When You Think It Is Safe To Pick Up The Washing
It Is Now!!
My solitude is broken by the yelp
of a stubbed toe a ‘Bloody Hell’ and stomping of a rushed wakening. I sip the
last of my coffee and take a deep breath and brace myself.
I wonder - as I hear his mobile
go off, if I should just sit here and then I giggle at the ‘Shit’ that sharply
punctures my solitude bubble, then expletives follow robustly as I hear the
clank of the phone on porcelain. I take a deep breath and close my eyes and
hope ‘please let it be on the outside and not inside the pan’. As there are no
more blaspheming or stomping or shouts for mum, I think it is safe to come out
of the office, my bright room at the top of our house. I look on the breezy yet
warm scene out of the window at the waving corn and remember past summer holidays
of days out, seaside, farms and zoo’s and wonder how this child of mine ever made
it to be a man.
‘Mum’ He shouts as he runs downstairs and into the kitchen. ‘Got it’
he stomps back upstairs. ‘Mum, mum!’
‘I’m in the office’ He pokes his ruffled head through the door.
‘Anything you want us to take to nana and granddads?’
‘Nope, was that Rose on the phone?’
‘Yep, she’s on her way home. I’ll have breakfast and then we will get
going.’
Front door opens and a whirlwind zips through the house, hairbrush,
makeup and perfume are applied with expert hands and I remember the feel of the
little hands that used to grab mine.
They both pounce on their little brother’s bed who squeals in delight
and they make fun of his breaking voice.
‘You alright’ I can hear their regret and their guilt.
‘Yep, what time are you coming home?’ Angus asks. They look across at
me.
‘They will be gone all day love and you need to keep your head back,
you have already had two nose bleeds this morning.’
Nothing else is said and soon the door slams and I ring my mum and dad
to say they are on their way. The excitement in my parent’s voice thrills and
their sadness touches me. They ask how Angus is and we chat a little, and I
miss them. I remember my little hand in my dad’s strong hand, how he used to squeeze
mine to reassure me.
I go to take Angus’s heart rate
and it hits the roof as he sits up. He squeezes my hand and I feel his warmth
and support.
‘It’s alright mum, I don’t mind.’
He reassures me, as he lies back down before he passes out. ‘We have plenty to
do. Fancy a shooting match with the nerf guns.’ I smile and nod as I pick up
some washing from the floor. I hear the whistle of the soft pellet before I
feel the sting and I laugh as I pick up the hidden self-loading toy gun and
shoot around him with the fifteen shots.
I look at his big broad smile and
I know we have to make the best of life we have. I just wish this is not all we
have though and one day and one day soon, that smile would be able to shine
once again in a free and easy time.
25,000 children in the UK with ME and their
families have to face life like this. Any chronic illness needs support and not
all disabilities are wheelchair users.
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