The half term holiday is on us like an avalanche.
.
As ever
I am overly ambitious.
.
Despite diminished bandwidth
I plan a weekend juggling scout camp with football tournaments and sleepovers
followed by more camping
a driving tour of Kent
and a late night in London.
.
The car is crammed
with kit
and clothes
and books.
Oozing equipment
like an over-filled fajita.
.
How is that possible with one less person?
Maybe you weren’t the one overpacking after all.
.
I cut a forlorn figure at family scout camp.
.
A moment of joy:
There is an award for the scout who over the course of the weekend went out of their way to help others without thought of recognition.
To his utter astonishment
Arthur wins it.
To me
it is a delight
but not a surprise.
.
On arrival at the next campsite
we assemble ourselves
for the first time
as a quartet.
.
Audrey
like Wendy
corralling this gaggle of lost boys she’s been left with.
.
We shop.
Everything comes in packets of four.
Did we always have one too few or three too many?
.
Later in the week
Orson
bravely trying out for the district football team
having been invited as one of only 50 in the area
asks me
Will you be mad if I don’t get through?
.
Then a Friday night in Margate
where the sea batters the broken lido
and we eat New York style pizza
after playing penny arcades
riding Dreamland rollercoasters
and falling around the roller disco.
.
We finish watching Race Across The World
whilst ambling around Kent.
.
And as we unpack
and repack
and swim
and cook
and drive
and play
.
via the cross words
and laughter
and tantrums
(mainly mine)
and quiet
.
I realise I am
in part
testing myself.
.
Pushing myself
to find out
if we can do it
as a four.
.
Because we have to.
And I need to know we can.
.
Like a toddler
I begin to unravel
without my routine.
.
I call on them for support.
Telling them they have to step up now.
Grow up.
Help.
I have to check myself more than once:
they’re children, George.
.
Oh baby.
Where are you?
.
Finally
we arrive at the week’s climax
dirty
and sleep-deprived.
.
A concert
planned months ago
to raise money for your treatment.
An original cast reunion of the show you produced not long after we were engaged to be married.
.
The story of German teenagers experiencing sexual awakening at the turn of the last century reimagined through the medium of a rock musical.
.
Now a fundraiser for our children
and a tribute to you.
.
I listen for the lyrics that give voice to my feelings.
.
A shadow passed
A shadow passed
Yearning yearning.
.
All things we never did
Are left behind.
.
The central part you played in bringing this show to life is remembered.
.
Those you’ve known
And lost
Still walk behind you.
.
A story about how the social sharing of your symptoms saved the life of a cast member.
.
All alone
They linger til they find you
Without them
The world grows dark around you
And nothing is the same
Until you know
That they have found you.
.
Familiar faces from your life surround us
our colleagues
family and
friends.
.
Still you know they fill your heart and mind
When they say
There’s a way
Through this.
.
And whilst at the end of a long half term week I could probably have done without having to explain suicide, masturbation, sex, contraception and abortion twice over in hushed public whispers to a pair of sweet-filled over-tired 9-year-olds, I think, on balance, that I am glad our children got to see and hear a little more of the impact you have had on this world.
.
For me
it is too soon.
Wounds barely begun to heal are ripped apart anew.
.
A shadow passed.
A shadow passed.
.
And so
I fail to feel you walk behind me
I see no way through this
no Purple Summer.
Too parched for a Spring Awakening.
.
I find myself instead
in the words of the show’s notorious post-interval hit:
Previous > On Coping #40: Slowly becoming parched | Next > On Coping #42: Dear Pilgrims Hospice
On Coping is my story of surviving on the sidelines of cancer.
It begins in March 2022 with On Coping #1, written the day after my 41st birthday. The day my wife Imogen, the mother of my three children, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
On Coping is the story of what happened next.
Reading this in my garden with a cuppa before the rest of the family wakes up and you’ve made me laugh out loud and smile.
George, you are doing grand as a pack of four, lean into it. The good, the bad and totally fucked bits too. And what a funny story it’ll be one day as adults to remind them of when they first learnt about all those very grown up things and how you had to explain in hushed whispers. I think Imogen would find that very funny.
As always, thank you for being so vulnerable with your words. It helps us all. Much love to you four beautiful people xx
George, words fail me. But they certainly don’t fail you. Such highs and such lows. But you are all doing incredibly well putting one foot in front of the other. And quite often doing a hell of a lot better than that. X