Patrick
LOCKET ISLAND
Maybe it’s just as well those medical people never came. They’d have been pretty peed off if they had. Granny was fading fast that day, but the next day she seemed much perkier. At least, she managed to slurp down some soup and exchanged a few words with me.
But then.
The next day it all went down the pan again. She just stayed motionless in bed, not eating, not responding. At death’s door all over again.
She’s like this human yo-yo. It’s driving us all insane. She eats like a horse one day and is all springy and energetic, then suddenly she droops and seems incapable of anything. Then just as we’ve resigned ourselves to an Antarctic deathbed scene, she sits up and says she’s hungry and she’s A-OK again. I just don’t get it. What the hell is going on?
“She keeps us on our toes, doesn’t she?” Dietrich said to me after the third down and up in a row.
“Completely, mate,” I said.
I e-mailed Gav and told him about it. He e-mailed back, saying hang in there, mate, just do the right thing. And a message from young Daisy saying thanks for the penguin picture and a photo of her with it. I printed the photo out and showed it to Deet, who was chuffed. I showed it to Granny V, too, and she totally seemed to perk up at the sight of it. Only to wilt again later.
Grief’s a weird animal at the best of times. It’s even weirder when you think it’s a dead certainty (pardon the pun), but then it disappears only to come hurtling right back at you. It’s like this bungee jump of emotions. You get jolted all over the place. It gives you this sick feeling in your stomach, makes you jittery and wobbly, plays havoc with your sleep patterns. I’m beginning to wish I had a spliff at hand.
Then there’s Terry. I never reckoned I could hurtle headlong into such a ton of feelings so fricking fast. And she says the same about me. Even though we know it can’t last, we both don’t seem to be able to control it. We try being all sensible, try pointing out that we’re reaching out to each other just for comfort . . . but I know and she knows (and she knows I know) it’s a hell of a lot more than that.
There’s a whole heap of pain ahead, just sitting there waiting to pounce on me. I’m heading straight for it. Even if Granny does survive, I’m going to be a wreck because of having to say goodbye to Terry.
Will Granny make it through? The ship that’s due to take us home comes to Locket Island tomorrow, but to be honest, I haven’t the foggiest if we’ll be on it or not.