Coping

            Then there's this business of going to the cemetery. Talking to the plot of earth, as though it's your dad. Feeling like he's there, and listening. I don't think I spoke that much to him when he was alive. I tried not to worry him about things, then. I didn't ask his advice about a lot while he was alive. It was enough for me to know he was there. I try to picture him below the soil; and when I do, I try to picture him as he was before he went into the hospital. With his flat cap on, and his ironical smile at things he found ridiculous. Ineveitably, though, I remember how he was in the hospital, in that week or so when he gained consciousness again. Thin, tired, and scared. Unable to speak, move. He couldn't even write. And his eyes filled with fear. Wanting to go home and do something normal again. I thank God he's been spared any more of that.

            There is a part of me, though, which feels like he never got a proper retirement. He was in his early 70s when he died. People are living until their 90s now. And after he officially retired, he started working again. Part time at first, but then spending more and more time at work, even when he wasn't being paid. Never relaxing. Although, towards the end, my wife got him reading again, and he began to devour the classics. He began opening up to us about his past, more than he ever had before. Perhaps he felt now that somebody was listening.

            I think he was a remarkable man who ended up trapped, by one thing and another. Had circumstances been different...well, that's true of a lot of us, isn't it? Perhaps everybody in the world. But I do think his life could have been happier.

            I've been feeling wretched in the mornings. Dragging myself out of bed. But even when I'm up, I find it hard to get going. I make myself breakfast, put a DVD on...and then I can't drag myself away. I want one more minute, one more, just one more. I don't know why fiction should mean so much to me. And this is only James Bond or Doctor Who I'm talking about. I want to lose myself in something. I don't want the doctor prescribing stronger ant-depressants; I was trying to get off the ones I was already on. Dozing off on the train to work- I never used to do that. Never feeling like I'm getting enough sleep.

            I never seem to get to work on time, no matter how early I get up. And I know that I'm dragging it out, dragging it out. I've got a horror of going to the bathroom and getting washed. I DO go the bathroom and have a wash, you'll be glad to hear. I love taking baths. What I mean is, washing, shaving, brushing my teeth with the feeling of the clock ticking. Hoping to God that all the trains are running. They haven't said anything at work. They've been marvellous there, actually. But I know that they're covering for me, and that's not what I want.