A Kind Cure.......

Suffer the Little Children…..

"What the hell are you doing Peter - you look like you have been dragged five miles through a hedgerow - what's your problem?"   I could not believe my eyes when I saw my son. It was now almost 2pm on Boxing Day, and he was still wearing his pajamas.

"Have you been on a bender all over Christmas?" I asked even though there was no evidence of the fact. "No Dad" he said in a low, slow voice "it's the tenth anniversary - you know, since Jane died. I still feel the pain". "Look" I said knowing exactly how he felt "I've been there, but this is no good Pete. You have got to move on. Life is for living. Do you understand me? It’s about time we did something about it". "And what do you suggest?" he answered almost in a whisper.

"Watch your step, young man" I said sternly as he was beginning to annoy me with his self-pity. "You are not the first to go through it and as sure as eggs are eggs, you surely won't be the last. Now come on, move yourself and get changed. I know exactly what we are going to do".

Peter got up and scratched. "Come on, move", I encouraged him. He made the way to his bedroom where, once he began to get undressed, I left him and ran the shower. Moments later, he was having a good clean-up and shave and ten minutes later, he looked a little like his old neat self.  He dressed quickly and we moved back downstairs.

"Listen to me Pete" I urged, "sometimes doing something is worse than doing nothing, but what we are going to do to-day, will, I guarantee you, put things into perspective". "No parties Dad" he pleaded, "I don't want to be in a crowd. I don't think I could take it". "No, you twit" I joked "it's something we should have done a few years back. Today, you  have a chance to rejoin the human race for a few hours".

We got into my car and I drove us away from his street and made our way down to the East End. We parked in the Hospital Car Park, which was free for a change. In this area, any cash boxes in the ticket machines wouldn't last less than ten minutes. "Who's sick Dad" Peter asked "not Mom, is she?" he asked with a little panic in his voice.

Since it had happened all those years ago, he had a dread of hospitals. I wasn't much better. "Don't worry sunshine - no problem - nothing to worry about" I put his mind at rest as we entered the main entrance.

A quick look at the directions and away we went, down corridors, up stairs, more corridors. "Good God" I said to Peter "but you wouldn't want to be injured coming in here, would you?" Peter was still bemused and just smiled. As we came to the waiting area outside the Children's Ward, I could see a group sitting around.

"Oh good lord" Peter exclaimed, "I think I am ahead of you Dad, should I know someone in here? Is that why we came?" "No way" I replied taking in the surroundings "only another couple of minutes, I promise".

As we waited to enter the Children’s’ Ward, an old woman in her middle sixties, who was obviously a rambler from the Psychiatric Ward was having a great conversation with the drinks machine.

A bald headed boy aged about fifteen who had obviously recently undergone either Chemotherapy or an operation was anxiously looking up and down the corridor obviously awaiting the arrival of his parents or friends.

Minutes later, on seeing the Ward Sister, I made an approach. She had her back to us. "Sister I can give you a contact number at the local Police Station who will vouch for me", I spoke slowly "and the reason we are here is to give a visit to any child whose parents are unable to be here for whatever reason". The Ward Sister turned, smiled and said "No need to Paddy, I still recognise you. How long have you been retired".

It was Katherine Kelly. She had for three months been a police officer and worked with me at the local police station but decided to return to nursing. "As a matter of fact", Katherine added "there is one young boy, aged seven who has not had a visit for three days, his mother was injured in the same accident as his father and the other relatives live up in Scotland. His name is Gordon - see what you can do".

Peter looked at me in amazement and I realised that it was only now that it was dawning on him what was going on. Sister took us through the ward to a bed in the back corner.

"Is that you Gordon, you wee rascal" I called out loudly in my imagined Scottish accent, so that the nearby children could hear "'tis your uncles Paddy and Peter all the way from Glasgow to see you". As I handed Gordon a small parcel containing an Action Man, I winked at Peter and it was only then that I noticed a tear in his eyes.

"I remember" Peter sobbed "what Granddad used to say - that 'I cried because I had no shoes, until I met the man who had no feet'. I now understand why you brought me here. Thanks Dad, today I also have a chance to join the human race for a few hours, let’s make the best of it…… Gordon - 'tis a Gordon for me, a Gordon for me, if you're no a Gordon you're no use to me,................." he began to sing - very badly I might add.

Peter was back to his old self, at least for another year until the same old sad memory of his young wife Jane’s death came around once again to haunt him...................

--------Mike-----