The Old Man.

You have to ask.

You Have To Ask.

He felt guilty for asking. When he thought about it, he only ever called when he needed something. He knew his father had a lot of responsibilities and honestly didn’t think it was good to bother him with trivia, but he still felt bad about calling when he had run out of options.

He never asked him to fix whatever it was that was troubling him. He didn’t expect some magical act of generosity that would create a solution. He would simply ask him for guidance, to point out where he was getting it wrong and show him a way forward.

As a child he had taken Him for granted; had taken what was on offer as a right (which of course it was). Later, however, when the responsibilities of marriage and parenthood had rested heavily on his shoulders, he realised that there were times in life when he didn’t have the answers and couldn’t cope alone.

Wherever he was, he would find a place to call, talk and listen. Sometimes the answer was what he wanted to hear but on other occasions when he was blaming the world, He brought him down to earth with a thump. He recalled the time when he complained she has been ‘Doing his head in!’ He sat and ranted for at least thirty minutes. She does this, she says that; she never listens. His barrel of self-pity poured out until eventually, he paused and listened. ‘Be good to your wife’ He said. Slightly bewildered, he wandered home. Those few words had opened a door of realisation. It wasn’t her that needed to change - it was him.

He called Him more frequently as the years passed and knowing there would always be an ear for his struggles. He had to ask though. Asking was important. If you don’t ask how the hell would He know?

He stopped feeling guilty, did as much as he could on his own and then when he was lost, he asked. He learned, not everything could be fixed; some things could only be managed. Some things were worth fighting for, others simply had to be accepted. He couldn’t change the world, but he could change himself. He couldn’t perform miracles, when his best wasn’t enough, he would go back to Him and talk it over.

When the illness had taken hold and his head pounded day and night, when he could hear his heartbeat, his footsteps and his every breath, he had cried out for an escape. He had cried out for help and the answer had come, not in words but in the form of sleeping tablets. Sometimes the answer was bloody obvious. On the day of his operation when good people were going to extend his life for a few more years he watched the nurse inject the premed and relaxed. Soon he would sleep, it was no longer in his hands. It was in His hands. He smiled to himself. He came to carry him down to the theatre. ‘Count downwards from ten’ someone said.

When things were good, he forgot Him like any child did, but when times were tough, he knew to whom he could turn. After all, life wasn’t a fairy tale. When his children called (or not) it was usually because they needed something. Following His example, he would lift them up and help them to help themselves, try not to be judgemental and remember that he was no different, simply older, and perhaps luckier. It was an unlucky man who outlived his children.

He pounded the wall with his head and wept. The tears, the endless, endless, not stop tears, the sobs that wouldn’t cease and the pain that clawed at his very centre at his soul. She was gone, He had taken her.

 ‘Why? Didn’t I do enough! Wasn’t I good enough for you? Oh, oh, oh, oh, you bastard! How could you have done this to me, after all we have been through.’ It was too soon, there was so much more to do, to say. You have taken her. Why?! Why not me? Why her? Why now?’

He replied, the way He always had, quietly and simply.

‘Would you have preferred it if I had taken you, and left her alone to carry this pain?

Lord, into thy hands I place my spirit.

Robin Horsfall 2024.