‘How are you? I’ve been thinking about you and wondering how you were. I’ve been thinking I shouldn’t have said anything…I was wrong to…’ a fit of coughing overtook him and Carmel could see a physical deterioration in him even since yesterday.
‘I’m glad you did. Thank you, it wasn’t easy, but at least now I know.’
‘But you don’t know, you see, and neither did your mother, the pain it all caused Joe. I love all my brothers and sisters, but Joe and I were very close, we still are, and there are things I’ve kept from him, not just this… It wasn’t that I couldn’t tell him…but…’ the effort was racking his body, but he was determined to go on. ‘Thought I could convince her to talk to Joe at least, but when she said no…it just…’ he was out of breath.
‘I know. It’s been going round and round in my head all night. That Joe might be my father? There’s a chance that he is and he’s still alive… I feel like I want to tell him, have a test, maybe he is my father, but he doesn’t even know I exist.’
Brian gestured that she open the drawer beside his bed, afraid to talk in case it precipitated another bout of coughing. She opened it and, lying there among a few other personal effects, was a small notebook. He nodded and she handed it to him. She watched as his hands, bruised from all the needles, bony fingers covered in almost translucent skin, flicked through the pages until he came to an address. He handed it to her.
Joe McDaid.
14 Firgrove Lawn, Kiltipper Road, Dublin 24, and a phone number.
She looked at him. ‘But I can’t just show up, or ring him or whatever. He mightn’t want to hear from me at all…he doesn’t even know I exist, let alone that he might have some connection to me.’
‘Your choice.’ His breathing was laboured. ‘That’s where to find him if you want to. He’ll be here anyway soon enough when I die, so you can see him then.’ He lay back on the pillows, his complexion ashen and waxy; he looked so much worse than yesterday.
He was going downhill fast, but Sharif said that often happened. As a specialist in palliative care, he saw enough to be sure that once someone decided they had had enough of living, they could shut themselves down. Medicine from that point on could only keep someone alive artificially, once the spirit rests, then so too does the body. She had learned so much about life and death from Sharif, and he had very definite ideas about dignity and honesty around death and dying. Brian knew exactly the situation regarding his cancer and how aggressive it was. Sharif thought it condescending to lie or soften the truth of a person’s illness to them. It was their life, their body, not their child’s or spouse’s or whoever, and they had the right to decide for themselves. It often led to disagreements between him and families, but he was a committed advocate for his patient, nobody else. He also believed that people often needed to face their own death before they felt the need to resolve issues, and sometimes people never did and died at loggerheads with family, or having not put something right. But those that managed to right the wrongs, or say what they needed to say, seemed to then give themselves the leave to fade away. Sharif said it was almost tangible, that moment when the body says to the spirit, ‘You’re free to go.’
Brian’s eyes were closed and Carmel wondered if she should stay or go. This man was either her uncle or her brother. The reality of it hit her. She sat beside him and held his hand, gently giving him a squeeze, just so he’d know she was there. She might have imagined it, but she thought he squeezed hers back. Eventually, his laboured breathing became rhythmic and slow and she was sure he was sleeping, so she stood. The address book still lay on the bed. Before she had time to change her mind, she pulled out her phone and took a picture of the page, then she slipped out.
She worked all day and when she met Sharif in the corridor, he was rushing. He stopped and apologized again.
‘It’s okay, honestly. You’re flat out, I know you are. I’ll see you when you finish at home, okay?’ she squeezed his hand.
‘I’ve a locum in for me tonight, so I’ll be back by seven, I promise. Are you okay?’
She smiled at him, ‘I’m fine. See you later.’
The day passed quickly and she had little time to dwell on what Brian had said, until that evening as she watched the sun go down on the evening sky. She sipped a cup of tea in their courtyard and thought about her mother. The lavender and lilacs scented the summer’s evening. The day had been sunny, but the evening had a chilly breeze.
Sharif’s key in the lock at five past seven broke through her thoughts.
