Solace

It's been about two years since we first found out. I cried a lot in
the beginning, but life is inevitable and indescriminate. A lot like
death I suppose.

Today has been a particularly grueling day for me. Probably because
for once I'm not up to my eyeballs in work. Sundays. Too much time to
think.

I took her breakfast up. Nothing fancy...just cornflakes and coffee.
She was asleep, she does a lot of that these days. Either the pain is
too much or the drugs dope her out. I can't wake her, even though I
know she needs to eat. I just leave the tray and creep
downstairs.

A few hours and a lot of cigarettes later I go back up. She's awake.
Good. But she hasn't touched the food...I didn't really think she
would.

She's so pale and fragile looking these days. I guess a part of that
might be the hair. It's starting to grow back on her head, but it all
adds to the whole terminal look. The bruises on her arms from the blood
tests, the totally hairless body and the perminant look of exhastion in
her eyes.

I should tell you that the cancer's not terminal. Not yet. At least
we've never been told that point blank. But after radio and chemo and
drugs galore, and when the lumps keep comming back and you see how hard
it is for her to walk from one room to the next you stop kidding
yourself.

My mother is going to die. Sooner, not later.
And there's nothing I can do but watch.

I watched her labour to breathe and struggle to sit up. After about
five minutes she managed to sit on the side of the bed. It's about all
she can do. She dropped her head into her hands and tried to keep
breathing. I didn't offer to help, she wouldn't like that. It'll come
to that, but not yet. She still has some dignity left.

I made a joke and was rewarded with a small smile. I never realised
that your heart breaking was such a quiet thing. I don't think I can
put into words how much I love this woman. Or just how it feels to be
unable to do a damn thing to help except bring her food she doesn't
eat.

I'm trying to run her business. What a joke. I don't know what the
hell I'm doing. I'm trying so hard and I'm so tired. But I can't help
thinking I'm letting her down.

I had to get out. In times of great stress I've always been able to
fall back on a dreamworld for escapism. But not today. Today I feel
like I'm dying too.

The tears started to form, even as they are now.

But I don't want anyone to see. They can't know how bad she really is.
That pain is reserved for only me.

I started to walk. Don't know where I was going. But the familiar walk
of my childhood led me to the station and up the hill.

There it stood. Tall and grey and imposing, as if it had an omnipotent
conciousness all its own. It's just a building. Sure I spent a lot of
time there as a kid, but Hell, I don't even believe any more.

Seven years of questions, seven years of procrastinations, seven years
of lazyness. Until the day of emancipation when I knew it was just my
upbringing, the beliefs of my family force fed me from birth. It wasn't
faith. It was hypocrasy. I don't need God and I don't need the Catholic
Church and I'm sure it was just the tears blinding me that led me
inside.

The smell. So familiar. There's the lecturn that I read from at my
confirmation. The door to the back where I used to help out in the
creche. My mother used to march all five of us down to the very front
row.
I sat right at the back. My view obscured by a big white pillar. No one
would see me here.

The tears coursed unchecked down my cheeks. As the people began to
filter in I slunk further back in my seat. What the hell was I doing
here? I havn't been to Mass for seven years, I don't believe in
communion, or even God. Still I stayed.

A family filed in in front of me. I started to panic. I wanted
annominity, what about the sign of peace?...I'd have to shake
hands...maybe I should go. I don't belong here.

Too late.

I didn't stand up when the priest came in. The responses came unbidden
to my head as if I'd never stopped coming to church but I didn't join
in. I just sat and cried quietly, alone in my misery.

But I listned. Slowly the words started to filter through. Father was
talking about the trinity and the importance of strong family bonds.
The tears leaked a bit more. Then a woman stood up and asked us to pray
for the sick in our community, and for their families.
I really wish she hadn't done that...I was getting strange looks
now...

All of a sudden it didn't seem to matter that I wasn't practicing
catholicism. I know the words, they're imprinted on my brain. I rose
and kneeled and spoke and sung and even went up for a blessing.

Afterwards I lit a candle for my Mum. She'd like that. She'd be glad I
went to Mass. But I didn't go for her. I don't know why I went, perhaps
to try and recapture a childhood of beliefs. In God, and the Church and
in parents who were always there.

I tried to slip out the back but Father saw me.

"How's Mummy?" he asked.

I tried to say, "She's fine", but it didn't come out.

The priest, who hasn't seen me in his church since I left school, put
his arms around me and let me sob my heart out onto his shoulder.
I told him I felt a fraud for comming to church, but he just smiled and
said I was a good person and that he was there anytime. I know he won't
hate me if I don't go again.

I was thinking of going next Sunday, but I know I probably won't.

Back home, back upstairs. She's going to eat something, suddenly I feel
much better.
I didn't tell her I went to Mass. It was a private thing, and besides,
I'm still not a Catholic..am I?

Still I'm glad my feet led me to the church on the hill. It was a
cathartic experience in many ways. I learned, I think, that if I'm
seeking solace I'll have to look within.

But at least I know now, that I don't always have to cope alone. God
may not exist, but there are people out there who are willing to listen
and to comfort.

I guess maybe I have found a sort of solace after all.