My Life in Shambles(82)

He swallows hard, clears his throat, his eyes looking over the crowd and blinking as if trying to clear tears. “Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, and learn, too late, they grieved it on its way. Do not gentle into that good night.”

Padraig pauses again, closing his eyes, breathing hard. When he opens them there’s fear and sorrow across his brow. He blinks at the paper and puts it aside. “Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” He reads it all by memory and I have to wonder if that’s the poet soul of his mother speaking through him.

“And you, my father,” he begins and then stops, his words choked on a sob. He presses his fist to his mouth, trying to bite back his soundless cries until he can compose himself. “And you, my father, there on that sad height, curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night.” He pauses and looks up at the sky. “Rage, rage against the dying of the light.”

After a few beats, among the sounds of sobbing and crying and sniffling that comes from all round us, he takes in a deep breath. “My father raged against the dying of the light. For those of you who knew him, even if you didn’t know him well, you knew he raged, especially if his favorite team was losing.”

To my surprise there are a few chuckles in the crowd. I’m also surprised Padraig is taking the humor approach after opening with that poem.

“Of course his favorite team was always Munster,” he says to which almost everyone cheers and hoots and hollers. Padraig had told me that this was the team most people here root for. “And when they’d lose, which they do a lot, the whole town would lock their doors. But my dad, Colin, was more than just an angry old sod. He was a terrible driver as well.”

I lean into Agnes. “What is this, a roast?”

“It’s just a funeral,” she answers. “If ye can’t laugh when you’re dead, when can ye laugh?”

Well, whatever it is, it’s nice to see Padraig smile, even if he’s crying at the same time. He continues, looking everyone in the crowd in the eye. “I remember when I first learned how to drive and my dad was my teacher.”

Some people laugh and moan in response to that, knowing where it’s going.

“First day out on the road and things are going okay. He’s calling me a right eejit for not using my turn signal or braking too harshly, ye know, normal things. And on the way back he decides I’m too thick and he’s had enough. He pushes me out of the car and says to watch him from the side of the road. There I am, fifteen, standing on the side of the road, not far from here actually,” he points off into the rolling hills, “and he drives off down the road at the speed of light. Next thing I know, I hear sirens and I see him speeding back, the police car going after him, lights ablazing.”

I’m laughing now along with everyone, picturing the scene with angry, fed-up Colin behind the wheel.

“And then,” Padraig says through a laugh, “my dad comes back around again, down through another road. Stops right in front of me. The cop pulls up behind him. I believe that cop might have been you Mr. Gallagher.” Padraig points to someone in the back row. “He comes out and he starts yelling at my dad but my dad gets out and points at me and says, ‘I’m teaching my dear boy how to drive. I thought I’d start off with what not to do.’ I believe he didn’t even get a ticket for that.”

More laughter ripples through the crowd, mixing with the tears.

“Another time,” Padraig begins but his smile begins to shake and then falter. A blank expression comes over his eyes for a second. “Another time,” he says again, clearing his throat and looking away, blinking rapidly.

Complete horror comes over him and he stiffens.

I don’t think this is him overcome with grief.

I think this is something else.

Before I know what I’m doing, I’m standing up.

“Padraig,” I say to him.

He looks in my direction.

“Valerie?”

It’s a question.

He’s looking in my direction but his eyes aren’t meeting mine.

He can’t see me.

Oh my god.

“What’s going on?” I hear Agnes say.

“Valerie,” he says again and his hands go out in front of him, waving blindly. “I can’t … I can’t see. I can’t see!”

I run over to him just as he’s trying to come over to me.

Before I can even reach him, his legs cross and he pitches forward and I’m too late. He falls to the ground in a heap.

“Padraig!” I scream, dropping to my knees beside him, trying to turn him over. I lean in close, listening to his breath. He is breathing and when I push my fingers at his neck his pulse seems strong enough.

Dr. Byrne had said that it’s rare any MS symptoms might make you end up in the hospital, but they do happen and since his is so aggressive, I’m not going to take my chances.

“Someone call an ambulance!” I yell up at the confused crowd that has gathered around us. “We need to get him to the hospital, now!”





*



“How is he? When can I see him?” I ask the doctor for the millionth time.