‘You feel cold.’ He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, and led her back inside. He sat beside her on the couch, drawing a blanket over both of them, her head on his shoulder.
She was grateful for the warmth, and she cuddled up to him, tucking her legs underneath her.
She told him the story Brian had shared with her and he didn’t interrupt, but let her speak.
Once she’d finished, he remained quiet, absorbing what he’d heard. Panic set into Carmel. Maybe she was wrong, and he was horrified by the circumstances of her conception on top of everything else and this was the last straw. Or maybe he was angry that she exerted Brian so much by asking him to tell her the story.
‘Sharif, I’m sorry…’ she had no idea how to reverse the last fifteen minutes and she could feel her entire life crumbling away. He turned to her, his dark eyes shining with unshed tears.
‘Why are you sorry? What for? You have done nothing…Oh, Carmel, my love, I wish I could take some of this burden for you, I really do.’ She’d never seen him so visibly upset. ‘And poor Dolly, carrying that pain all these years when that…man got away with it, and he wasn’t content with destroying her youth, her innocence, but he ensured his poison remained potent by making sure you never got a happy home. I’m frustrated to hear he’s dead; I would have liked to have confronted him. I’m not a violent man, Carmel, but I swear, I would like to hurt him. I would like for him to feel just a fraction of the pain he caused Dolly, and then you, my poor darling girl.’ He held her tightly, soothingly kissing her hair and rubbing her back. Relief flooded her senses, he was still there, he didn’t reject her.
Well into the night, they talked, weighing up the various options. He thought maybe she should write a letter to Joe, outlining the fact that he might be her father, she need say nothing about the rape, and see if he would agree to a DNA test. She could then take it from there. If Joe was her father, then she could tell him the whole truth, but if he wasn’t, then there was no point in destroying him with the knowledge of what his father did.
‘Apart from Brian, she never told a soul. But now, it’s out. She’s dead and so is Brian’s father, so that changes it. She didn’t want to tell Joe and maybe I should respect her wishes, but then there’s a chance that he’s my father. Or even my half-brother. I don’t know, Sharif, it’s all so confusing.’
‘Let it sit for a while, you’ll know what to do, you just need to be patient with yourself. Take your time.’
Chapter 11
Life went back to normal, and even though Joe was never far from her mind, she threw herself into her job. Sharif was right, the best thing to do was just to allow herself time to get used to the idea that her father might still be out there. Every time she sat down to write, she gave up. Her life was better than it ever was, she should leave well enough alone. Brian was fading all the time, but she popped in to see him most days. They didn’t talk about Joe or Dolly, he was too weak for anything more than hello really, but she liked just to sit with him. Tim visited every single day and she was careful to leave them alone together when he did. Every moment was precious now.
Twenty days after Brian was admitted to Aashna House, Sharif got paged just as they were going to bed. Brian was weakening, the night team was instructed that if he deteriorated, Dr Khan was to be called and Carmel went with him.
Knocking gently and then entering, they saw him lying propped up on pillows, no drips or lines in or out. He seemed peac
eful. A nurse was checking his chart.
‘Thanks, I’ll take over now,’ Sharif whispered.
‘His systolic b/p is at 66 and his diastolic b/p 44. Recurring apnea and cyanosis of lower extremities.’ She handed Sharif the chart and he looked at it.
‘No liquids since early morning?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ The nurse left and Carmel sat beside Brian and held his hand.
‘Should we call Tim?’
‘No. Brian told me three days ago he didn’t want him to see it; they’ve said their goodbyes…’
‘Hi, Brian,’ Carmel leaned in to whisper in his ear. ‘Carmel and Sharif are here now, and we’re going to stay with you, okay? You just relax and we’ll take care of you. You’re not on your own.’
There was no way of knowing for sure, but there was a chance that he could hear them, so they sat either side of the bed and spoke gently and soothingly to him, now and again. There was no need to administer any drugs. That time had passed. He’d had a morphine pump to manage the pain when he was drifting in and out of consciousness, but Sharif said he was one of the lucky ones, he seemed peaceful.
