OK, so most of you who follow this blog via Facebook will already know the thing I couldn't bring myself to blog about earlier this week, and the reason for our sudden deviation into the countryside.
Larry, d's brother, passed away this week. His funeral took place today in the States, and it would have been financially and logistically very tight to get us over there for it. So we came away into the countryside, because Larry was a total outdoor kind of guy.
Which, on reflection, made the last fifteen years of his life perhaps an even more poignant span.
In 1999 Larry was in a horrible car accident. Three types of brain injury, comparative paralysis and little control over movement, speech, feeding or his own personal dignity were among its legacies.
When talking about Larry, or Larry's situation, it's incredibly hard not to lapse into cliche. Many people say they'd "rather be dead than..." and then describe the kind of life he had for the last fifteen years. I don't really think it's necessarily possible to say something like that until you've spent those fifteen years in his place - and which of us have?
What is true, I think, is that whether he chose to be, or whether he simply had no option not to be, Larry was a brave, stubborn man when it came to his condition and his life. Doctors said he'd probably have a few years after the accident. He lived fifteen. He lived, long after I know I probably would have begged, screaming, to be released from life. That's what I mean about not knowing whether he chose to be brave, or whether he simply had no alternative. For all we know, he may have been screaming inside for years.
On balance, though, I think he had an alternative, and was just that strong.
On balance, I think he was just that impressive.
When we came away to the country, d handed me my fantastically childish "Sixth Doctor Costume" T-shirt.
"While we're away," she said, "we're going to be ourselves, in tribute to Larry, who couldn't be himself for all those years." Larry, left to his own devices, was a huntin', shootin', fishin' kind of guy, with a penchant for Harleys and muscle cars. We think the interests survived the accident, whereas of course his ability to fulfill any of them was killed.
Now I surprise a lot of people by being at one and the same time a wuss-ass screaming Liberal, with Socialistic leanings and an atheistic principle, and at the same time, quite keen on shooting things for food (in principle) and fast and kickass vehicles of practically every kind. So while I only ever had the honour of meeting Larry after his accident, I like to convince myself at least that had we met before it, we would still have had things to talk about and enthuse over - besides the obvious of course: how to drive his sister up the wall. (He never had the ability to tell me, and she's just let it slip in the last 48 hours (after almost ten years of marriage) that he used to poke her relentlessly in the sides. A new weapon in my arsenal that will, at some time or other, earn me a good solid clonking, I'm sure. Thanks, Lar!)
But d's words made a spectacular amount of sense to me. Live as much as possible as yourself, because not everyone has that option. So today, we were planning to grab our walking boots and yomp into the countryside, in tribute to the man.
In the event though, we did Our Thing. We went into Abergavenny, wandered streets, piddled about in shops, grabbed a Costa...then grabbed some white roses and headed to a Catholic Church. d lit candles, left the flowers, and talked to the priest to ask him to keep Larry in mind when the evening's service began.
We came home to the hotel, and shared a meal Larry would have loved - Lasagne for me, steak for d, a glass of cider for us both. We did it in tribute to the man, to honour what he liked, but also we lived as we wanted, because he couldn't for all those years.
Now as I say, I'm an atheist, which makes these times particularly hard. And again at these times, people fall readily into cliche - "he's not suffering any more" being a favourite. I've never met a human being to whom that applies more than it does to Larry - and here's the kicker: it doesn't matter whether you believe he's gone home to some celestial palace, or he's now free to wander trails and ride highways on a spiritual kickass Harley, or if you believe he's now just dead. Without impugning anyone for decisions made, his life for the last fifteen years was not the kind of life you'd want for your brother, or son, or friend. And now all the hardship of that life is done. And yes, we'll miss him - we'll all miss him. But is his freedom from the life he had a relief? A source of happiness? I can look you in the eye and tell you yes.
So tonight - whether you believe in gods, or spirits, or just The Human Spirit, or nothing at all, I want you to do me one big favour. Raise a glass, or a mug, and fill it with whatever you like most - alcoholic or not, hot or cold. and drink me a toast to my brother-in-law, to his strength, to the power and the compassion he used in living each day in a state that many of us would not be strong enough to endure. And drink deep, enjoy, and tomorrow, whenever any minor thing gets up your nose or in your way, think me a thought or two of Larry, and remember all the privileges you have. And if you're looking for a moral in all this, I guess it would be that all the little stuff is just that - little stuff. It's massively eclipsed by what you have and what you can do. And I knew a guy who had all that stolen from him by blind, unfeeling fate, and still went on, and still woke up each day, and still found things in most of those days to give the thumbs-up that was one of his only remaining ways to show his mind.
To Larry, and the gift he had of making us all marvel at what one brave man could do. Drink up, thumbs-up, and live because you can.
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