fatherhood
Tey say your whole life flashes before your eyes the moment before you die. Tom had only really seen the insides of his own eyelids
every step, I grew. By the time I laid him on the plinth at the altar I was King Kong in a black suit. I was Godzilla, Superman, my dad, Muhammad Ali and that giant fire- breathing rock ‘n’ roll star in stack heels and a studded codpiece – all rolled into one. Despite my optimism from that first day I saw them wheel Tom out of that operating theatre, this was the natural conclusion. Back then I could do nothing for him except hope, pray and love. Now I was there for him. One friend told me much later that she had turned round to see me and instantly wished she hadn’t. But I wanted them all to see me. Tis would be the only time anyone would get to see me with my boy. I was back on stage. I was THE man and Tom was THE boy: together we ruled the world. So much came out of me that day, but it
meaningful for him, save for saddling him with Catholic Guilt. I had to carry him. It was the last chance that I would have to do something for him. Every day Sam and Ellie asked me to pick them up. Every day I picked them up without being asked. Every day I would hold them, carry them and feel honoured for being able to do so. But this was the last time I would hold, carry or hug Tom and I was going to make the most of it – even if he was in a plywood babygro. With
wasn’t just tears. Te feelings of joy for Tom, that he really is in paradise, humility that my baby boy has touched so many people, happiness that so many people care enough about the four/five of us that they wanted to be there, relief that the limbo period is over and that we don’t have to worry about our baby any more, delight at the money raised for the hospital, pride that I was the one that carried him, love for Katie, Sam and Ellie; an
unfathomable sense of loss and a feeling of dignity about our boy’s exit from the world – no tubes, no wires, just a baby. As my mum said goodbye to the last person to leave the wake, a huge weight was liſted. I didn’t know what to expect next. It just felt
flat. You know that feeling that you had as a kid when it was about half an hour before bedtime on your birthday? – all your friends have gone, all the food has been stuffed and you want something, anything to happen, but you know that when you wake up in the morning it will all be over and everyone will be getting back on with their lives. I knew that this was the time to do what a
dad had to do. As I grabbed my helmet and keys Katie knew where I was off to. She smiled that smile and gave me a hug. I don’t know if those Upmann Cigars are
all they are cracked up to be. As I unscrewed the lid they smelt like they were good. I looked around. Grandma to the leſt of me, Grandma to the right of me and I was stuck in the middle with Tom. I didn’t want anyone else with me. Tis was a time for father and son. But as I drew on that Cuban fat one, the cemetery was suddenly filled with my friends. Everyone I have ever known was there. I chewed and spat out the end. And as I sparked that deep brown tobacco it was like the smoking of the five thousand – everyone suddenly had a cigar. I was all alone in the boneyard, yet you couldn’t move for people. Tey were all here for me. Asking me how I was. Tey were there to pay their respects to a boy who touched more people during each of his forty-two days than forty-two regular people could do over forty-two lots of their usual lifetime. I was there with my boy. Tat night we celebrated his first birthday. I saw him off on his first day at school. He took his first communion. He told me about his first girlfriend. We shared our first pint. I gave him his eighteenth birthday present. I filled with pride. He got married. He introduced me to his first son and I driſted away, high above our guests as my boy read the eulogy at his old man’s funeral. He told the story of this night, when he smoked Cuban cigars with his dad … his dad and best friend. To the Mighty Tom. „
Summer 2016 MODERNMUM 21
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