‘And as you know, I’m all about embracing new things these days. So let’s do it. Let’s both go learn how to ice skate.’
Ahh! This is not what I pictured happening today. But the eagerness on Mum’s face, and the memory of how much good her latest, more criminal, new thing has brought her, means there is no way in the world I can say no.
‘I’ll sling these in the car and then you’d best lead the way.’
We lace up our boots and take to the ice, clinging onto each other like wartime orphans. Luckily it is pretty empty bar one overly loved-up couple and a gaggle of teenagers. When we let go of each other, I fall twice, and she falls once but goes down with such a squeal of joy it’s clear she hasn’t done herself any harm. Then, before I know it, we’re swooping around the rink getting bolder, eventually doing all sorts of fancy things like skating backwards, attempting figure of eights and dancing to the Christmas music that is playing. Or at least Mum is. I’m just grateful to stay upright and keep throwing longing glances at the exit.
Mum whizzes up alongside me, cutting in front of me with some highfalutin zig-zag skating.
‘Rory, this is so much fun, I’m loving this. Why have I never tried it before? Thank you so much for today and for coming home. Honestly, I’ve been beside myself with worry and seeing you is really helping.’
‘Mum, I think that’s understandable,’ I say, trying to match her pace as she continues skating backwards so she can face me.
‘I’m not scared of dying for death’s sake. Cancer certainly heightens your awareness of your own mortality and I veer between sheer panic some days and resignation on others, but my biggest fear, my biggest fear is leaving you.’ She stops and reaches across to touch my cheek. I grab her hand and hold it there for a minute. ‘Now, I know you’re an adult but still … you’ll always be my baby and I need to be here for as long as possible to see you grow up.’ We’re both static on the ice now, the teens whizzing by, and it seems an odd place to have this conversation.
‘I’m grown up.’ I laugh. ‘Even got chest hair.’ I quirk my brow at her and we both giggle, remembering the time I so despaired of ever having any that I drew some on with Biro. ‘But I am all in with that plan. I’m a big fan of you sticking around for as long as possible.’
‘Right,’ she agrees, nodding enthusiastically. ‘It’s been a bit of a wake-up call, made me determined to do things I have always wanted to but never had the confidence to.’
‘Like shoplifting.’
‘Yes, and ice skating.’ She waves her hand at the rink we’re on. ‘And when I get this operation out of the way and when everything goes well … which it will … then next year I am going to fill it full of doing things.’
‘I am very glad to hear it.’
‘I am also going to be more blunt.’
‘God help us.’ I mock groan.
‘I mean it and I’m going to start right now. It is so good to see you doing so well. You even have a flash watch.’ I do, it’s true. ‘When Jessica died I was worried about you, knew you needed time, but I never doubted you. And look at you, the perfect picture of the successful, loving son. But…’
‘I’m okay, Mum. I am,’ I lie through my teeth. I don’t tell her that it’s all carefully constructed. That I know people see me as polished. I have all the external trappings but it’s a deliberate mask, a mask to hide that beneath the surface I’m still struggling with the guilt. They don’t see me staring up at the ceiling at 4 a.m., they don’t know that every single call I take I expect someone to say this man doesn’t know what he’s doing, why are you listening to him? He is nothing but an imposter, he couldn’t even keep the woman he loved safe and you’re asking him for advice?
‘So you say, but the truth is I know you. I. Know. You. And I think your feet are paddling quickly under the surface and it worries me. I don’t know who you have to talk to, to confide in. I hope to God there’s someone but I suspect you keep everything all tightly bottled up, under control. I know you’re here to support me but stupid cancer or not I am your mother, I will always be your mother, and if you need someone to talk to, then I am here for you.’
‘Thanks, Mum, I know and I’m so grateful for it.’ I squeeze her hand. The trouble is Mum’s not objective; I could tell her I’d just set a dozen kittens on fire and she’d still find a way to tell me that I had good reason. I wonder if now is the time to broach why I want to remain single, that she needs to stop looking for romance for me, that it hurts me to my very core every time she brings it up. Jess is no longer here to speak up for herself, she only has me to do it for her, and Mum needs to respect the decisions I have made, the decisions I will continue to make for a good long time and with very good reason.
‘Okay but I haven’t finished. People say time heals all, and it’s true, but grief doesn’t always behave the way you think it should. It’s not linear, it can come and hit when you least expect it. Neither is it always quiet, slow, depressed, sometimes it’s angry and raging and directionless and that’s alright too. The one thing that is true is that in order to heal you have to face your emotions, and if I can help in any part of that then please let me. One day, I promise you, the memories will bring you peace not pain.’ She is so genuine and I am tempted to open up, I am. I want to tell her I am still pulled apart, torn in two with grief and disappointment in myself every single day. But to do so, at this time, would be selfish.
‘You’ve always been a boy with so much heart, so much love to give, so listen to me now and then I’ll leave you be.’ Her voice takes on her stern tone. ‘This is guesswork but you need to stop blaming yourself for something that was not your fault, was beyond your control. You did not make the decision to get behind the wheel that night, no matter what you think about how you shaped things, and you are not in charge of the weather. It was an accident, love, an accident, and you need to stop looking to the past, you need to look to the future. Both of us do. I am, will you?’ The sincerity is cracking her voice and I nod my head, grip her hand, look her in the eye and agree. I wish it were that easy.
Mum takes a deep breath, puts on her brave face, grins, does a massive figure of eight, shrieks with laughter, and says, ‘Right, well, let’s get skating, race you to that side.’
That I know I can do.
‘You’re on!’
And we’re off.
We reach the other side, her leading a little – she’s so much better on the ice than me, a natural – and as she turns the joy beams from her face. Her cheeks are rosy red from the cold, her ears also scarlet. She has a bobble hat perched atop her head, her hair sticks out from underneath it and her eyes are alive, bright. She has aged since I left for Australia, and these last couple of weeks she has been looking tired from the worry of it all but in this instant, she is vibrant, vivacious, joyful, and I make a conscious decision to snapshot this moment and keep it in my memory for ever.
But if the while I think on thee, dear friend,
All losses are restored, and sorrows end
December Sixteenth.
Rory.
