I sit upon the hefty, old, red lawnmower feeling like the little queen of the house on her throne. He stands beside me, smoke in one wrinkled hand, me in the other, keeping me up. I look at the garage around me, the dilapidated radio on the highest shelf, the boxes-on-boxes of decorations at the back, his and her wellies lined up at the door, neighbouring the shelf of tools.
We sit in a comfortable kind of silence, each taking in a different picture. I faintly hear the sounds of Catchphrase and my family’s wrong answers following the clue. That doesn’t matter now though. All I care about right now is that I’m here with him. His cigarette slowly diminishes until at last, it goes out. He stubs it out in the chipped red ashtray and takes my small hand in his, like a pea in its pod, where it belongs. He helps me hop off and we walk back to the livingroom, hand in hand. We get back and he gives Dad a subtle thumbs up, as he always does, and he finds my brother in the brown armchair with the chipped leather in the arms. He squishes in next to him and sits contentedly watching the ads.
* * *
I sit as he pushes me on his blue, rickety walker, down the bright, sterile hallway, doors closed as their inhabitants take rest. I take notice of the feeble, grey chairs outside each room, and I begin to feel sorrowful for those that are empty. We’re laughing as Granny looks at us worried. Secretly, I’m concerned too. He doesn’t look like he used to, he’s pale, and he has a machine that he brings around with him.
READ MORE
Mam says that he has something called “cancer”. I don’t know what that is, but I can tell it isn’t a good thing, otherwise he wouldn’t be in a hospice. I give him a weak smile and he puts his hand on mine, and I am instantly put to ease. It’s all going to be okay as long as it stays like this, hand in hand, the way it’s supposed to be.
* * *
We sit in the pews. Second row from the front. Dad gives a speech about how everyone adored his dad and what a loving soul he was. People start to sob. I see Granny cry; I’ve never seen her cry before. The priest speaks about what an excellent grandfather he was to his eight beautiful grandchildren. I begin to weep as I realise there is no more sitting in the garage, or going on the swings, or pelting him with snowballs.
I’m surrounded by aunties and uncles I don’t know. They all seem to know me though. I feel out of place, like a needle lost in a haystack. I hold Mam’s hand, trying to regain that feeling, as I remember how his hand felt in mine. We start to saunter to the grave. I know that this is the last time I will see him again. I shed small tears that feel too big for my little eyes. Mam asks if I want to say goodbye one last time. I shake my head. I can’t do it. I long for one more moment where nothing else matters. That it is just me and him, hand in hand.
