My cousin Patrick, who has been so sick this past year with a lung cancer that insidiously worked it's way into other parts of his body, passed on yesterday. Thankfully for him, the heart-attack that ended him took him peacefully, and quickly. Family were around him - my mother and father, who were so good to him all his life, and his mother Nora and sister Rosie, both of whom live in Ireland. His other family - Anna, Joseph and Bernie - live in London and couldn't be with him, but Anna and Joseph are now home. At least they got to see him recently, when he was well enough to say some words. So, Patrick didn't die alone, which I am happy for, despite all my sadness - he disliked being alone in life, and it comforts me that he didn't have to be alone, especially in death.
And he wasn't alone in life. He had a huge family who cared about him deeply. I will always remember him in our kitchen - for that's where he spent such a large amount of his time. Oblivious to certain things - like my Mam and Dad raging a row together in front of him - it would all just wash over him. And I'll always remember him with my Gran. When she was at her worst, and unable to recognise any of us (before she had the operation that gave her one perfect year of knowing us all, and enjoying a pain-free life, before she died), and Patrick would just sit with her in the kitchen, drinking his tea.
Before he moved back to Ireland - always his home, I think, despite being born in London - I will always remember his constant generosity to us as children. Coming home for visits, and never forgetting the big bag of Toblerones and Smarties (before my anti-Nestle crusade) from Dublin Airport. Or Christmas time, when he always remembered that I was the bookworm, and always got me a book of poetry or a novel. And not one of our birthdays ever went unnoticed.
Having kids around him always seemed to make Patrick happiest. When we were smaller, he was always there - sometimes impatient, but mostly happily involved in our lives. Then we grew up, and he got nieces and nephews, but we were still never forgotten in our grown-up (well, we thought we were grown up!) lives - Christmas and birthdays still brought a card and notice from Patrick. Then my brother and sister had kids, and they flocked to him too - sensing his innocence and patience as only children really can. So, some of my new memories involve Patrick in the back room of our house, with Ben, David and Kyle in front of him, intent in their own little world of a game, and handing him things to hold as they bustled around him, making him a part of their game. And Patrick serious and focused, taking their world seriously, and they knew it. Or Abby, dribbling and unable to walk yet, pulling herself into a wobbly standing position against his knees, and slamming a fat, filthy hand onto his leg - and Patrick never worried about the dirt.
So, despite times when I got frustrated at Patrick (as we do with everyone in life at some stage), my overriding feeling is that he knew we loved him, and we did. And I saw him happy in life, as I hope he continues to be. He died with his family around him, and I hope he knew that. I'm sure he did.
To Patrick
Always there. Always.
When I was too young to know it,
apart from those airport sweets
(duty free bag big enough
to hold a seperate gift
for every one of us,
with your always-ready smile,
as we welcomed you home).
Then, when I was too old
to appreciate it.
The constant attention -
birthdays, Christmas -
we were never forgotten,
and I promise you won't be either.
Your love and care for us
a replacement for children,
if you could have had them.
Now, I am older.
I have become as adult as you.
I walked with you
(no longer the annoying
constant-chatter
ten-year-old
who used to sit in the front seat
as you drove across the Wicklow mountains)
Talked with you.
And knew your worries far more than ever
(indirectly, of course. To you,
I'm sure,
I was forever the snotty-nosed
know-it-all.
But I think you liked me, all the same)
And I saw you get sick.
I saw you get sicker.
But I never saw you now,
when I can't be there.
Lying in hospital, and I?
Far away.
I regret so much my bouts of frustration
- frustration at you, as I promised
I'd never do again.
You were always there.
And you came to Ireland,
settled here far better
than you ever did in that land,
that seemed so foreign to you
(was foreign to you).
So, I saw you happy, too.
Saw you happy at family dinners,
happy when your nieces and nephews
crowded round you
- sensing your kindness and patience
as much as we all had
(now we're grown, and it's harder
to remember
why it is you have always been there)
Happy when you walked the hills,
rain, sleet and snow,
and happy when you sat with friends.
So, goodbye.
I'm so far away,
I hope you can hear it.
And I hope that, someday,
I see you happy again.
12 January 2008
Rest in Peace, Patrick. I will really miss you in my life.
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