Finally...

It is 1am in Arras. 

I need to be up at 6 am but I have to write this out.  I have been holding this for 45 years.  Looking for 45 years.

When I was very, very young (2 or 3), before my sister was born and made him disappear, I had a friend (what we used to call an “invisible friend” back in the day) named Arthur.  Arthur went with me everywhere.  Arthur walked with me, played toys with me, and ate at the table with us.  If you ask my mother today, she would tell you that I would vehemently insist that Arthur have a place set because he needed to eat.  Every meal a complete place had to be set for him by my mother.  At first she was annoyed but after a while, Arthur became a regular part of our dinner routine.

I remember talking to him for hours on my toy phone.  He would tell me stories about his travels.  From time to time he would go away and have adventures and then he would come back or call me and tell me all about them. 

He was my best friend.  I loved him very much.

Then one day my mother brought home a squalling bundle from the “hospital,” where-the-fuck-ever that was, and Arthur went on an adventure and never returned.

I searched for him for days. 

The receiver on my toy phone was dead.

Silent.

Even now as I write this, 45 or so years later, I feel the pain of loss – my heart was broken.  Where was Arthur?  Where could he have gone?

Why didn’t he say goodbye?

The receiver stayed silent until my first day in Arras, when I was in the threshold between asleep and awake, and the young man stood beside my bed asking me to find him.

I should have known, when I looked in my father-in-law’s war graves book, and found an Arthur Rutherford in it.  Rutherford is my Granny’s maiden name and it was at my Granny’s where I would have the best talks with Arthur.  I think it was at Granny’s that he spoke to me for the first time.

When I found an Arthur George Rutherford in my father-in-law's book, I had a feeling it could be him.

Yesterday, as we approached the Sunken Road Cemetery, I had a feeling it could be him.

When I opened the “cubby” to read his name on the list of the dead, I had a feeling it was probably him.

I stepped into the grave yard and turned to my right to walk over to his grave and the second stone in the grave yard was engraved with the last name Dewar – Dewar is one of my daughter’s middle names.

This meant I was in the right place.

When I stepped in front of his grave stone and read his name.  I felt a sigh of relief ripple through me…

I found him.  

Again.

There is a link death cannot sever

Love and Remembrance live forever.