Sitting with Leslie

I wake at six to use the loo and then sleep until eight o'clock. When I let Normy out into the garden, it is to a grey, dull day, yesterday's bright sunshine hidden behind a blanket of low cloud. Norman has Baker's for breakfast and a little of my smoked salmon, as I make rye toast, with cream cheese and smoked salmon for breakfast. Afterwards I take my coffee into the Garden Room and listen to the news, Cardinal O'Brian has admitted to inappropriate sexual behaviour and withdrawn from public life with immediate effect. It seems obvious now that he is gay, and this makes his recent outbursts against homosexuality and equal marriage, all the more bizarre. He is someone who has tried to deny and hide his sexuality, with mixed results, in order to rise up the hierarchy of the very church whose doctrine is oppressing him. It is utterly tragic and totally unnecessary. The world is looking to Rome as they choose a new Pope for signs of real reform. After showering and dressing, I take Norman for a quick walk before Mass, there is still a cold wind, but it is coming from the southeast now, so our weather is about to change. Parking down North Bar Within on a Sunday morning is like Hell, you can't get in because of all the other Catholics! Just as I am starting to despair, someone pulls out, who has been to the nine o'clock service and I am able to squeeze into their space, which is about fifty yards from Sarah's house. Louis left his Spider-Man watch in my pocket yesterday, so I call in to return it to him, they are all getting ready to go out and poor Sarah can hardly speak, due to Laryngitis, although she says she doesn't feel too bad, otherwise. I have to leave after five minutes and walk a few doors further down to Saint John's, where I take my usual pew, compose myself and then pray for a few minutes before Mass. Leslie, takes a special place in my prayers, as does Pip's mum, who is also reported to be approaching the end. It is a good service, Father Roy gives a nice sermon, the gist of which, is about having less pride, more humility and greater trust in God. He seems to have made a good recovery from his illness and the radio and chemotherapy he has recently undergone, I don't agree necessarily with his position on certain matters, but I have huge affection and respect for his courage and compassion. The deadliest of all diseases is cancer of the soul, its symptoms are self pity and anger at the apparent injustices that we feel are heaped upon us. I don't think Roy is ever likely to succumb to that. After church, I call at Tesco, as I need fresh Basil, more extra virgin olive oil and grandad pop, for Louis. When I get in, Normy is waiting for Lunch, so I pour some more Baker's into his bowl and then make a pot of tea, which I leave to mash, while I peel the red bell peppers that I roasted last night. Once this is done, they are cut into thick slices and marinated in a jar with fresh Basil and olive oil. I eat a couple of scones with my tea and then construct my vegetarian Parmagianna, the mashed red kidney bean and tomato sauce, was ready when I came in and so was switched off. It is now cool enough to layer into a terracotta bowl, between slices of aubergine and grated Mozarella, with a generous sprinkling of fresh Basil leaves between each stratum. My final task is to whip up a Bechamel sauce, with which to top the dish, and sprinkle this generously with freshly grated nutmeg, before storing it in the fridge to allow the flavours to develop overnight, before baking it tomorrow. It is now a quarter to two, so after letting Normy clean out the slow cooker bowl, we take a walk round the village, and then I load him into the back of the Chrysler and we set off to visit Leslie. I have grown to like the quiet, winding road, through the village of Wawne and North Hull. For four miles there is very little traffic and it is impossible to drive quickly, as there is no single stretch longer than a hundred yards without a bend. When we arrive at Mark's flats in Linnaeus street, I leave Norman sleeping on the back seat of the car and then walk the short distance to the hospital and then take the lift to the seventh floor. After washing my hands, I make my way to the office and enquire after Leslie, and am told that there is no change, so I say that I wish to sit with him for an hour, and then make my way to his bedside. My poor old friend is lying in a foetal position, on his left hand side, all medication has been withdrawn now and he is only being given oxygen in order to help him breathe. After fetching a plastic stacking chair, I sit down by his bedside, and hold his hand through the protective rails around the bed side. His mouth is open, his breathing quick and shallow, and on his bedside cabinet there are little lollipops of foam, which are used by the nurses to moisten his mouth and lips. His lips look dry, so I take a lollipop, dip it in the water and moisten his lips with it. This causes him to open his eyes and I tell him I have come to see him, but I am unsure whether he is able to register my presence. The only thing to do with a dying friend, is to hold his hand and pray for him. The ritual of the Rosary is comforting, particularly when we come face to face with the unknown, it gives me something positive to do and whether it is the prayer, the hand holding, or both, Leslie's breathing becomes easier. I pray that he dies while I am here to hold his hand, but it mustn't be his time yet. After half an hour, a nurse approaches me and says they wish to move him to a different room, so I take the opportunity to use the toilet and by the time I return, he has been moved to a larger room and his bed is next to the window. I sit with him for another half hour and continue to stroke his hand and pray, until it is time to leave and then I kiss him on the forehead before I go. We may not meet again in this world, but the process of dying, though inexorable, is also unpredictable, and If he survives until Tuesday, I will come back. The experience and the prayer has left me feeling very quiet and calm, so I drive home slowly, text Leslie's daughter, when I get in, to let her know that her father is pain free and then feed Norman, before meditating for an hour. I surface from the meditation with the conviction that a lot of the frenetic activity that we tend to cram into our lives, is in no small part, due to a fear of death. The existential anxiety, unique to humans, of knowing that we are certain to die. Yet in the presence of death there is nothing to fear, it is a natural process and whether you believe in God or not, every thing that has ever been born, from the first bacteria billions of years ago, to the present day has died. That is the deal, being born is a death sentence, but one well worth serving. Viewed close up, a natural death is not to be feared. Leslie's daughter phones before dinner and I try to reassure her, but not unnaturally, she just wishes the whole thing was over. On recommendation from my brother Graham, tonight's dinner is fresh herring, fried in oatmeal, with fried potatoes and a tossed salad. As I eat it, I recollect having the same dish, almost fifty years ago. In 1966, there was a very poor and very late grape harvest, in the Moselle Valley in Germany, and soldiers were asked to volunteer. Three friends and I picked grapes for a family called Jungling, near Bernkastel, and Frau Jungling would serve herrings with fried potatoes and salad, hers weren't dipped in oatmeal though, which I think is an improvement. After dinner, Normy sits on my knee while I wrestle with a particularly intransigent, killer sudoku. Around eight o'clock Sarah phones to ask if I will look after Alice and Louis if she goes for a long weekend to Richard's villa in Portugal during the last week in April. It is only four days, and the children are at school for two of those, so I tell my daughter that I don't mind at all. Later she tells me that her Nana, my mother in law, has been taken back into hospital in York with a chest infection. She is eighty five years old and a lifelong asthmatic, so her chances aren't good. After Sarah rings off, the sudoku finally succumbs, I let Normy out for his final toilet and then turn in around eleven.