His eyes fluttered open for a moment.
‘Dolly…’ he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Suddenly, his face seemed to relax, he opened his eyes properly this time and they seemed to be fixed on the top corner of the room. His eyes widened and brightened and his face melted into a radiant smile as if he’d spotted someone he longed to see. The whole thing lasted mere seconds, and then he sighed deeply and was gone. Sharif stood and, after a few moments, checked Brian’s pulse and then shut his eyes.
Carmel went to the window and opened it and covered the mirror with a towel.
‘Why do you do that?’ Sharif asked quietly. ‘I’ve seen it in the Jewish culture but not in Christian families.’
‘I don’t know, it’s just what we do in Ireland. To let the spirit free I suppose, and we cover the mirrors so the soul of the departed doesn’t get trapped inside. Superstition, I know, but he was Irish and so am I, so…’ Carmel’s voice cracked with emotion. Though she only knew Brian a very short time, he had come to mean a lot to her. Sharif gave her a hug and wiped her tears with his thumbs. ‘I’m glad you met him, and he was able to tell you his story.’
‘Me too.’ She nodded and bent down to kiss Brian’s forehead.
Sharif took Brian’s medical notes and recorded the time of death, and went out to the office to make arrangements with the morgue.
Carmel looked down at the old man’s face, all cares and pain gone. He looked peaceful.
‘Thank you, Brian, Godspeed, and say hello to Dolly for me,” she whispered, patting the blankets around him.
The arrangements clicked into motion effortlessly, as they did on an almost daily basis in Aashna House. Each tradition was represented and respected, and every effort was made to give everyone a fitting send-off. That was a duty often falling to Nadia, to talk with the patient and determine what arrangements they would like. She was wonderful at it and it ensured there was rarely a conflict among family members as to how someone’s passing should be marked.
‘Will I call Tim?’ she asked as she entered the little office where Sharif was working.
‘Sure, he’s expecting it, but it’s still a shock.’
Carmel scrolled through her phone for the number. Then she stopped.
‘You know, Sharif, I think I might just take a taxi over there, tell him in person. I know we don’t normally do that, but I’d like to, is that okay?’
He looked up. ‘I’m sure he’d appreciate that; you can bring him back here with you and we can make whatever arrangements he wants. Brian asked me to inform his family back in Ireland, but it’s very early. Given the circumstances, I don’t know how much they know about his and Tim’s relationship. I think we can give Tim some time before involving the extended family. It’s four thirty a.m. now, so I’ll call them around eight. A few hours either way won’t make any difference.’
Carmel rang Tim’s mobile once the taxi dropped her outside the door.
‘Hello?’ Tim was instantly alert.
‘Tim, it’s Carmel, I’m outside your house.’
‘Oh…Oh, right…I see…’ He seemed flustered. ‘I’ll be right down.’
She waited and, after a few moments, she saw his shadow approach the door. He opened it and she stepped inside. He was dressed in pajamas and a brown checked robe and slippers. No words were necessary.
He just looked at her and she nodded slightly. Tim’s hand went to his face as he tried to process the news that the man he had loved for nearly fifty years was gone. Carmel put her arms around him and he allowed her to comfort him. Silent tears flowed and they just stood there in the hall.
‘He was so peaceful, no pain at all. And at the end, he smiled so happily, Tim, he called Dolly, I think he saw her…’
He released himself gently from her embrace. ‘I’m glad. They were as thick as thieves that pair, always laughing or conspiring about something. He told me that he filled you in on the story, it was their only point of argument; he wanted to tell his brother so badly.’
‘He did.’ They walked through to the lovely bright kitchen and Tim asked, ‘Will we have a cup of tea?’
‘We’re Irish, it’s what we do, isn’t it?’ she smiled.
Tim busied himself with the kettle and getting cups while she chatted. She had seen enough in the time she’d been at Aashna to know grief had many forms. No two people reacted to the death of a loved one in the same way. Sharif always allowed people the time and space to respond in their own way, so she tried to do the same.
