Page 50 of Postscript

As I move around taking note of everything, I wonder if Gerry did the same thing when thinking of letters for me. Did he observe me and try to figure out what I needed? Was he all the time thinking of his list, enjoying the secret, while I had no idea what was going on in his mind? I’d like to think it calmed him, that in his moments of pain and discomfort he was able to distract himself and go somewhere else, escape into the pleasure of his secret plan.

I notice Joy’s been quiet for a while and I stop cataloguing the kitchen and check to see if she’s OK.

‘I wonder if I could ask one more thing of you,’ she says as I meet her eye.

‘Of course.’

She reaches into the pocket of her cardigan and takes out a folded envelope. ‘I have a shopping list here. I wonder if you could help me. All the money is inside, cash, and there’s a list.’ Her fingers tighten briefly on the envelope. ‘I’m sorry to ask. It’s a lot to ask of you. My boys, their wives and our grandchildren. We have a tradition on Christmas Day where Joe and I stand at the head of the room, by the tree and everybody gathers around. Joe pulls a name from a Santa hat and announces the family member and we present them with their gifts. We’ve been doing it for years, our own family tradition.’ Joy’s eyes flutter closed, as if she can see it in her mind’s eye. ‘All the little ones love it. I don’t want them to miss that this year. Joe doesn’t know the little things that they like.’ Her eyes open and with a trembling hand she holds out the envelope.

I pull a kitchen chair out and sit beside her. ‘Joy, Christmas is six months away.’

‘I know. I’m not saying I won’t be here, but I don’t know what state I’ll be in. You know they say that my brain will be in such decline that I will forget to swallow.’ She raises her hand to her throat and squeezes, as if imagining it. ‘The palliative care prepares me for the end, but if I’m planning a future with feeding tubes, then I need to plan not just how I feed myself but how I can continue to feed my family too.’

I look down at the bulky envelope.

‘I know it’s a great imposition, but if you could also wrap and label the gifts for me, I’d like to store them in the attic for Joe to find when he takes down the decorations. As part of Joy’s Secrets,’ she says, too brightly, trying to make it sound easy when it’s not, it’s anything but. Perhaps she’s trying to screen the sadness that pummels beneath, or perhaps she’s genuinely ready for it. I’m learning about this wish for the first time whereas she’s thought about it, envisioned it, imagined it, probably lived the very moment when Joe finds the box over and over again in a dozen different ways. Perhaps she’s keeping it upbeat for me.

‘OK,’ I say, my voice coming out as a whisper. I clear my throat. ‘But let’s make a deal, Joy, if you’re able to hand those presents to everybody by yourself, those gifts are coming down before Joe discovers them.’

‘Deal,’ she nods. ‘This is a lot to ask of you and I’m grateful, Holly,’ she says, taking my hand. ‘I hope it’s not too much.’

It’s all too much. Everything. All of the time. And then not at all, sometimes, depending on which version of me wakes up.

‘Can I ask you something?’ I look at her for approval before continuing. ‘Why are you doing this?’

She seems confused.

‘I know why in theory, but I want to understand exactly why. Is it because you’re afraid they’ll forget you? Is it because you don’t want to feel left out? Is it because you don’t want them to miss you?’ I take a breath. ‘Is it more for you or for them? Asking for a friend.’

She smiles, understanding. ‘Everything you said. Everything and more. I can prepare myself for what lies ahead of me, but can’t let go before it happens. I can’t simply give up. I’m a mother, I’ve always thought ahead for the little ones. And even though they have little ones of their own, I won’t stop thinking ahead. I want them to feel like I’m there with them, and I suppose it’s because I won’t let go yet. I won’t surrender. It’s the only control I have over my life. I don’t know when my last day of quality will be, or my final day for that matter, but I’m going to make sure I’m around for more than my body could hold out for. I want to live and I’m trying everything; medicine, treatments, care, and now letters and lists. I may have lost control of my body, but I can control what happens in my life, and how life can be for others when I’m gone. It’s the last victory I have.’

As I make my way home, I ponder Joy’s words.

The last victory.

Death can’t win. Life lives on.

Life has roots, and just like a tree in its quest for survival, those roots spread and stretch to find water, they possess the power to lift foundations, uproot anything in their path. Their reach is endless; their very presence has an everlasting effect in some form or another. You can cut a tree down but you cannot kill what it started and all the life that sprung from it.

To most people, death is the enemy, a thing to be feared. We don’t see it as the pacifier or sympathiser. It’s the inevitable fate we have feared and done our best to avoid by minimising risks, by following the rules of health and safety, and by resorting to every treatment and medicine that might save us. Don’t look death in the eye, don’t let it see you, don’t let it know you’re there; head down, eyes averted; don’t choose me, don’t pick me. By the rules of nature, it is programmed into us that we must root for life to win.

For so very long in Gerry’s illness, death was the enemy, but as is so often the case for those dealing with a loved one suffering terminal illness, there came a point when my attitude changed and death became the one thing that could offer peace, that could ease his suffering. When the hope of a cure is gone and the inevitable is inevitable, there are moments in long nights spent listening to short ragged breaths when death is invited. Death is welcomed. Take them away from this pain, guide them, help them, be kind and be gentle.

Even though Gerry was too young to die and he did everything he could to fight it, when he needed to, he turned to death, saw it as a friend and went to it. And I was relieved, grateful to death for taking him from his suffering and embracing him. In a strange and wonderful way, the thing you have avoided, dreaded, feared is right in front of you and it’s bathed in light. Death becomes our saviour.

Life is light, dying is darkness, death is light again. Full circle.

Death is always with us, our constant companion, in partnership with life, watching us from the sidelines. While we are living, we are also dying; every second spent living is a second closer to the end of our days. The balance inevitably tips. Death is there at our fingertips all the time and we choose not to go to it and it chooses not to take us.

Death doesn’t push us; death catches us when we fall.

21

‘I’m thinking of hiring volunteers,’ Ciara declares from the other side of the shop.

‘What for?’

‘To help us out. Maybe we need security, there’s too many things going missing lately, we can’t keep an eye on everything and I can’t afford to pay somebody else. People are always asking to help out, they know we give some of the proceeds to charity. And it would help me for when you’ve got hospital appointments, or when Mathew and I are doing collections.’