There was an extra church service during the week in celebration of someone or something; I can’t remember.

I parked in the lane way. I headed to Turbot Street and looked up to see if it was safe to cross. It is past dusk, I see a bunch of people coming towards me, perhaps somewhere a number of between 7 to 10 in the group.

I cross over the road and head through Cathedral Square that which I have always called MIM Place; a green park space.

I am now standing on Ann Street in the city across from the cathedral. Darkness has crept in and covered the city. The lights of the city illuminate the cbd’s outline and features. As I think about crossing to the other side of the road, what should I see but a male and female in their own wheelchairs pushing up Ann Street (heading to the Valley). I look at them and I wondered. I looked at the church and the lights that illuminate its grandeur. The street was still and silent and there was a sad strange numbing silence within me.

I look at the pair in their wheelchairs again, expecting them to speak to me. They just wheeled on by and I watched them, her slightly in front of him. Attached to the back of his chair was a business man’s large leather satchel bag.

I crossed over and when I got to the top of the first section of stairs, I stood on the middle platform and turned to look for them but they were gone.

(I still do not believe it, there is doubt.)

I walked into the church building with the same slowness that had carried me this far.

There were musical chairs taking place as a few of us after our individual arrivals kept changing places before the start of the service. We were in the brown choral booth area, the congregation sitting in the left side of the two booths.

Perhaps ten minutes into the service there was a late arrival.

He stood directly behind me and I noted he and the choristers  on the other side acknowledged each other

During the next song he sang. I heard him behind me. He sang beautifully and I knew God had sent him and I could contain my tears no more… my face screwed up and the tears ran. I knew the choristers could see me but I continued to maintain my slight head adjustment and kept my glaze directed towards the Lady Chapel

What is going on?

First the seam in my dress ripped loudly from the bottom hem up many inches at a time when he supposedly passed. I looked at the clock on my workplace wall and I recall the odd action of the scientist on duty and their slight change in appearance.

Secondly, I could not get out of bed for days on the weekend after attending his funeral.

Coincidentally: one weekend in my adolescent years I could not get out of bed due to a sore back. I was in pain every time I woke and so I chose to seek sleep. I recall my boyfriend visiting but I did not want him to stay long because I wanted to sleep to stop the pain. Could this have been the weekend this one had the car accident and became a quadriplegic.

Coincidentally, I recall sharing my morning moment with him over the telephone of when I stepped out of bed that morning and fell straight to the floor; my legs would not hold me. He happened to share that he tried to stand up in bed this morning and fell straight to the floor. I thought how odd that we should both have a similar experience as I shared my moment after he shared his weird event.