1
Where is this
room? I have been looking for it for ages now. These corridors all look the
same and they never seem to end. I cannot remember where I have been told to
go. What if I have missed something? What if it has already happened and I am
too late?
Sweat is gushing
out of me like water out of a burst pipe. My heart is thumping at the back of
my throat.
I must ask
someone who works here for directions. This maze cannot be solved by me.
A woman in
nurse’s clothing walks briskly towards me.
“Excuse me. I am
looking for room- “.
She has walked
straight passed me. Can she not hear me? Maybe I should speak louder.
“Excuse me!” I
yelp as she disappears into the distance.
She must have
heard me that time. Then again, maybe she is just busy and needs to attend to
her duties as a nurse. But to not even acknowledge me? Not even a courtesy
“Sorry I’m busy.”?
Dizziness and
blurred vision hits me in the face and panicked blood rushes to my face.
“What if I am
not real?” I say aloud.
Passing faces of
doctors and nurses ignore me. No – to say they ignore me is wrong. They don’t
see me. I am not here.
Nonsense. I need
to get myself back into shape so I can find this room.
Something
unbeknown to me shoves me on my shoulder as if to alert me.
“What do you want?”
I blurt out inquisitively.
No one is there.
What on earth just hit me?
I peer down the
long corridor in front me. Why am I not at the room yet? The corridor appears
to stretch out. The far end slides further and further away from me. This
cannot be real! I reach out my arm in desperation, grasping at any faint hope
of normality. The corridor swings violently from side to side and the floor
beneath me jolts my legs. Lights illuminating the hallway start fading to
darkness.
I am hit on my
shoulder again, but this time with considerably more force. So much so that my
body experiences a spasm of shock.
Black.
My eyelids
unfurl and I am awake again. I am not greeted by bright hospital lights but
instead by darkness. Instantaneously I realise I am in bed and I immediately
recognise the source of the pushing.
“You need to get
me to hospital George,” She says with a tone of distress. “I think-“ her words
interrupted by heavy breathing and a suppressed cry, “-I think it’s time.”
*
“Yes…
Okay, right… Yes we’ll come down right away.” She hangs up the phone. Her face
glimmers with pleasure. It really is wonderful how she can be so reassuring and
calming at the most stressful of times. An angel. My angel.
She
looks over at me and announces, “We need to get down to Whipp’s. Liz has gone
into labour”.
A
grandchild! But wait.
“I
thought the baby was due later. It’s a tad premature, isn’t it?”
“Doesn’t
matter now. If the baby wants to come out it’s gonna come out.” She proclaims
with an air of ease and certainty.
“But
we do however need to get moving. Do you want to take the wheelchair or the
scooter darling?”
“Erm…
we’ll take the wheelchair. I haven’t charged the scooter.”
“Okay
I’ll go get it.”
As
she floats down the hall like a dragonfly I raise my voice after her, “I’ll do
the driving dear.”
Oh,
what a start to the day! Soon I will have a grandchild, a grandchild! How time
has passed. In my sixties yet I still feel eighteen. An eighteen-year-old with
a grandchild whom I can teach to play golf and read to.
Let’s just hope
everything is okay with the new one. Even if the baby does not turn out perfect
I still have high hopes for its future. From this day on I promise that I will
do everything in my power to protect this new Davies.
*
“Hello.”
The
two people that created me in front of me. And now I am doing the same by
creating my own. An awe of science and the wonder of genetics brushes over me
briefly like a strong gust.
“Is
she okay?” my mum asks, interrupting my brief daydream.
“Yes,
she’s okay, but they are having to perform a C-section due to the position of
baby.”
I
say “baby” like it’s not mine but in-fact someone else’s. As if I am a nurse
again, informing grandparents of how the child-birth is going.
“Right.
Well when is that likely to be over?”
I
wonder what has happened there. I notice that I am staring at a middle-aged man
hugging an elderly man across the way and that I have only half-heard what my
mum has asked me. A sudden rush of sweat stabs my armpits.
“George!”
I
snap out of my day-dream. “Right. Yes, erm… you asked when… no, sorry. What
time is it?” I sharply look down at my watch and notice that my wrist is
shaking. “Yes okay! They should be done by now. I think we can go and make our
way down to see her now.”