Tim sighed. ‘I can’t believe he’s gone, I know that sounds stupid, he was in a hospice, and sick for so long but I just…’ His shoulders shook and Carmel went to him. She took the tea pot from him and put her arms around him. Her kindness seemed to open the floodgates. She just stood there, letting him cry.
Brian was laid out in the little chapel of rest in Aashna. Tim seemed reluctant to be there and, while she thought it a bit odd, she understood enough to let him do things his own way.
Standing beside his open coffin, she hoped the sense that she got in the room when he died, that he’d seen the faces of people he loved, was what really happened. She believed in that, and Dr Dyer, Oprah, and others often talked about it, and when she saw the pain and the deep lines on his face caused by the cancer almost smooth out in front of her face, she felt such a strong sensation that he was happy to go and that he wasn’t alone.
‘Carmel.’ She started, snapping out of her reverie to find Sharif at her shoulder.
‘Can you come home for a while…?’ She smiled, she loved the way he called their little apartment home. He’d moved in all his things and had given his apartment to a new Occupational Therapist he’d hired, so they were really living together now.
‘Sure, is everything okay?’ she walked beside him across the butter and gold coloured pebbles surrounding the chapel.
‘Yes, I just wanted to see you, have some time. It’s been so busy and with Brian, I just miss you.’ He held her hand as they approached the front door.
She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him as he put the key in the lock. ‘I love you, Sharif Khan, really, really love you.’
‘Of course you do, I’m fabulous.’ He grinned as she swatted him on the bum.
Putting the kettle on while she opened some post that was on the mat, he said, ‘There was one thing I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Go on…’ She was worried.
‘Well, in Brian’s living will, you know the thing people can write before they die outlining their preferences, he just asked that there be a simple Mass, no big fuss and that his brothers and sisters be informed. He has two sisters and two brothers living, I believe, so we have contacted them, made them aware of his death, and they are going to come over for the funeral, all four of them, I believe.’ She could see he was wary of telling he
r.
‘But shouldn’t Tim be doing that?’ She was surprised that job had fallen to Sharif.
‘Well, the thing is, I don’t think Brian’s family knew he was gay.’
Carmel nodded, it was making sense now. The way they were together, so united, but so private. It also explained why Tim was so reticent about coming to Aashna now; he was probably afraid of running into one of Brian’s family.
‘I see. Poor Tim, he can’t even be seen to grieve properly, it’s a hard situation.’
‘Well, yes, it is, but it’s their choice, so we just have to do what Brian wanted. I’m sure he and Tim talked about it, so…’ he shrugged.
‘You didn’t say anything to them about me or Dolly or…’
‘Of course not,’ he led her to the sofa. ‘That’s your story to tell, whether you decide to tell it or not is up to you. I just wanted you to know they are coming here on Tuesday; I didn’t want it to come as a shock.’
‘Okay…’ she didn’t know what to say. Joe was coming here, Dolly’s boyfriend and possibly her father.
‘Do I have to see them?’
Sharif smiled. ‘Carmel, you’re forty years old, you don’t have to do anything. If you want to go to Brian’s funeral as a member of Aashna House staff and not ever indicate to his family that your connection is anything more than that, then, of course, that’s what you must do. Or if you want to tell them who you are, and who your mother was, then that’s fine too. Whatever you wish is fine. I’ll be by your side all the time, you’ll be safe.’
His voice was so gentle. He understood her insecurities. Growing up in an institution, however benign, didn’t, she’d learned, equip you very well for the real world. She was so used to being told what to do and when to do it, first at Trinity House and then all those years with Bill and Julia, that she doubted the power of her own judgment. Sharif recognized that and was gently coaxing her into a life where she was the captain of her own ship.
‘Okay…thanks. I don’t know what is for the best, I mean, they’re grieving their brother, they won’t need me barging in on top of them.’
The Carmel Sheehan Story Page 14
