Half Life – 28 – decisions
May 7th, 2021
It had survived. A favourite pub in a nearby village had done everything to keep afloat, with wine and beer deliveries to the door and take-away meals sold out of a small hatch. It had worked but, like many small operators, a few more months and they might not have made it. Our duty was clear, starters at lunchtime were a moral obligation and, maybe, a dessert too depending on our capacity and the friendliness of the black clouds overhead. The sun crept out, forcing a couple of layers to be shrugged off, only for them to go back on as soon as the clouds re-established control and the spring chill returned. The Wife’s white, woolly, bobble hat, stayed in place for the whole meal, her protection from frizzy hair as the threatening spots of rain dotted the exposed courtyard table and had us eyeing up a nearby unoccupied one under the marquee.
Holding hands across the table like a couple of giddy teenagers, the excitement of being served in a pub was almost as intense as getting a drink when underage back in the eighties. Struggling to work out when we last ate out, we calculated it was over six months ago with The Boys and the last time it was just the two of us stretched back more than a year. The beer, delivered to the table in a genuine pint glass, caused a momentary distraction before the menu took over as most important document we had seen for a long, long time.
The decision on the first food to be served to us in an eternity was harder than imagined, everything looked like the perfect choice to break such a long pub-food fast. It took three optimistic visits from our masked waiter before he was rewarded with an order and we could sit back and move on to an even harder decision. With school ensuring The Boys were safely out of ear-wigging distance we could talk about them, us, and a subject The Wife and I knew, at some point, had to be brought more into the open.
Stress in teenagers and near-teenagers manifests itself in many ways. Distraction, fidgeting, mood swings, tempers from nowhere, and crying for no reason have all made their appearances over the past few years. Living with someone who is chronically ill, in pain, on crutches, and with frequent visits to hospitals and clinics, chips away at adult resilience; it hacks chunks off a child’s ability to cope. Conversations and comments reveal just how much the situation is hitting them and the worries they have about opening up the discussions they want have, but fear at the same time. Advice, plentiful from all sources whether professional, friends, family, or busy-bodies, all agree on the importance of being fully open about an expected, premature, death of a parent. Timing for this openness is the question that’s never answered.
Full lockdown, facing the joys of home school and the day-to-day drama that was covid, was a time to avoid adding more stress. Hoping the subject would be brought up by them led to further procrastination and with an elephant standing in the room being ignored and tiptoed around on a daily basis. The oncologist’s updated prognosis provided the impetus to address it. The need for me to ensure all my ‘affairs were in order’ given my poor responses to previous treatments was a gentle warning that time, both mine and the opportunity to break it gently to The Boys, was running out.
The decision that it was now time to tell them arrived just as the two starters we planned to share appeared. Tucking in, we settled on half-term as the target, then agreed the chilli prawns and spicey Korean chicken were just magical and we didn’t care if we were half frozen to our seats; it was worth it. Chewing over what we would say, the food gave space to think. How do you tell your children your doctor doesn’t expect you to be around for the Christmas after next?
Our choices for lunch, a chicken and a fish, both had the pub cooked chips we had been craving. Hot, crisp, fluffy inside, and dipped deep into the ketchup they dragged up involuntary mutterings of joy. The first steps towards normal the chips gave us was liberating and, like The Boys being back at school, it reassured us that our timing was right for opening the subject of my death and how we all deal with it, as well as the vital importance of going out for as many meals as possible over the coming months. Not knowing when death will happen, and making every effort to push that date away with every treatment possible, was where we would focus when we approached it. At the same time making sure we did not, yet again, ignore the reality of the fact it will happen and the need to savour every moment until then.
Our eaten-clean plates, scheduled to be washed up by someone else, vanished. A wave of the debit card and a generous cash tip allowed us to start our move towards the car, our craving for eating out temporarily sated and one of the biggest decisions for three years taken. All we had to do now was make sure we did it. The rain dotted the windscreen as the car pulled away from the pub, not quite finished with the outside diners we left behind and a warning of the storm to come later that afternoon. Our planning shifted to discussing where we would have all those family meals out over the next year or two. We want to get started, as you never know what might get in the way of the simple pleasures of life, like pub cooked chips.
As usual very funny in parts and emotional as well. keep fighting. look forward to sharing a bottle soon xx love to all xx
Funny and moving. As many have said please stay strong and prove the doctors wrong. 💪💕