As
we get near to the room in which Liz is, I glance at two members of staff who
greet me with warm smiles that read: “all is well!” I am the actor and they are
the audience about to witness an operation.
I
step into the room to see my tired grinning wife. In her delicate arms, I see a
little being. My creation, my little child! A choking sensation graces my
throat and my eyes start to haze. Tears of ecstasy.
“Say
hello to your son” my fatigued fairy says to me with a dream-like tone as she
raises this baby up to my arms.
I
take my son in my arms and feel the weight and warmth of a mini-me.
“aha, ha.” A
soft laugh creeps out of me as if someone had just whispered a joke into my
ear, followed by a sniffle to stop crying-induced snot coming out of my nose.
Nose… he has my nose. What
beautiful eyes! Blue, like the clearest of blue skies. The type you rejoice in
seeing after days of grey clouds.
“He’s got your
eyes dad.” I say with an overwhelmed, weep-like tone.
2
I cannot stand
this woman. I don’t like what she has changed my dad into. She moans all the
time over nothing. She doesn’t work. She takes my dad’s money. She does not
contribute anything to this family. Yet my dad is completely blind to all of
this. This woman is destroying our relationship.
Why did he have
to fall in love with this woman? Why? Is he incapable of loving a woman his own
age?
I pull my hair
in hopes of it coming out. Tears burn my face like acid.
With my head in
my hands I say to myself, “he doesn’t care anymore.”
Rage enters my
body: my ugly alter ego. Grinding my teeth and with clenched fists I swing out
at a chest of drawers and produce and an enraged groan that increases in volume
the longer it lasts.
I hear and see
the door handle in front of me move.
“Michael, let me
in.”
I manage to
whimper, “No.”
“Please, just
let me in” he pleads.
Like a king
protecting his fort I have barricaded the door so that no enemy can get in. I
do not want to see his or her face. Suddenly a cold and heavy waterfall of
dread rushes over me as I facilitate the possibility that I might not want to
see my dad ever again.
“What’s the
problem Michael?”
“You.” I reply
sharply and plainly.
“What do you
mean?... Please Michael! Just talk to me!” he asserts with a sense of panic in
his voice.
He is selfish.
He has put me through so much pain. A greedy dictator. Everything he has done
is for his benefit and no one else’s. He doesn’t seem to care about his son
anymore. Well – I am not waiting in line anymore.
“I’m moving to
mum’s.” I state blankly and without emotion.
To my surprise,
I don’t get an immediate response-
“What do you
mean?... For fuck sake!” he shouts at the top of his lungs. A thud on my door
makes me jump in my chair.
This is not
happening. I am the angry one. He doesn’t get to be angry.
“You don’t care
about your family anymore dad. You don’t.”
“Bullshit.”
This reply
immediately strikes my nerve like a pinch to the back of the arm.
“You don’t give
a fuck about anyone anymore.” I roar. “You get married without telling anyone.
You couldn’t even tell your son who up to this point has supported you through
everything! Everything! And now you have caused a massive divide in the family
and your parents won’t talk to you anymore!” By this point I am light headed with
ski-high adrenaline.
“You don’t care
about your family!”
*
I haven’t seen
Michael in a while. Where has he got off to?
I scan the pub
and don’t see him. He can’t be far. He is probably talking to one of my mates.
Mates. Most of which torment and take the piss out of me and my relationship. My
different relationship. ‘Mates’.
Anyway, this
night is for… there’s my angel. Even with cheap lights her skin looks like glittering
diamonds. She really does look stunning tonight. A butterfly in a field of mud
and worms. I really hope she’s enjoying her night. No matter how much abuse I
get, nothing hinders how special she is to me.
The lights have
gone out. The pub starts to sing happy birthday. A cake with candles hovers
into the side of the pub where the function is. It’s Michael holding it. This
perfect. This is happiness and peace. My loved ones together and happy.
The candle light
glows on faces with pure and delightful smiles.
Those were the
days. Days of peace and smiles. Now everything has gone to shit.
I look over to
my healer.
“I don’t know
what to do dad.”
