Alive
I turned around. Mum came over and hugged me. She was crying. She kept saying that Louis was alive.
‘He’s alive. You’ve done it. It’s thanks to you that he’s come back, you can be certain of it. He’ll remember. You wouldn’t let us explain to you beforehand, you’re so stubborn. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree . . . I also came rushing into the room, last night, and got into big trouble with the entire staff. We have to take it slowly, but his memory will come back.’
I was completely at a loss. Why had she left me a message telling me not to listen to the earlier messages?
‘Because you had to come here, pussycat. Everyone had been trying to get hold of you for hours to tell you the news . . . There’s a point where you have to say, “Enough, stop beating about the bush and act,” and how could I have known that you’d follow any of my advice, when you always do exactly as you please? I’m sorry I made a shambles of things, as always . . .’
I looked at her and smiled. Only my mother would talk about making a shambles of things at such a time. I looked up and met Charlotte’s eyes. I asked her if what my mother had just told me was true, and that Louis would get his memory back.
‘Oh, ye of little faith . . .’ Mum retorted, which made us all laugh.
My mother has always been able to defuse the most serious situations – it’s a real gift of hers. I would so like to have that ability, too.
Charlotte spoke softly. She gave me a hug as well. She smelled nice. I asked the question I’d been burning to ask: would Louis remember . . . me?
She answered that I’d have to speak to Dr Beaugrand, that he’d explain everything. That it was impossible to know whether Louis would get his memory back and, if so, what and who he would remember. Recovery after a coma varied from one person to another. What we were seeing was exceptional. Before opening his eyes, Louis had given no visible clinical signs of being awake. It had been sudden. And already, within a few hours, his progress had been swift. It would take a while to establish precisely which of his bodily functions were back to normal. Medicine had its limitations, and it was very hard to forecast. But we had to remain hopeful. My mother was right to be optimistic. It was obvious that his brain was working. He was trying to speak. He was moving his limbs. These were giant steps.
Charlotte also told me that I could be proud of what I’d done for him. What’s more, a number of parents of other children in the hospital had begun to do likewise. I told her to stop kidding me, but she meant it. Even without a Book of Wonders, some parents had started asking their children what their most cherished dreams were, and fulfilling them. The children often had straightforward wishes that weren’t so difficult to achieve. The joy of these new questions and rewards was spreading through the entire hospital. Of course, not all of these adventures would have a happy ending, but they were morale boosters. They injected doses of happiness, hope and life into existences devoted to fighting terrible diseases.
‘You’ve done them an incredible amount of good, Thelma,’ Charlotte went on. ‘You’re a role model for them.’
‘Me? A role model? That’s a first—’
‘Don’t do yourself down, darling,’ my mother broke in. ‘Be positive, for heaven’s sake! You’ve done something extraordinary for your little boy, you’re an inspiration to other parents – accept it, without tying yourself in knots. Celebrate, appreciate this enormous step you’ve helped Louis make. I know, before, you didn’t know how to take your time, to relish things. But that was before. He’s alive, for goodness’ sake! Alive. We’re all alive, and we’re together.’
My mother was right. As always. Her words resonated with others – the ones I’d set down on paper, the previous night.
She was spot on.
I gazed around that room of wonders, which I would never forget. That emotional roller-coaster room, which had in turn broken me, shattered me, shaken me up, thrilled me, transcended and transformed me. That room, every square inch of which would remain etched in my mind.
My eyes roved over the walls, rested on a photo of me in shorts and football boots, between Isa and Edgar. I knew they were probably not far away, that they’d be here soon. All this kindness, all these people who cared about me – it was all new. In the course of this journey, I’d rediscovered the importance of those around me, those I’d call my close family and friends, and who, too often and too quickly, I’d distanced myself from. Might they be feeling the same way as me, right now? It was strange to feel a tiny flash of happiness in that cold, impersonal room.
I started to cry again.
For joy, and from giddiness at the thought of the unknown that lay ahead. But mostly for joy. Louis was alive. He really was.
I went over to him. I stroked his cheek and whispered to him not to be afraid, saying that I was his mum, and always would be, whatever happened. That I loved him, we loved him. That it was natural he couldn’t remember anything right now, but I didn’t hold it against him. I’d never hold anything against him. That I was so happy.
That tomorrow would be a new adventure. Each day would bring new surprises and discoveries. It would be a fresh opportunity for all of us, a new start, the possibility to reinvent ourselves and build something even more solid.
That he had to carry on fighting. It would be a long road, but he could lean on me. Lean on all of us. That I’d be there to support him, day and night. Come what may.
That there would be laughter. Love. Tears. Shouts. Football. Karaoke. Crazy parties, half marathons and car chases.
Joy, more of it. Happiness, always.
That he would remember.
And that, if he didn’t remember the past . . . Well, we’d create new memories – simple.
I thought I could hear my mother.
I had heard a mother. It was me.
‘I love you, Louis.’
He looked at me.
I think he smiled.