I take a gulp of my tea , surveying my pristine garden . “A lot of toil went into this soil.” , I chuckle. I wheel down the winding path , to the place that has never been tended . The reason I am here .
My memory flashes to screams and terror and a teacup falling out of her hands as I run , for help.
I pull Tilly’s teacup that she dropped from her gentle fingers 50 years ago and wheel back to the nurse waiting in the house . Back to the hospital where I will most likely die . At least I’ll have a part of Tilly with me . If I repent what I did to her , can I meet her in heaven?