*
I tilt my head
down, wiping my face with my fingers.
“To be honest
son, this has just created one big mess.”
He nods his head
in shame.
“Why have you
come to speak to me when your mum isn’t in?”
“You know how
she gets.”
An awkward
silence fills the room. Sea water is pouring into this sinking ship. My son is
in pain. But he can however handle it better than Michael.
“How’s Michael?”
he asks me.
“Quiet.”
“Hmm.” I murmur.
“Why have you come to speak to me George?”
“I want to explain
myself to you and get your opinion on this whole thing… without mum getting
emotional and so on.”
“Go on.” I say
preparing myself for a storm.
He takes a
mindful pause as if he is preparing a speech in his head.
“Fact is dad,
Christina is a pain in the arse… But I love her. She moans, she doesn’t work a
lot, she’s lazy, but I love her and she loves me… Yes, I have probably spent
too much money on her, but I want to be with her for the rest of my life."
I shake my head.
Poor Michael.
“But George you
have got to think of Michael. He has already been put through a divorce and now
you’re putting him through this.”
I can tell by
the look on his face that that was not the response he was looking for.
“You’ve never
met her dad!” I blurt out.
“She’s
twenty-four and an eastern European. She’s bad news George.”
“Do you and mum
not want me to be happy? I thought you told me once there is no age to love?”
Suddenly I think
back the innocent and small face I saw in 1963.
I can’t put him
down harshly. This relationship with this girl is trouble. Love has blinded him
from what truly matters. It will be hard for him to get over it … but I will
help my son as I always have.
With my stronger arm, I grab the end of my arm
rest and propel myself into a more upright position.
“You know I love
you George! You know I want you to be happy.” He focuses his gaze at the window
momentarily. He’s staring at a father and young boy walking up the street.
“But you are
making a big mistake. And you need to think of Michael.”
3
I
have reached the end of the road. I have completely fucked my life up and now
every day is a chore. Every breath hurts, every second a waste. Every movement
and every thought, is too much effort. There is nothing ahead of me, no
future.
I
am completely alone. Everyone cares simply for themselves. Family and friends
are a myth. Everything scares me, bar one thing. Nothingness. I am not scared
of it anymore.
I
pick up the pills on top of the note.
I can’t live
with this anxiety and unhappiness anymore. Now the torture can finally end.
I cry alone. I
fear alone. There is no such thing as peace in this world. Peace is forever
mute.
*
He
looks skinny and pale, and his hair is messy. His hair is always neat.
“I’m
going to get a drink from the vending machine… Do you want anything Michael?”
He
hasn’t moved for about 10 minutes. Lying on the bed like he’s paralysed with a
face that has lost the ability to smile or frown. Expressionless. He’s looking
at the ceiling but almost staring at it as if he is looking through the roof up
to the sky. Belatedly he responds to Elizabeth by pushing his bottom lip out
and shaking his head slowly and gently, blinking slowly.
As
she walks out of the room, I lean forward in my chair, rest my arms on my
thighs and put my head in my hands.
What if I have
caused this? Maybe this is a product of my behaviour and care.
I
think back to when Michael was young and he cracked his forehead open. Guilt followed
me around for years. I took my eye off him. I remember holding his head and
wiping his tears away with my thumbs. Then my nurse training autopilot took
over:
“You need
stitches son. You’ll be okay… Okay? We need to go to the hospital.”
“Michael?”
No
response. He lies there exactly the same as a moment ago. Voices of parents
have been tuned out.
Not
expecting anything, but all the while begging for a response I state, “Before
the doctor comes … I need to know how many pills you took.”
My
words bounce off him and land miles in the distance. With a sigh of despair I feel my face start to get
hotter and my eyes welling up.
The
phrase “It could be worse.” rings in my head. The image of my dad starts to
emerge in my mind. I open up my phone and open up me and my dads’ message
thread. At 11:04pm he said “How was Michael today?”
It
slowly dawns on me that this text was the reason I went into Michael’s room and
checked on him. That’s when I found him. Lifeless.
*
Something about
this place enables me to forget. A momentary relaxation and withdrawal from
this crazy and busy world. It must be this peaceful town, completely separate
from the working and pressure-filled lifestyle of London.
