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EDGES MAGAZINE Issue 14 |
Aug/Sept 1998 |
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IN THE SHADOW |
| ......OF
THE.....Elaine
Shares the final hours at her mother's bedside. |
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MILLENNIUM
DOME |
The
Millennium Dome is at the moment, a huge and fascinating building
site. The dome is being strung across, like a gigantic weaving loom.
The structure is being upheld by several cranes - like supports in
an outward-leaning circle, giving the appearance of a massive crown.
This crown dominates the Thames scenery for miles, promising an
exciting future.
My
parents were both in Greenwich Hospital from Christmas until now. My
mother died in May, my father is still there. From the windows of
their respective wards was a perfect view of the dome; very close
too. As I jotted down the following, I was sitting with the view of
the dome on my left, and my slowly dying mother on my right.
I sit and watch helplessly, as the one who gave me life
struggles to breathe. I sense an outside edge beyond all edges. The
paralysed body, which can only move to breathe, paralyses me with
helpless love. Are you in there somewhere? Trapped by a body whose
functions have almost ceased, leaving you cocooned within, like
someone from the ages of tyranny, walled up alive. How long did
those martyrs of the past struggle for breath, entombed in
hopelessness, darkness and mercilessness? Did God sustain them to
the end, their aloneness? What will be the struggles of the children
of the Dome? Will they feel for God in their ozone-starvation?
I kiss the cold forehead, and I see her crown of thorns.
On another ward, my father lies quietly staring out of the
window. His octogenarian mind has sought sanctuary in the comfort of
the past. His ramblings are at once imaginative and heart breaking -
He sees the dome not as the future, but as part of a past mental
tapestry of which only he knows the meaning. I see the outside edge
of a soul in misery. Are you in there deep down? Are you aware of
more than you can cope with? Are your ramblings a safety mechanism,
like a high-wire acrobat's net to catch you before you hit the
ground? Is God giving you a hand in there?
I kiss his
bewildered forehead; the thorns pierce my being.
From
both, I look around in desperation for meaning; for life - then I
focus through the window to that vast, futuristic crown; not of
thorns but of cranes, concrete and steel; ingenious engineering -
Above all, I see enthusiasm for a future; I see life, continuity;
evolution.
Frail human beings completing their span fill
this hospital. They all had a future once too. Trying to remain
optimistic, I search for a purpose in all this suffering. I marvel
at the continuity of life when my children visit and stoically
embrace the shell that was once their childhood comfort. Sometimes I
look across at the roofs at that much-debated edifice and hope
desperately that the whole of existence isn't just a superficial
non-entity within a hollow crown.
Then I ponder on the
crown of thorns. It singled out its wearer from the crowds leaving
Him alienated and alone; yet it was the beginning of His journey to
a crown of shared glory.
An hour after writing this, my
mother died. It was an experience for which there are no words. I
can only say that I thank God for it. When I eventually left the
hospital with my brother, the sky was fairly dark and the dome was
floodlit for the workmen. The red warning lights on the top of each
crane flicked like jewels against the twilight.
Through
my immense sorrow, I was aware of an overwhelming sense of death,
life; past, future; pain, glory - eventually everything comes full
circle.
I look again to that crown, now shrouded in a
rush-hour city smog, and I wonder how many of the millennium
generations will be allowed their full-circleness. |
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