Mediterranean musings

I like holidays for all the usual reasons. 

Like being able to drink more then is good for you.

Like eating more than you need and my trousers can accommodate. 

Like getting out of the UK and enjoying a bit of guaranteed sun.

And also if you are lucky you meet new people at the hotel, and learn something of their lives.

Like Mary. Who always complained that the portions are too large, struggles with her arthritis, had to go everywhere with a stick and didn't perhaps always get the support she needed from the staff.

I occasionally helped her out, carrying her drinks and things and one night we got talking.

Mary explained that she loved the sun, and when her husband was alive, what they enjoyed beyond nearly everything else, was going away on holiday somewhere with a lot of sun 

There was then a slight hesitation while she composed herself,

"I still miss him, he died of MND, the last couple of years of his life were dreadful"

My wife told her she understood, as her mother had also died of MND.

"It's the fear of dying, of choking to death, that makes it so stressful for the sufferer and for those who have to care for them and watch them die".

Mary nodded;

"Of course I had to care for him pretty much on my own. Until nearly the end. It's only when it was clear that his death was going to be very soon, did I qualify for a Macmillan's nurse"

She laughed a bit 

"When they turned up it was a man, I wasn't so sure I wanted a male nurse, but he seemed kind"

We smiled as if we understood,

"He kept trying to get me to rest and go to bed. That was why he was there. But I refused. I decided I was going to get into bed with my husband and hold him. To try and comfort him. I spoke about  our holidays together, how much we enjoyed them, especially the ones to Goa. How much fun we had, and how I loved him and how happy he had made me. While I was talking, I felt what was like a dry cough come from him. At that moment I knew he was dead".

What can you do or say but listen?

"The nurse urged me to get some rest, and if there was any change he'd get me. I couldn't tell him that my husband was already dead. I didn't feel ready, so I went to bed". 

A short time later, the nurse knocked on my door and said he was sorry but my husband had died. But you see I knew that already, he'd died in my arms"

We had nothing useful to say.

"Anyway, must get ready for dinner" and with that she left, walking slowly, carefully with her stick. 

I realised then that we'd never learnt her husbands name.

Nikolae was the best waiter at the bar. Friendly, chatty, helpful and happy to make tea the English way, teabag, then boiling water in a proper tea pot. Not lukewarm water, with a stale teabag in a cup.

My wife loved him and told him that he was the best in the hotel. Delighted he asked her to mention him on TripAdvisor, for his manager to read. 

She gave him a glowing review. He was very pleased.

One morning chatting about out families, Nickolae, who was Romanian, brought out his phone to show a picture of his daughter;

"I love her so much, too much. I hold a bit of love back"

"Never hold love back from your child, why do you do that?" My wife looked confused 

"I had a son who died, water on the brain, he had to be operated on. He never woke up. I couldn't stand the pain of my son dying, so when my daughter was born, I had to hold a little love back"

What can you say? Time and again you hear that the pain of losing a child, never leaves a parent. 

We sat there unable to speak.

"My family are in Romania, I'm building a house, for five years. I'm building it so it can be exactly what we want"

We asked him when did he see his family?

"I work here now to October. Then will come back here same time next year"

So Nikolae, who worried that he might love his daughter to much, worked long hours, "I'll rest in the next life" he would say to us, to build a house so that it could be the right house for all of them, but only saw his family for less than half a year.

And still carries the pain of a dead son.

Now there is a well known saying, "there's always someone worse off than you".

A stupid saying, utterly crass. It angers me when I hear someone use it. Why does anyone think it's helpful? 

However I will admit that I've been feeling down with the problems with my medication and some motor issues with my right arm. 

Also this April is the second anniversary of my mum's death.

And I still miss her.

But I'm not special, my life isn't hard and there is a lot of research into a cure and better treatments for Parkinson's that seem to be on the brink of a breakthrough.

Sometimes I worry that like Nickolae I love my son to much. I worry what his memories of me will be? I don't want to be remembered for my Parkinson's, I want him to remember the times spent on having fun, of going to the pub together.

Of playing together when he was a toddler.

But we don't get to decide these things. And sometimes when feeling sorry for yourself, it's good to be given perspective. 

Remember even in the sun, everyone has a story 

I am blessed, I don't have MND, I haven't lost a child and I don't have to be away from my family for over half a year.

What more can I ask?