“Go on!” my dad
encourages, shouting at the TV, “Ahh.”
“He’s no good.
God knows why he won’t take him off.” says my Grandad.
As the referee
blows the half-time whistle, Grandad asks a very bored Grandma, “Could you put
the kettle on Gene, darling?”
“Yeah sure.” She
says as she slides into the kitchen.
“So how are you
both?”
“It seems my
second divorce has gone through.” My dad responds.
“That’s good…
Michael?”
Although I am
often asked whether I am okay, and I often respond with a menial, robot-like
response “Yeah, I’m fine thanks”, but something about my grandad makes me want
to be as honest as I can.
“Good and bad.
But I’m getting there.”
Suddenly this
response causes my dad to perk up in his seat and look at me with an expression
of surprise.
“I’m glad you’re
both okay, that’s all that matters really.” He says with an air of contentment.
Seemingly
daydreaming, Grandad smiles to himself. The most heart-warming smile there is.
The sort of smile a father has when he sees his son go riding off into the
distance on a bicycle for the first time. Pure love and pride. I swear this
smile could heal a thousand diseases.
“Do you remember
that time in Bordeaux George? When Michael drank too much Coke.”
“Oh yeah! Haha!”
My dad turns to face me. “I remember we were sitting by the pool in the evening
and you wouldn’t stop running around naked and jumping in the pool!”
“Oh god.” With
an embarrassed grin and a warm red face I ask, “How old was I?”
Grandad responds
before my dad can, “Four or five I think.”
I really did
love that place in France. It was too hot for grandad and his Multiple Sclerosis
though.
Grandma brings
in the tea and coffee, “Thank you grandma”.
The second half
starts.
As I see look
out the window and see a young boy with a golf club too big for him and what
seems to be his grandad beside him, it suddenly hits me.
It is not the
town or house that is so peaceful about this place. It’s my Grandad. I can
remember countless times where I have sat here watching TV, whether it be a
Sinatra documentary or a Snooker match, and not even spoken to him and there
has just been this air of relief and relaxation. He is so strong and brave to
be battling with what he’s suffering with… no living with. He is inspiration and hope in physical form. My
restlessness, my plagued thoughts, my black feelings all disappear, simply by
just sitting near him and being in his presence. His love. He omits a kind of
spiritual air to put anxiety at bay. A silent peace.
4
I don’t want to
be cliché, but it really is a beautiful day. Sunshine and clear skies really do
make you feel not quite so shit.
“Harvey, Penny!”
shouts Scarlett, aware that they have run off somewhere else in the woods.
Even with mud splattered
up her side and an aggressive tone she is still stunningly beautiful. I still
don’t quite understand why she has been with me for this long. A sad little
nothing-man and then her. An angel, amongst dirty black living skeletons.
“You alright?”
she asks me with sincerest of tones. She’s clearly momentarily forgotten about
where the dogs are and thought to question my quietness.
“Yeah I’m
alright, what about you?” I say moving into her path and embracing her at my
side with my arm.
“These bloody
dogs.”
I look down at
her face with a smile intended to cause her to come out of her annoyed mood and
smile with me. It works. My favourite sight in the world.
“You seem
quiet.” She states.
“Yeah … It’s
just a nice day and I like little rural escapes like this … away from the
concrete jungle. It lets me think.”
“You’re not Bob
Marley.”
“Ha, obviously.
But I just keep thinking back to the year I’ve had… What with my grandad
deteriorating and being bed ridden and me dropping out of school and all.”
“Yeah, it’s
hard… but I’m always here bubba.”
“Aren’t we
nearly coming to the end of forest, to your road?”
“Yeah, we need
to put the dogs on the leads.”
As we enter
Scarlett’s road I check my phone that I haven’t checked for a while.
“Oh shit… I’ve
got five missed calls from my dad… I’ll ring him as soon as we get back.”
I wonder what
I’ve done wrong now. I guess we’ll soon find out.
“Hello-“
“Michael, for
fuck sake I’ve rang five times.”
“I’m sorry dad,
I was out with Scarlett walking her dogs and my phone was on silent.”
