13.6.11 | Cerulean Blue
And so, a year on, and what have i learnt? What do i remember?
I've learnt, that no matter how closely we surround ourselves with friends... it doesn't compensate for not having love in your life. That no matter how hard you can try to pull away from the bad things in your past, they are still there, sending jarring echoes and ripples into the present, and for some people, those things will always cloud how they perceive you. I've learnt that it's when you're at your worst, that you will find your truest friends. You might never have met them, save via words on a computer screen, but oft, a message will slip into your inbox asking how you are and telling you that someone, somewhere, does indeed care about your wellbeing. Sometimes it makes you want to sit in a heap and cry. Because they are there and you are here. And you are still alone in the morning hours.
And what do i remember? I remember the hospice nurse knocking on my bedroom door with the words, calm, yet urgent "Paul. Your father's dying. Please come quickly". And so i enter the room, in a tumble of limbs caught in trailing clothing, no time to feel self-conscious in front of strangers and stopping suddenly in the achingly weighted atmosphere. He looks so small on his side. I haven't seen him lying on his side in over 5 years. They have made him comfortable and his breathing is deep and so very, very slow. No more morphine drips or cries of pain. I am almost too late. I whisper in his ear "I love you Dad. Thank you. Goodbye." and kiss him gently on his forehead. One more breath. Then another. Then a body lying there. That intangible thing that makes us unique has departed, i know not where. Heaven (he was worthy enough, aye) or other worlds beyond our ken. Leaving a collection of molecules that will now slowly unravel and disperse, given time... that two men will put in a sturdy black bag and carry unceremoniously down the steep stairs. I cannot watch.
Yet the thing i remember most about the day is the lady in the sandwich shop just an hour later. Relatives and friends had quickly gathered to offer condolences and i volunteered to get food for everyone. And i'm sitting there, waiting for my order, looking outwards and upwards at the blue sky through the window, when i hear her voice behind me.
And what do i remember? I remember the hospice nurse knocking on my bedroom door with the words, calm, yet urgent "Paul. Your father's dying. Please come quickly". And so i enter the room, in a tumble of limbs caught in trailing clothing, no time to feel self-conscious in front of strangers and stopping suddenly in the achingly weighted atmosphere. He looks so small on his side. I haven't seen him lying on his side in over 5 years. They have made him comfortable and his breathing is deep and so very, very slow. No more morphine drips or cries of pain. I am almost too late. I whisper in his ear "I love you Dad. Thank you. Goodbye." and kiss him gently on his forehead. One more breath. Then another. Then a body lying there. That intangible thing that makes us unique has departed, i know not where. Heaven (he was worthy enough, aye) or other worlds beyond our ken. Leaving a collection of molecules that will now slowly unravel and disperse, given time... that two men will put in a sturdy black bag and carry unceremoniously down the steep stairs. I cannot watch.
Yet the thing i remember most about the day is the lady in the sandwich shop just an hour later. Relatives and friends had quickly gathered to offer condolences and i volunteered to get food for everyone. And i'm sitting there, waiting for my order, looking outwards and upwards at the blue sky through the window, when i hear her voice behind me.
"It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" she says.
And i half turn my head to look back at her, grateful for the sunglasses that hide my eyes.
And i smile.
And it's the best smile in the world.
And then i turn back to the cerulean sky to lose myself again.
"Yes. Yes it is".
(Several months later, my best friend is staying with me, and she tells me one evening, that she had snuck into my mum's and dad's room, where he died "to see if he was ok" and she tells me that the room felt so peaceful and free of pain and that she had spoken to him. Not in a silly spiritualist way or crazy madwoman way, but as a person who cares deeply for her friend and with great simplicity. She hesitates before telling me that she thinks he spoke back, like a voice in her head.
(Several months later, my best friend is staying with me, and she tells me one evening, that she had snuck into my mum's and dad's room, where he died "to see if he was ok" and she tells me that the room felt so peaceful and free of pain and that she had spoken to him. Not in a silly spiritualist way or crazy madwoman way, but as a person who cares deeply for her friend and with great simplicity. She hesitates before telling me that she thinks he spoke back, like a voice in her head.
"He said Not to worry. And that everything was going to be ok".
I believe her. Sometimes that's all i believe.
2 comments :.
No purple prose, no fancy quotes. Nothing but a straightforward metaphysical hug for you across the miles.
That was beautiful. A beautiful eulogy in every way.
Jane xx
Sometimes clarity and a certain amount of comfort comes with time. As for the final words from your friend... sometimes I'd say that is the best thing to believe in.
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