Forever Is Over (124 page)

“
He isn
’
t just my God, Richie, but to
answer your question, I do not
know why God does what he does. I don
’
t really see that it is my place
to question him.
”

“
Yes, it is. You only find the answers by asking questions. But do you
know why you don
’
t think its your place to question him, Dad?
”

             
My father had kept cool throughout this conversation, to my shame
I had overheated.

“
Richard, stop arguing with your father!
”
Mum said trying to douse
my flames.

“
I
’
ll tell you why it is, Dad! Because you
’
re not a bloody Christian!
”
I said in a virtual shout.

“
Sssshhh! Richard! Mind your language in front of your children.
”
Mum chided.

“
I am a Christian.
”
Dad insisted.

“
No, you are not. You are just a flawed individual with a gambling
addiction who did not have the strength of character to give up on his
own, so you
’
ve invented a pretend friend as your emotional crutch.
”

“
You are so wrong, Richie,
”
Dad said. I felt like I had hit a nerve. I
began to feel a little guilty for launching this tirade.

“
I
’
m not saying there isn
’
t a God, Dad, I
’
m just saying don
’
t use him
as the reason for everything good that happens, but then relinquish him
from responsibility when things go wrong. If you
’
re saying God saved
me today, you are also saying he killed that young girl. God
’
s to give
and God
’
s to take away.
”

“
I don
’
t think this an opportune time to have this conversation,
Richie.
”

“
Why
not? I
’
m not having a go at you, I
’
m just telling you how I see
it. As far as I
’
m concerned you deserve a lot of praise for giving up the
gambling. It was you who gave it up, Dad, God did not do it for you.
”

“
God helped me through it.
”

“
How?
”

“
Will you two boys give it a rest? Richard, leave your father alone.
If he believes, let him believe!
”
Mum wa
s getting all red in the face.

             
“
No, come on Dad, explain it to me. How did God help you stop
gambling?
”

“
God gave me the strength. I could not have done it on my own.
I
’
ve tried so many times and failed, Richie.
”

“
You never had any faith in yourself, Dad, but by putting your faith
in your fictitious God, you gave yourself the confidence to do it.
”

             
“
Why are you being like this, Richie? I am a better man now than
I have ever been and that fact is undeniable. I don
’
t really care what you
think has brought about this transformation, because I know God has
been there for me when I have needed him most.
”

“
No he has not!
”

It took a five year old child to get me to back off.

“
Stop arguing Daddy!
”
Melissa reprimanded me,
“
stop being mean
to Granddad!
”

“
I wasn
’
t being mean to Granddad, honey, we just have different
opinions on something.
”

“
Do you still love Granddad?
”

“
Of course I do!
”

“
Well, if you love someone, you do not do mean things to them,
that
’
s what you always say to Jamie!
”

“
You
’
re right, Melissa, but I did not do a mean thing to Granddad!
”

             
“
Yes you did! You spoke to him in an angry voice!
”

             
“
Don
’
t worry love,
”
said my father to my daughter,
“
your Daddy
has just had a horrible day, he hasn
’
t made Granddad sad. Granddad
understands.
”

“
Right!
”
said my Mum clapping her hands,
“
I think it
’
s about time
me and your Granddad took you two back to ours! There
’
s some ice cream
and chocolate at ours with your name on!
”

“
Chocolate and ice cream with our names on! Brilliant!
”
said
Melissa,
“
I
’
ve never seen chocolate or ice cream with my name on!
”

             
“
Well you will at our house!
”
Mum said smiling,
“
Come on kids!
Give your Mummy and Daddy a kiss goodbye! Be gentle with your
Daddy though, Jamie!
”

The children came over and tenderly
kissed me on the cheek, Jamie
following Melissa
’
s lead, then both gave Jemma big hugs and kisses. My
father then came over and kissed the top of my head before my Mum
very gently kissed the tip of my nose as if she was kissing it better, like
when I was a child.

Mum and Dad both hugged and kissed Jemma warmly. The bond
between the three of them had grown so close an outside observer would
have thought Jemma was their daughter rather than me being their son.
Mum sometimes rubbed Jemma up the wrong way with her bluntness,
but Jemma adored her.

