Today, Gary told me that sometimes he thinks Barry is just away. Away from home. Away visiting a friend. Away on holiday. Away staying with his father in England. But he’ll come back home and we’ll be here waiting for him.
It’s a simple wish and I wish this was true.
Tonight, there was a show on TV that talked about miracles. I didn’t watch it, because as far as I’m concerned miracles don’t happen. If they did, Barry would come through our back door again, “Hi Muzza, good looking’s home.”
Life is hard. It always has been. There’s a standard joke in our family, which I won’t reveal here, but even now my parents refer to it…and so do I. I have always referred to my life as Grand Central Station and like all crowded stations whatever can go wrong, does go wrong. There’s never a quiet moment.
In truth, I feel I’ve had my fair share. It is now someone else’s turn. But maybe it’s that attitude that brings on the next set of problems. When I look back over my life, I see one bad thing after another troubling me…and then there was the death of my son and I thought this has to be the end of it. Nothing else can possibly be in store for me now. Haven’t I been punished enough, I thought. That just goes to show how little we know.
I read a book that convinced me that I wasn’t really being punished. OK, I accept that. But, of course, more things have gone wrong, because trouble seems to hover around me. Some men think they are babe magnets. Well, I’m not a man, but I think I’m a trouble magnet. If there’s going to be trouble, I’m right there in the midst of it. It just comes crashing in around me and I have no way of stopping it from happening.
This isn’t the post I had intended to write. I sound bitter, don’t I? Well, I am. I’ve had enough of the bad stuff and I think it’s only fair that some of the good stuff comes my way now. I’ve removed myself from society. I’ve backed away from almost everything I once loved. Yet still bad things hover close by, making me feel sick to the stomach.
Today, it has been 18 months since Barry ended his time on this earth. I have thought about Barry every day of those 18 months. I have wished for a miracle every day of those 18 months. I have hoped that it was the longest dream a person could ever have, and that one day I’d wake up and Barry would be sitting there waiting for me, “Hi Muzza.”
But no. That might work for other people, but it would never work for me. And I don’t really want much. I’m not greedy. I don’t want a million dollar riverside mansion. I don’t want a fancy car. I don’t even want to see the world.
All I want is to hear, “Hi Muzza, good looking’s home.” I’d give anything to hear those words right now. I want to hug my son. I need to know he’s safe. Is that too much to ask for?
You’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t believe in miracles.