“Okay, okay.” I
can sense a tone of distress on my father, which is abnormal for a man who has
spent the last year being positive all the time whilst helping me.
“Are you alone?”
My heart sinks to my pelvic floor.
“What’s
happened?”
“Michael…
Grandad has had a bit of a crisis and has been transferred to a hospice
nearby…” A hospice? What’s that? Does he mean a hospital? “And it doesn’t look
like he’ll be able to go back home again.”
“What’s a
hospice?”
“You don’t know
what a hospice is?”
“No.” It can’t
be a good place then.
“It’s where
people go to … to live out the rest of their lives.”
No. It can’t be.
I’ve seen a lot
of films with moments in them when a character gets told they’ve got cancer or
a relative has passed. Thing is I’ve never experienced a moment like this in
real life before. There has never been a possibility of someone close to me
dying.
No. It can’t be.
*
“Tom I wish
you’d stop bloody messing about.”
I’ve been
staring at this fishing pole for a good 20 minutes now.
“Sorry dad.” Tom
says with a sulky tone.
“How long does
it normally take dad?”
“How long is a
piece of string George?”
I am starting to
get bored and impatient. I don’t even like fish.
My older brother
daringly moves from a sitting position to a sort of low squat. “Dad, what would
happen if I stood up on this boat.”
Dad nods his
head dismissively.
“Tom!” my dad
shouts.
Tom slowly
stands up and the boat begins to rock heavily. He reaches his arms out
horizontally, presumably for balance. His upper body sways outwards and gravity
plays it part. Tom crashes into the lake. Arrays of water splashes my dad and
me.
As Tom’s head
appears out of the water dad bursts into hysterical laughter, shortly followed
by myself.
With a grin Tom
grabs the boat and joins a sea of laughter.
Oh, they were
good times. I move my glance from the pond outside the window, back into the
room.
He looks so
different. Pale. Skinny. Weak. This is not a true of reflection of this great
man.
I gently grasp
his cold frail hand and try to wake him. “You okay Eddie?”
His eyes open
ever so slightly and slowly. He smiles the smile I know. An expression of
purity and adoration. My dad is still with me. With great effort he moves his
other arm from the other side of the bed over, and softly places this other hand
on top of mine. No words are needed. Just soundless expression.
Harmony and love.
*
This pain will
pass.
I have never
liked photographs and photo frames. An unnecessary medium through which people
remember events and people. Why do you need an image of someone to remind you
of the love you have for them? Love is instilled. It’s deep within you.
Yet I think this
photo frame is an exception. Filled with the faces of my son and my grandson.
They look so healthy. Seeing them, even if it is a fake and brief snapshot of
their greatness, fills my heart with warmth. They are my hope and I hope I am
hope to them.
“Darling.”
“Yes Eddie.”
With all my
efforts I raise my working arm and beckon her to me. My beautiful strong-willed
soulmate.
“I know I’m
going Gene.”
I am blessed
with a heavenly kiss on my forehead. Harmony and love from my family. Such is
life.
5
Sweaty
palms. A brief sense of dread. Am I real? Is this place real? Is any of this
actually real?
I notice my hand
fluttering like a tsunami in my flesh. What is happening to me? Dizziness and
blurred vision hits me like a train. I feel my cheeks burn as panicked blood
rushes to my face.
No. I can’t
faint. I am not dying. I need to help my family.
“Dad?” my voice
a wining dog hiding from a thunder and lightning storm.
What is
happening in there?
I can read my
dad like a book. This is not good. He’s emerged from the room pale with eyes
glazed over like ice.
He’s
not gone. He’s not gone.
As
my dad comes close to me he shakes his head with the face of truth.
“No
… no!”
He
embraces me like a towel to a cold and wet child.
With
a soft broken voice; “I’m sorry son.”
We
cry together.
I
peer across the hall. A window. A son and a father weeping together. It’s a
reflection, caused by the bright LED lights. The light switches turned off and
the son and father disappear with it.
“He
was my hope … my peace dad … now he’s gone.”
“He’s
always with you.”
We
continue to cry together. We worry together.
Like my grandad,
some of us join impermanence, but most can still find peace.