“
Thank you so much for everything today,
”
Jemma said to my Mum,
“
I don
’
t know whether I would have coped without you!
”

             
“
Come on Gwanny!
”
said Jamie, pulling on the back of my Mum
’
s
blouse,
“
we need to go and have the chocolate with Jamie on!
”

             
“
How are you going to manage that?
”
Jemma whispered to Mum.

             
“
Don
’
t worry, we have raspberry sa
uce, my grandchildren will be
having ice cream with their names on! Jemma, I
’
ll ring you tomorrow to see if they
’
ll let him out.
”

“
Mum, I will be coming out tomorrow whether they like it or
not!
”

“
You just take it easy, Richard. If the Doctor
’
s tell you that you need
to rest, then you need to rest. What
’
s another day when you have the
whole of your life ahead of you?
”

With that, Mum and Dad led the children out the ward and Jemma
returned to sitting on a chair at the side of my bed. I knew what was
coming next. The interrogation. It was time to get everything out in the
open and once we took everything to pieces, I just hoped we could put
it all back together again.

It was like a scene from a soap opera
. Kelly was in intensive care,
attached to various wires, drips and breathing apparatus. The Doctors
had said she had swelling on her brain (they called it an
“
Edema
”
) and
the next forty eight hours would be critical. In soap operas, the scenes
normally played out with a five minute awakening, a declaration of love,
a relapse, a flatline on the cardiograph and then a crash team arriving
to work tirelessly, but ultimately unsuccessfully on the body. I kept
visualing those scenes with Kelly as the leading lady and then hated
myself for even imagining Kelly dead.

Death had already claimed two victims from this tragedy. The
driver of the other car, an eighteen year old boy called David and a
seventeen year old female passenger called Vanessa had already died.
Vanessa died at the scene, David several hours later at Ormskirk hospital.
Grieving family and friends were littered around the hospital but I tried
to keep my distance in case sorrow was infectious and their mourning subsequently became mine. Death scares me. I see it as a journey to
permanent oblivion. I fear my own death, but then, as now, I feared
Kelly
’
s death more.

As the minutes and hours passed in intensive care, I would not
leave Kelly
’
s side. There was no family rushing in to visit her, since we
had begun working together, I was Kelly
’
s family and I was wary of
abandoning her, even for a few moments for a toilet break, in case those
moments turned out to be her last. Kelly needed someone there who
loved her, just to be there for her, just to hold her hand.

When I was little, I used to play with my toys silently. I didn
’
t talk
to them or make them say things to each other. There was just silence. My parents thought this was odd and I remember one day, when I must
have been about seven, my Mum asked me why I did not speak to my
toys as I played with them.

“
Because they can
’
t hear me!
”
I replied.

For the first twenty four hours in that hospital, I did not say a word
to Kelly because I felt she could not hear me. As I say, I held her hand
as I somehow felt she would be able to sense that it was me, but other
than speaking to the hospital staff, I said nothing. I listened though.
I listened to Kelly
’
s breathing and I also listened intently, to what the
Doctor
’
s and nurses said to each other and to me about Kelly
’
s condition.
It is not an environment of putting arms arounds shoulders and re
assuring you that everything is going to be alright. The consultants are
so blunt that you think some of them stop understanding that they are
dealing with real people. I even asked one of the nurses if all the staff
learn to stop caring. They don
’
t.

“
The day I stop caring will be the day I stop coming in,
”
was her
response.

In those first twenty four hours, the impression was that I needed
to hope rather than to expect Kelly to recover. Surgery was mentioned.
Two consultants discussed doing a
“
decompressive craniectomy
”
which
sounded like something you would perform on a scubadiving stork with
the bends, not on a person.

One consultant, after clarifying that I was Kelly
’
s boyfriend, an
honour I had bestowed upon myself to receive more information, had
explained things in layman
’
s terms. She explained that Kelly
’
s brain
was injured from the impact from the
other car and had swollen. The
Doctor
’
s concern was that the pressure in Kelly
’
s brain could mount,
pushing the soft brain tissue against her hard skull, stopping her blood
from circulating properly and potentially causing permanent damage.
What I read into this, was that Kelly
’
s life was in danger and even if she
did survive, there was no guarantee that the old Kelly would be back.
The hospital staff brought me a blanket that night and allowed me to
sleep in a chair by Kelly
’
s bed. I only slept in snatches though, as I kept
replaying those soap opera scenes then realised I was within a dream
and shook myself out of it.