This story is included in the collection Second Chance & Other Stories, published October 2022. Read it below or listen here:
Louis found his father propped up in his chair in the day room where they hung the children’s paintings of farms and grandparents and siblings and cows and sheep and football pitches and choo-choo trains. Board games were stacked up on a table in the far corner, beside Get Well Soon and Thinking of You cards. A spray of illuvial bands draped lazily from a hook a little to the right of the TV, on a bracket high up on the wall.
He was engrossed in a programme, volume at full. Louis heard him say “Africa” in response to a question. Green and beige rugs were wrapped tightly around his legs. The sunken holder on the chair had a cup in it – that’d be tea. Plenty of milk, the way he liked it. Two sugars. And the tea gone cold, probably. The presenter bellowed “so, what would you do with €50,000?”
Louis now saw his Dad as he was: a reduced figure in a chair, a fading signpost to what he once had been. When he walked to the middle of the room, Dad finally saw him, reached for the remote control, reach turning to rummage, until, eventually, somehow, he pointed it at the screen and turned the volume down.
“How are you?” Louis asked.
“Not too bad. My stomach isn’t great though, those new tablets aren’t agreeing with me. Would you ask them about a change?” said Dad.
“I’ll go looking for someone in a minute,” said Louis.
They fell into the routine.
That man in the room two up, did he die? Where was he from? That crack up north is worrying again. Ah, they’ll never sort that place. How did Jacqui get on in the job interview? Good. When will she hear? Late next week, they said. She thinks she might get it. That’d be great. Yeah, a great start for her after everything.
A nurse came in, looking for something. “The day diary’s gone missing,” she said, “but it’s not here. I’ll have to continue my investigations elsewhere.” She left the room and turned right down the corridor. Dad didn’t seem to have even noticed her.
“You get the painting finished before the weather broke?” he asked. Louis had.
“I did,” said Louis, “are the pillows okay?”
“Yeah,” replied Dad, “they’re fine. Stomach is still bad though. Weld had a double in Roscommon – were you on it?”
“I wasn’t,” said Louis. “I’ll see if I can find someone about those tablets.”
***
Next day, Dad was in his room, fast asleep in the bed, body raised from the hip upwards as if fixed on a hinge. He looked serene and comfortable. Louis knew it wouldn’t be right to wake him. He had the Tribune with him. Dad would be interested in reading about how they were getting on looking for a new manager for the hurlers. He sat there for 20 minutes, flicking through the Tribune, checking his phone. Twenty minutes seemed like a decent time to wait. He left the paper on the locker and closed the door behind him.
***
The palliative care nurse called him into the little room. The walls were blue, no pictures or decorations. A simple room devoid of distractions – fitting for conversations like this, he thought. They sat down and she watched him closely, as if he were a patient too.
“Your father would like to go home,” she said, “he has mentioned it a few times in the last few days. I’m not sure if he said it to you, he mightn’t want to impose. In terms of his care, it won’t make much difference. The palliative care team will look after him well.”
His nod was non-committal. He knew he’d have to see what his sister Eileen thought, she was better able to read these situations than him.
“It’ll be a bit more demanding for you,” she continued, “but we try to minimise that too. You’re the only one at home, is that right? This is a difficult time for you, you have to realise that and take good care of yourself as well. He’s very conscious of not being a burden on you. You’ve your own life to live too. Eileen is very involved too, I know, that’ll make it easier.”
Louis said he’d talk to him about it. “If you’re okay with it,” said Eileen on the phone, “it’s probably the right thing to do.”
“The nurses were saying you can go home now if you want,” was how Louis broached it with him, matter-of-factly.
“Yes, they said that alright. That’d be good,” Dad replied.
“Sound. Will I get the ball rolling on that so?” Louis asked.
“Do,” Dad said.
“It might take a few days to get things sorted. I’ll talk to Eileen first too,” Louis said.
“Take your time, there’s no rush,” Dad said, “I see Weld had a treble at Limerick Junction. Did you get on it?”
“I did.”
“Fair play. The new tablets are agreeing with me better.”
***
Sometimes, late at night, Louis would hear Dad and Norina chatting. She had a ready laugh.
“He has such a good sense of humour. A lovely man to look after. And full of chat. He’s very interesting – he’s done a lot of things in his life. He was telling me you were a great actor in a local group – oh, and that you’re back rehearsing with them again?” she said one morning in the kitchen.
Before leaving, Louis went up to tell him that the day nurse, Mary, would be along soon, she’d WhatsApped to say she was running a few minutes late. “I’ll be home at lunchtime,” he said, “message me if you need anything. I’ll bring a Twirl.”
He opened a window to let in some fresh air and settled the pillows.
Two mornings later, Norina stood at the kitchen door while he was having his porridge. “He’s slipping away, I’m afraid,” she said, carefully, “it won’t be long now, maybe a few days.”
“Oh,” said Louis, “oh, right.”
“He’s not in pain, the medication is working well,” she said.
“Does he talk about it?” asked Louis, “you know, about, like, death?”
“He does, yes. He brings things up here and there. He misses your mother, that’s very obvious. I let him talk away. He talks a lot about his time in London. He’s made peace with it all and he’s ready to go. He believes in God,” she replied.
“Good,” said Louis, “well, not good, but you know what I mean. It’s good that he can talk to you like that.”
***
Norina’s knock came on Louis’ door at about quarter to four that Thursday night. He had gone downhill rapidly. “Should I call Eileen?,” he asked.
“Yes, do,” she said, “he’s fighting it, and he’s strong, so you never know.”
Louis was just glad to hear someone talk about him in the present tense. He remembered something he’d read once about the diagnosis not being the death.
When he went into the room, though, he knew. The diagnosis was closing in on its final triumph. He took his hand, squeezing it to see if there was any resistance, anything that might signify recognition or presence or something. But there was nothing. Norina’s grimace said enough.
Eileen, her husband and their two children arrived. Downstairs, Eileen asked them not to talk about him in the room as if he wasn’t there. “The hearing is the last thing that goes,” she said, “so just let him know you’re there.”
“Hang in there, Dad,” was all he could manage then.
The kids told him they loved him, and they had always loved calling to No. 35. Eileen said they were all there if he needed anything. She stroked his forehead gently and dipped a white cloth in a saucer of cold water and touched it onto his lips. “Easy, now Dad, easy now,” she repeated metronomically. Her youngest child cried. Louis drew back from the bed but felt he should say something else. “Sadbh McCormack and Toby were asking after you,” he said. He slipped out to put out the bins. It was bin day. How had Dad heard he was back acting? He’d know less, sure. He’d have a lot to do the next few days. Good job he’d got the house painted. He’d get some gravel put down in the front yard, people would be parking. He’d cancel the order for the Tribune too, but maybe not just yet.