Saturday, 14 July 2007

Staring Down The Barrel Of The Middle Distance

A lovely day. An upsetting day.

Before the boy woke up, a little time to sit and think. First time for me since we got the brain scan results. More than a few tears. The first time in over a year. Finally allowed the shock of the awful results to hit home. Had to postpone it to get through the working week.

Hard working week in which to get the results. Perhaps even a sense in which that weakness and distraction exploited by others. All about money. Maybe hundreds of jobs at stake but really it's not people but money which matters. Seems so trivial when set against the end of a life. A life hardly lived.

The boy was on good form. Happy and active. Not much TV watching. Renewed interest in Big Cook Little Cook, means he wanted to do some cooking. That he won't eat any of it is no matter to him. Happy to do pretend cooking. But keener to do it for real.

Long trip to the shops to get the ingredients. Lovely moment on the walk home when the boy was outside a shop playing hide and seek with a boy inside the shop. He was laughing and thrilled at the attention from another child. Hard to hold back tears. But mustn't let the boy see. Spent the afternoon using the Big Cook recipe book making biscuits and cheesecake. Boy very proud of his efforts.

Eventually, had to leave the boy with the wife and go for a short walk. Ended up at the cemetary. It is quiet and peaceful. Good place to think. Reassuringly old. But I used to take the boy there when he was a baby to get him to have a nap. Then it was thoughts of what his future would be? How was I going to be as a parent? When would we be able to have a conversation? But now thoughts of death. Burial or cremation? When to make arrangements? What is the future for the wife and I without him? All too much jumble of thoughts.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

This news is crumbling to say the least and my heart actually is hurting. If we could, if it were possible, I swear Sarah and I would jump on a plane and come be there with you, the wife and the boy. We have learned that life isn't fair - but that knowing that fact, doesn't make it any easier to deal with. I know you don't know me at all - but you know our situation here (thomas is my grandson). and even knowing all I know about this miserable disease, there simply aren't "right" words to say at this point. But, I am compelled to say that you know, here, across the ocean, someone else is crying with you.