“Suddenly, you were gone, from all the lives you left your mark upon…”
It’s a funny old thing, time. I mean, one minute it is early January and I’d just started this particular blog post, and I do mean so early in the month that I hadn’t even broken a resolution yet, and the next thing you know it’ s the middle of November and I still hadn’t finished it. In the intervening months, many things have happened, some good, some not so good and some terrible.
I’ll start with the good – in January I got a new job. My previous job, when I was in the office, was a one and a half hour each way commute at the minimum. If there was any event on the M6, this could double and there were some days where I left home before the boys got up and arrived home long after they had gone to sleep. When I wasn’t in the office and was out seeing customers, often the travel times were longer and it meant nights away from home and my boys. My new job, working for an Irish company, meant some travel to Ireland, a country that I love and the home of Guinness, which just happens to be my favourite tipple, but it also meant that most of the time I would be around to see the boys far more. The concentration on the new job kind of took my time away of writing the rubbish that I do.
Next, the terrible – the boys lost a Grandpa: Mrs Aitchworld’s father. Deep down we know it won’t be the case, but we somehow expect our parents to be there forever; the realisation this isn’t true hits like a ten tonne heavy thing when it does happen. At the age of just 73, this shouldn’t really have happened to Henry and Arthur’s Grandpa. Cancer is a bastard.
The boys don’t fully understand of course. They saw Grandpa nearly every day near to the end of his life. In the final stages of the bastard taking it’s toll on him, confined to his bed and incredibly fatigued, the boys would say “Grandpa sleeping”. After he had died, they went looking for him in his room. We didn’t know what to tell them, so we told Henry and Arthur that he had gone up to the sky to be a star. Every now and again, seemingly at random, Henry will say “Grandpa’s gone to be a star”.
I’ve outlined previously how I used to be pretty much emotionally barren. This did change somewhat after the boys were born, but I thought I was reverting back to type, with very few things upsetting me, other than odd things, the strangest being a piece of music in Nora and Nelly that to this day I cannot listen to without welling up. The impact of my father in law’s death, I thought, seemed to be minimal upon me and I accepted it completely as a matter of fact. The reality was more that it was a delayed shock. Even acting as one of the pall bearers at his funeral I felt the same way. Then I saw the order of service, with David, my father in law’s picture on it, and the tears started to flow.
They haven’t really stopped either and I find myself weeping at all manner of things. Strangely Henry is usually the catalyst – he is the sweetest, most caring little two and a half year old I have ever encountered, so much so it sometimes overwhelms me.
Take today for an example. The boys were taking a break watching my Wall-E DVD in their playroom. Mrs Aitchworld produced a fine picnic lunch for me and the boys and we were eating it in front of the telly, having a thoroughly agreeable Sunday.
On the screen, the scene played where Wall E and Eva appeared to kiss. I felt a sentimental lump in my throat. At this exact moment, Henry tipped his Smarties out into the middle of my squid rings. Immediately he fished out two brown ones and rather than ramming his sweets into his mouth, he handed them to me. “Here you go Daddy: they’re brown like your car”.
Tears rolled. Henry noticed. “Daddy sad!” He gave me a hug. I sobbed. And I’ve felt like I’m on an emotional knife edge for the rest of the day. I could go either way at any given moment. If Henry had have said “Grandpa’s a star as he gazed at the luminous plastic tat that is stuck to their ceiling when they went to bed tonight, I would have required re-hydration salts. As it is, I sat in the nursing chair still in their room to keep them company as they drifted off to sleep. They like that. I also had a little weep in the dark.
Sad news, but on a much lesser scale, I sold my beloved classic car, a 1993 Ford Sierra Sapphire Cosworth. Apparently. Jimmy Nail fans and Spender anoraks will understand completely when I say “it’s a beast”. I bought it, two weeks before their birth, with the romantic notion that I would take the boys to lots of car shows and bond with them over an old Volvo or something. The reality was that I did just a few hundred miles in a couple of years in it and every time I had to get it MOT’d the brakes were seized through lack of use. It was time for it to go.
To replace it, I bought a camper van. Sort of. What I actually bought was an abandoned project. It is a 2006 VW Transporter. I bought it insulated, with a nice lino floor fitted, a pop top roof and a couple of windows. But behind the row of front seats, it was empty. Windows have been put in the back doors, rear seats have been put in and the framework for the kitchenette and dining/second sleeping area is starting to go in. Many hundreds of pounds have been spent on all of the equipment needed to do this. Time, again, is the limiting factor.
My new job working from home with the fancy car (well, another brown Volvo)? Well that lasted less than six months and I became a casualty of economics. I didn’t care about the job – I actually hated it and knew I’d made a big mistake a few weeks in; it was poles apart from what was promised to me, but the loss of the Volvo was a bit of a kick in the teeth. I got a new job within a few days, based just a few miles from home, although it doesn’t come with a company car. I vacillated between buying a large Volvo and a large Land Rover, before going out and purchasing a Mini. Henry is over the moon. He loves Minis.
All of which random rambling brings me to my point. Or at least my starting point. The boys had their second birthday in March. This is an age other parents refer to as “the terrible twos”. Well, I may be tempting fate here, but I’m calling bullshit on that. I’m thoroughly enjoying this age. Throughout their life, I’ve not been wishing it away as such, but I’ve certainly been searching for the next milestone.
Soon after the boys were born, we were hoping for their first smile, their first clutch of a finger, then longer periods between feeds and so on. This soon turned into waiting for them to roll, then crawl, then walk, along the way saying their first few words. Each step along the way the boys have been leapfrogging each other with their developments, Henry doing something first before Arthur, then Arthur being the first of them to do something else.
While all of this was going on, and before they could really speak properly, I worried (as much as I ever worry; it isn’t something I waste a lot of energy or time on as it achieves nothing) about how I was going to teach them various concepts. Stuff like day and night – how would you explain it to someone with no concept of such a notion? But you know what? They just get it.
I don’t know how they have picked up what they have, but they have gone from knowing nothing, to being a lot brighter and intelligent than some adults I have encountered. The pair of them are like super-sponges, absorbing information like some sort of a giant vortex. It’s both fascinating and beautiful to watch.
For the first time since the boys were born, I am not wishing for the next developmental leap. I’m not wanting the next stage, whatever that is, to happen anytime soon. Just for a while, I’d like to freeze this moment a little bit longer. Time stand still.