteen and as pretty as can be. She was five foot of heaven with a blonde ponytail. You know a beautiful flower can grow out of the smelliest manure and that was Betty. She couldn't leave her home fast enough. Her dad, well, let's just say he won't be through those gates. Aged sixteen, we ran away and married and I had promised her everything. I got a job, I did try, but living with my mother wasn't what Betty wanted. Marrying me had opened the cage door for her and she just wanted to fly. And one morning she had flown. A note and her key left and the bank book and suitcase gone. I saw her, a few years later, driven around in a big car, fur coat, glammed up but nowhere near as beautiful as she looked on a Monday morning at school.

I went off of the rails a bit after that. A bit too much time in the pub, in with the wrong group of lads when I met Margaret and everything changed. She picked me up, dusted me down and turned my life around. Life was easy with Margaret. I suppose in a marriage that you should be side by side but most of the time Margaret was either in front showing me the way or behind making sure each step I took was the right one. She gave me two children and thirty seven years until she was taken from me. God knows where I'd have been without her. She gave me the love that a man is lucky to receive and I was blessed to have her in my life for as long as I did." Peter nodded in silent agreement.

"And then came Dora. As you can imagine, I was in a bad way when Margaret passed on. My world fell apart and I was left lonely and useless. The kids had left home and had husbands and children of their own. I was bereft and low and in the darkest of places. Dora lived next door. She'd divorced some years ago but I had barely said a handful of words to her in all the years that we'd lived as neighbours. Margaret had liked her though.

It started with food. Dora would plate up a meal and bring in over. I started to drive her to the shops. Then we'd have a bite to eat before we went to the supermarket. I'd help her garden, she'd sew a button on my cardigan or mend my trousers. Two years later we married and we got on well enough together, an old sock and an old shoe and no one could have asked for more than that. Then I lost her too, twelve months ago. It broke my heart to watch her go. By then I realized that something was wrong with me too. They said that I must have had it for a long while, but I'd just put the symptoms down to my grief about Dora. All that time it had been spreading. It was a pretty tough year that followed. I might have fought it more if I was a younger man but I thought that it was probably my time. It was too wasn't it - I mean here I am."

"So why not take the final few steps?" asked Peter. "You're nearly there."

"Because of Betty and Margaret and Dora."

"But they are there too; Betty as pretty as the Monday morning you remember, Margaret the caring woman you knew and loved and Dora, back to health. They are all there."

"And that is the problem. I married them all and I loved them all. I promised them all forever - I can't keep that promise to them all. I can't choose one can I? Who is expecting me? The first? The last? Or the one I loved the longest? If I face them what do I do?"

"You know, you're not the first with this problem George" said the wise angel "and you won't be the last. There is only one way to find out."

Peter stood and held a hand out to George and George gratefully took it in his own. "I'll be with you all the way George" whispered Peter as they finally stepped through the gate and the Waiting Room was empty once more.