Papaul

My father died of melanoma cancer at home at the age of 53, only 3 months after he was diagnosed, in 1986, much to young, way to much suffering but surrounded by his family, his wife, his 4 daughters and his first grandson.

He died round midnight on the 23 of may, a warm day for springtime in Belgium. After he let go of his last breath we all held his hand and then the family, doctor and coroner had to come in. To escape of the sad and crowded situation in our house I took my youngest sister for a walk. We lived in a rural area with lots of trees, so we just turned around the corner walking, holding hands, not much talking in the pitch dark street.

That is when in the street a car came towards us, driving soundless and slowly, it was an old timer cabriolet, all white. It turned off at the next junction ahead of us and got out of our sight. My sister and me hugged, my father was fond of old cars and use to race with them when he was young. For me it was the sign, as they say, that "he passed at the other side".

Years later, last year, after we left the funeral of my grandmother and were driving home the same car crossed us on the road, my grandmother had reached the other side too, she is with my dad now.