“Yes, it is. I’ve lost a lot too, don’t you forget it. But that should only make you hang onto your loved ones tighter. The heart is made for love and therefore it’s made for loss. And just because you broke it off now to prevent future pain doesn’t mean you’re not suffering now. You are suffering, I see it all over ye, and it’s not going to get any better. Just like your affliction, it’s going to get worse. If you go on without Valerie in your life, you’re going to regret it with every single breath you take.”
“But what if …”
“You’re coming from a place of fear, not faith.”
I shake my head. “I’m coming from a place of reality, how this bloody disease is going to be on me, how hard it will be on anyone in my life. What if she …”
This time she puts down the spoon and places her hand on my arm. “What if you get progressively worse and she leaves you? That’s fear. Even if you get progressively worse, she’ll still be by your side. That’s faith. What if is fear. Even if is faith. Choose the latter my boy.”
She gets up. “Now come on and get dressed, it’s almost time for dinner,” she says.
I snatch the spoon from the bed before she can take it. She can’t be trusted.
“Oh,” she says as she turns around in the doorway. “You haven’t showered in days. You might want to. You stink.”
Duly noted.
I drag myself over to the shower and the minute the hot water hits my face, it seems to wash some clarity over me, the fogginess and confusion running down the drain.
My nan’s right. About everything, as she often is. I should have reached out to Valerie this week. The times when I wasn’t sleeping I was thinking of her. I was dreaming of her face, remembering her big, wide smile and infectious laugh, the way it would give me a jolt, like I was always seeing her for the first time. I thought about the way she felt, how soft her skin was on her belly, the raised scars on her leg, all coming together to tell me a story about her, a story I should have kept on listening to.
I miss her.
I miss her with all my heart, even with those broken pieces, the ones too small to see.
I need to do something to make this right.
I’m just not sure I ever can.
When I’m done in the shower, I get properly dressed for the first time all week. I’m already a little fatigued from all the movement but luckily I don’t have to go far for dinner.
Nan and the Major are sitting at the table in front of a large pot of Irish stew, far too much for just the three of us.
“You feeding an army?” I ask as I sit down.
“I’m still not used to having such little company,” Nan says a little sadly.
“I’m glad to see you up and about,” the Major says brightly. “It’s about time.”
“It’s good to be up,” I tell him. “Though it took a few whacks from a spoon to get me here.”
“Whacks from a what?”
“Spoon!” I yell, picking up one and showing it to him.
He looks at Nan. “You hitting people again?”
“He deserved it,” she says. “And so now Padraig, have you had any more thought about what you’re going to do?”
“Do about what?” the Major asks.
“Do about Valerie,” she says loudly.
“Valerie? Is she here?” he looks around.
“No, Major,” I say in a clear and strong voice. “She’s not here. I have to figure out how to bring her back here.”
He nods. “Ah. Well why did you send her away to begin with?”
“Because he’s an eejit,” my grandmother mumbles into her stew.
“Because I’m an eejit,” I repeat. “And I was just so scared after what happened to dad, after what happened to me…I panicked.”
“It’s natural to be afraid, Padraig,” the Major says. “But don’t let it control the way you live. You won’t have much of a life if that’s the case.”
“My life is pretty shite at the moment.”
He chuckles and wags his bushy white brows at me. “No, you have it all wrong, ye do. Life is brilliant. And then it’s awful. Sometimes trivial or boring or mundane. You just have to push through all that bad stuff until its brilliant again. Always hold out for brilliant.” He winks at me.
“Major,” my nan says in shock. “That’s almost poetic. I’m surprised at ye.”