Betty and Mum had looked stunning, although Betty kept telling everyone that it was amazing what good value was to be had in the little shops in the city centre these days. ‘Less than a hundred euros for the whole outfit,’ she said delightedly to all and sundry, and Scarlett and I beamed at each other, because Scarlett had hastily unpinned price labels on anything Betty liked and when she made a choice, Scarlett produced a label for €80 and said with just the right amount of surprise: ‘Isn’t that great? You picked one from the sale.’
Using Dan’s credit card, she secretly paid for it all, far more than €80, and Betty was delighted, dignity intact.
My first dance with my new husband was glorious – I love music and will sway to anything, but Dan, he has magic in his bones and with his arms around me, one large hand held firmly against my back, I can flow into a waltz with the best of them.
We’d picked ‘It Had To Be You’, by Michael Bublé, no arguments whatsoever.
‘Ithadto be you,’ murmured Dan as we rotated round the dance floor, all eyes upon us. But he danced as if it were just us alone, his breath close to my ear and my head resting on his shoulder.
‘Right back at you, husband,’ I murmured. ‘Nobody else.’
When the music ended, Dan kissed me very softly on the forehead, then on the lips and the small audience whooped, at which point Dad had grabbed me. He hugged me and said ‘I’m so happy for you, little girl,’ which was his affectionate nickname for me because he knew how I’d once longed to be tiny.
The band, finally allowed to play, struck up a spirited rendition of ‘Proud Mary’ and we were off, whirling round the floor. Before long, Dad being Dad, had urged half the wedding party onto the floor and the band had been asked to play another Tina Turner classic, ‘Shake a Tail Feather’. Dad was energetically demonstrating just how to shake it.
On that glorious evening, his energy was infectious.
I look at him now in his wheelchair and the memory of my wedding day seems as if it happened with another person playing my father.
Stroke guidebooks and specialist nurses tell you to treat your beloved person normally, to talk to them, tell them things as if nothing has changed. I try, I really do. Yet deep inside me, somewhere I wouldn’t be able to point to on a biological map of the human body, I feel his absence. I don’t see him behind those eyes anymore.
The MRI and endless neurological tests pointed to major brain damage because of the infarcts on both sides of his brain and despite the plasticity of the brain and the research on how neural pathways can improve, his particular damage is plainly irreversible. But still, we all try. Because we love him. Even this bit of him left to us.
Nobody can bear to imagine life without him.
Dan and I sometimes quietly discuss what his life is like now.
Would we want to be in that wheelchair if we were the ones lost in another world, not able to physically function in this one? There’s no cute Pinterest quote for that.
‘Please don’t let that be me in that chair, that bed,’ Dan says sometimes, when we’ve talked about my father and what the future holds for him. ‘Find a way to end it.’
‘We live in the wrong country,’ I remind him, in a conversation we’ve had so many times before. ‘We can’t choose. When it’s early enough to choose, people want to hold on to life. And when they’ve gone too far down the rabbit hole, it’s too late for them to choose.’
‘Hi Dad,’ I say cheerfully now, ‘how are you today?’ and I begin the stream of chatter I have perfected as a way to make sure I am both communicating with him and not stopping long enough to leave gaps where he once would have answered back.
I can’t bear that he cannot answer back. It hurts so much; therefore, chatting blithely covers it up. As a woman who can talk her way through demonstrations of how to cook an entire dinner party, I can talk blithely with the best of them.
‘I want to show him this brilliant programme on Nazi Megastructures,’ says Eddie, arriving in the room with biscuit crumbs sticking to the front of his cardigan.
Eddie loves biscuits and can find packets of them no matter where they are hidden. My mother usually supervises all food consumption in the house in case somebody chokes, but Eddie must have discovered the latest stash hidden for the carers.
‘She gone?’ he says, gesturing to the kitchen.
‘If by “she”, you mean yourdaughter-in-law, hopefully, you old rogue,’ I say and brush him down gently before hugging him.
‘It’s only a bit of a custard cream!’ Eddie says in protest. ‘Imagine hiding the custard creams. It’s inhuman.’
I grin and agree to push Dad to the living room whereNazi Megastructuresis on hold. Eddie is very technologicallyup-to-date and controls the telly in the house. Probably why he and Teddy get on so well, I think.
Soon, the three of us are in front of the box and Eddie is pointing to Dad.
‘See, you’re smiling, Lorcan!’ he says triumphantly. ‘I knew he’d like it,’ he says to me. ‘Me and Lorcan love a good war show.’
I nod vigorously because I am not up to speaking.
11
Sometimes bad things need to happen to inspire you to change and grow
