That’s how it was for me with Ryan. I couldn’t seem to stop myself from going back, just now and then. The fact is, I was sorry for him. Ryan has an illness he has no control over. And I also knew he didn’t have anyone else.
After leaving the hospital, I call in on him. Sitting in front of the TV, he has a beer and a bag of crisps on the table in front of him. He turns his head slightly when he hears me come in, yet says nothing.
The passing of time, the rollercoaster of our lives, losing you, none of it has changed him. I’m starting to think nothing will, that Ryan’s decline is as inevitable as night following day. Right now, knowing he’s in one of his dips, after another job he no longer has, his world has shrunk smaller still, leaving a cloud of responsibility hanging over me.
His sitting room is musty, untidy; littered with empty bottles and cans, mostly unbranded whisky and cheap beer. I go to open a window. ‘How are you?’ I ask.
‘Fine.’ He shrugs. It’s what he always says.
‘Have you done anything today?’ By that, I mean have you looked for any jobs. The money I gave him when I bought him out wasn’t going to last forever.
‘I really don’t need you on my case, Edie.’ He sighs heavily. ‘I’ll tell you if anything changes.’ That word again. Change. It’s a word that doesn’t belong in Ryan’s life. Going into the kitchen, I plate the food I’ve brought him, then take it through. As I put it down in front of him, he looks up. ‘Why are you doing this?’
‘You need to eat.’ As I look at him, I notice his face is gaunt, his clothes hanging off him. I think about telling him he’s a grandfather. But it won’t change anything. Besides, I’m not sure Ollie would want me to. ‘You’ve lost weight, Ryan.’ I pause. ‘Do you think you should see a doctor?’
‘Do we have to go through that again?’ he says wearily.
It’s the sum total of our communication. We’re bound by the past we shared, but he can’t even talk about the loss of you.
Back at home, I make a cup of tea and take it outside. The night sky is blurred by a fine layer of mist. I think about Harrie, my heart filling with love. But then Ryan is back in my mind.
Sadness washes over me. But I know what Lucy would say.
You’ve done what you can for him. His choices aren’t your responsibility. There’s help out there if Ryan wants it. But that’s the thing. He doesn’t.
And that’s what I battled, all the years you were growing up. Ryan didn’t really want to change. I could see what it was doing to us, but he refused to. And it broke us.
The only way I can make sense of the past, of my mistakes, of my misguided desire to keep our family together, is the love I have for Ollie and you. Sitting on the garden bench where we all sat so many times together, I close my eyes for a moment; let my mind fill with a hundred images of you.
Harrie’s arrival is a reminder of the cycle of life, death and rebirth that is time-old, will go on long after we have gone. It brings me back to how short our lives are; how precious each minute is. That whatever else is going on, there are moments of joy to be found.
‘You are so gorgeous!’ I smile down at Harrie where she’s snuggled on the sofa.
‘She doesn’t sleep,’ Jenna says. ‘She’s a little owl, awake half the night.’ She yawns. ‘I’m exhausted.’ There are shadows under her eyes.
‘If you like, I could take her out,’ I offer. ‘In her pram – for a walk. You could have a nap.’ But I can see from her face, she’s reluctant. ‘It’s OK,’ I say. ‘It was ages before I let Ollie out of my sight.’ I glance at my son. ‘Why don’t you come with us?’
‘It’s a good idea,’ he says to Jenna. ‘We’ll be back in an hour. Go and put your feet up. You’ll feel so much better.’
She stifles another yawn. ‘OK! Away with you… And thank you…’
It takes an age to organise Harrie in the pram. ‘It’s so strange,’ I say to Ollie as we walk down the street towards the park. ‘It’s decades since I’ve pushed a pram. But it seems like yesterday you were a baby.’
‘Time flies, doesn’t it?’ he says. ‘But right now, I really don’t want it to. I’m going to be working from home much more from now on. I don’t want to miss a minute of this little one growing up.’
When his own father was so disengaged, I wonder where it comes from, this instinct to parent. Or maybe it’s because of Ryan; that in parenting, we take the best of what we know, discard the worst. ‘You’re a great dad already,’ I say softly.
‘Thanks.’ He sounds pleased. ‘I guess I learned the hard way what kind of father I don’t want to be.’
‘Yes.’ The air is oddly silent. ‘It wasn’t your fault. You do know that, don’t you, Olls?’
‘I do now.’ He gazes towards some trees where a couple of boys are kicking a football. ‘When I was younger, I never really got why Dad was so angry all the time. I always believed it was because I’d done something – I couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d be like that. I think Lexie felt the same.’ A shadow crosses his face. ‘Poor Lex. He was awful to her.’
A wave of guilt takes my breath away. ‘I know he was. He was awful to both of you.’
Ollie glances sideways at me. ‘There wasn’t anything you could have done though, Mum. He was impossible. Don’t beat yourself up. It didn’t help that Lexie’s mind worked differently to the rest of ours. The way Dad was, I think they were destined to be at loggerheads.’
I know what he’s trying to do, that he doesn’t want me to feel bad. But I’ll always believe I could have done more, my guilt my way of punishing myself.
