A few years back I was greatly amused by a comedian who said she had been visiting her parents for Sunday lunch and had been greeted at the front door by her father who told her, excitedly, that they had got some new tea towels which ‘should see us out’.
It became something of a stock phrase in our house when soon after I bought a garden hose with a 25 year guarantee on it. Readers will be glad to know that the hose is still in good nick seven years on.
The phrase though has taken on a new relevance of late following a conversation Sally and I had with my neuro- consultant in March about my life expectancy. She said I probably have a six month to two year window depending on how well I manage to avoid chest infections. Suddenly there are a number of things that will probably ‘see me out’ that in normal circumstances would not be an issue, including possibly an over-enthusiastic purchase of contact lens solution.
I know these predictions are little more than educated guesses, but I sense the decline on a daily basis. Since March I am no longer able to walk, I have lost my voice (and as a consequence have recently given up all my trusteeships) and am finding it increasingly difficult to hold my head up. Probably most significant of all is that funding agencies have taken me onto their books without demur. No one is arguing that I am not a serious claimant.
So how have I spent this time allotted to me? I have taken some steps to equip Sally to deal with a world post Ian, but I have to confess to having watched far too many videos of cats being frightened by cucumbers and people doing brainless things with heavy machinery. I have eaten up that first six months and frankly I need to up my game.
So where is God in all this? I still believe that God can heal me in an instant, as do the many people who pray for me regularly. I also know that it is God’s right not to heal me this side of eternity, without diminishing His sovereignty. It is probably the topic that will be most discussed when we get to heaven – why was this person healed while that person wasn’t. For me, God knows the desire of my heart and now I must get out of His way and let Him be God in my situation and use it for His purposes.
In the meantime, if you are thinking of buying me a Christmas present, don’t get it just yet.
Nice to know that you have not become noble and dignified as you face our mortality. Watching cats being tormented by inanimate objects seems to be the one thing that links all humanity.
https://imgs.xkcd.com/comics/laser_pointer.png
Thank you for this post Ian, you are brave, brave man and we love you.
Having made the fatal error of reading this blog before I went to sleep last night, I was woken by the rain lashing against the window at 3.30 am this morning and couldn’t get back to sleep thinking about your words!
You haven’t written anything I don’t already know, but by committing the words to paper (or print) the reality of you not being in my life leaps off the page and soaks me in grief.
No more cat videos! I greatly dislike (putting it politely) cats and would be happy never to see one again. Brainless things with heavy machines I can tolerate. However, keep writing. You have a real talent, and so much you could share to encourage, bless and amuse others!
Now where are my knitting needles to knit you a neck brace festival reindeer cover with matching bobble hat?
So hard to know what to write – I do not have your gift but I will try! I am in awe of both you and Sally in how you are managing / navigating this cruel illness. I find the whole area of healing so difficult and I will certainly be asking the question. Reading your blogs over the last few years has opened my eyes to so many things and as someone else said in a comment, you are a man with a very big heart and this comes across in your writing. Despite the pain you always manage to introduce a slice of humour…. those cats!!!! Have you seen the one with cats and self moving hoovers?!! Big love ❤️
Your blog is entitled “Living in Hope – facing a different future” and these words seem to ring more true than ever with this post, Ian. None of us know exactly what the future holds but you and Sally have increasingly have had a clearer idea of what the future holds for you, as time has gone on. As others have said, you are a brave man and I greatly admire your fortitude and your faith, as well as your enduring humour. Much love, Amanda xx
Love ya Ian….big hug n much love comin’ ur way from Yorkshire!!!!!!! Love from Terri n Keith
Hi Ian. Your post as always made me laugh, made me think very deeply, and made me love you. Perhaps because I’ve not seen you recently, when I am reading your post, your voice speaks it loud and clear in my head, just as it always sounded when you were the Chair telling me what to do (Never!).
My kids always say, ‘Mum, stop coaching me’, and I can’t help it, it makes me curious when you say, “I need to up my game”. That is a red flag to coaches, because, actually, you don’t need to do anything. What if you were to let go of that pressure, and be kind to yourself, allow yourself to do what you want to do, with the time you have left. And if you were just tempting me with that phrase, and it was a joke, then ignore me!
Hope you enjoy writing your posts, and you don’t feel you ‘need’ to do that either – because I really love reading them.
Things are fine with me. I still love coaching, and have let go of all finance (luckily my husband is an accountant), which is a great relief. Our youngest has just moved to Glasgow, and I’m busy empty-nesting.
Lots of love to you Ian, and to Sally.
Nicki xxxx
Oh Ian…I have no words. Just know that we will be praying for you and Sally and your beautiful family. God bless you. Mark and Debbie xxx
This blog is the usual mix of heartbreaking and inspiring, Ian.
I am at a loss to say anything intelligent or existentially important. But I feel like reminding you of a poem I published in my 2017 collection, which was written about you (below). What’s striking is that, while you cannot now throw your head back as I was describing here, everything else
is still absolutely true. Cruel physical affliction has come after you, but it can never alter the fact that you’re a very special man, Ian.
OH, MAN!
Although he is a pensioner,
it doesn’t seem strange to me
when he says “that’s awesome!”
By not trying to be, I suppose he is
‘down with the kids ‘, which is interesting.
Not that I am ‘the kids’ of course;
young enough to be his son, I am
still too old to say “that’s awesome!”
But he isn’t. He says “Oh man!” as well.
When he laughs, the corners of his mouth
are prised outwards and pegged
like perimeter rope on Sports Day,
and his face stays like that ’til there’s a good reason not to.
His back teeth are by far his worst
but he seems keen to show them first. Funny, that.
Funny, him. His eyes water a bit when he roars at jokes.
He says serious and profound things as well, and I think
it’s because he wears life like a loose scarf.
At least two people have dropped dead by his side
so I should feel alarmed, but I don’t.
He sees stories in spreadsheets (they give me migraines),
so I should be suspicious but I’m not.
He crunches on plastic teaspoons as I sip my coffee,
so I should be annoyed, yet I can’t be, because
despite all these things,
he makes life seem easier, nicer, more fun
and, although I’d use a different word,
I think he’s awesome.
What a beautiful poem
Thank you for posting your poem. I love it and am glad it is getting an airing in this blog too.