In the middle of the English countryside, a kissing gate stood between two fields of corn. It was 1946 and the war was over. Johny held his guide Molly towards the gate. This was their special place. Years before the war, they had stood in the same spot, where the little lane converges with open countryside, and he had swept her into his arms and told her he loved her. A kissing gate seemed to be the right place to capture the moment. Johny remembered. He was older now, and gray hair was thinning. His eyes looked tired and his back bent in pain. Their years together had known little regret, though were nearing an end. Johny knew it and wanted to leave some sign of his love for Molly before departing.
The doctor had told him he had six months to live. It had been hard to swallow at first, but Johny accepted it more easily than Molly ever would, so he said nothing. Of course, she noticed that his back was bent and that his hands trembled when he took his cup of afternoon tea, though she knew the soul inside and never expected him to be anything but who he was. Cancer was a cruel illness. It chewed away at you until you knew it was winning. He didn't want treatment. He had seen what happened to those who chose this route. They lives may be extended by a short period of time, but how valuable was it to spend those last months fighting the poisons which are intended to fight the inevitable? No, chemotherapy was not for him. He wanted to say goodbye to the world as a whole human being, rather than one withered by chemical interference.
Molly poured the afternoon tea and looked over at her husband. She saw within that withered and aged look a young man with whom she had fallen in love. Somehow love goes further than outside appearances and blinds itself to the inevitable. Of course, he would spill his tea. He always did. Of course, he would struggle to read the newspaper and ask for her to read aloud. He always did. These were just part of who he was. She remembered the time he had offered to run away with her when they were young, to avoid parental disapproval of their marriage, though in reality, the war with Germany was over, and so was the social war her parents had fought so harshly for. A kind of new acceptance overcame the British public, fiercely proud of their men in uniform who had come back to victory.
Johny winked across the room at Molly. In his easy chair in the conservatory, he lay back and after winking, closed his eyes. He was tired. His body was fatigued and he knew that one of these days, he would be leaving. He had done all the necessary things to prepare for his death, and a heavy acceptance of fate took over as he sank into a sleep which would last for always.
When Molly found him, his body looked peaceful, as if sleeping. She was disturbed by his lack of movement and even more disturbed when she realized he had gone. It was inevitable that one of them would go before the other, though she had always expected it to be her. They had laughed about how a creaking door lasts longer, and she was certainly the one who always had aches and pains. Johny had told her so many things in the last weeks that she should have known the end was near but didn't recognize any of the signs. When the doctor arrived at the house, he let himself in and found her sat beside her beloved husband, holding his hand.
The funeral was a sad, sad time. Little was said at the graveyard, as there was nothing to say. People wished her well, though these were quiet wishes from people who didn't feel her pain, nor know her longing for one last sign that her husband was somewhere better, somewhere where pain didn't hurt any more. The skies threatened showers, and clouds which hung over the top of the trees showed silver linings, though nothing gave the sign that Molly searched for.
At home, when folks were gone, she sat alone and thought. Strange how people always give you cups of sweet tea to help heal broken hearts. The conservatory door had been closed all day, and she opened it to take in the evening air. Johny had loved this garden. He had tended the flowers and hand picked every single specimen with a passion for them. These encouraged butterflies. These were night scented. He knew and loved them all, but where was he now? Where was Johny when she needed loving and sweeping into someone's arms? A reminder of him lay in each blossom, and as she walked down towards the bottom of the garden, she recorded the memories of Johny, sad that nothing was left for her to hold onto.
Upon turning and taking the pathway past the garden shed, which had always been Johny's private place, she walked towards it and turned through the gap in the hedge that led to his secret place. Perhaps here she would find that solace she was seeking. Perhaps here there would be a note or some sign of goodbye. Instead, there in front of her at the edge of the garden was a familiar gate.
She walked closer and saw that he had installed that old kissing gate from years gone by. Drawn towards it, she felt relieved and happy, like a young girl who had just realized that she was in love. Walking towards it, she remembered his hand, and in that moment it seemed as if it was here to help her over the stile as it had in years gone by. In this very moment, the silver lining of the clouds revealed itself in all its glory, and she felt touched by his presence. That garden gate was her sign and enough for her to know that beyond the grave, love lasts forever.