So, I'm on holiday in Northern Ireland at the moment. For those of you who might not be aware of such things, that's where I'm from originally... well sort of. I'm actually English by birth, but my father's from 'Norn Iron' and we moved here when I was five. I left for Aberdeen to go to university when I was eighteen and it seems I haven't looked back since, but the funny thing is, the longer I'm away the more interest the country has for me when I return.
It seems to me that when you grow up in a place it either becomes somewhere you're eternally attached to, causing terrible homesickness even when you go on holiday, or it becomes, in your mind at least, the least interesting place on the planet. I was closed to the latter. I didn't dislike Northern Ireland, exactly, I just assumed that everywhere else would be more interesting and when I moved to Scotland I was initially convinced that this was, indeed, the case.
Of course, I have learned now that this is nonsense and that there's as much to enjoy and find interest in in the Province as anywhere else and I find that I'm increasingly proud of my connection to it, even though to most people I sound English and even folk from Northern Ireland need some convincing to believe I lived thirteen years of my life there.
And there's another thought. I'll probably always think of Northern Ireland as being the place I've lived the longest. Naturally it was during my 'formative' years, so it's impact must be considerable. But if you add up the years of my life so far, like so:
0 - 5 - Bromborough, Wirral, England.
5 - 18 - Donaghadee, County Down, Northern Ireland.
18 - 27 - Aberdeen, Aberdeen City, Scotland.
it becomes very clear that whilst Northern Ireland still holds the top spot in terms of time spent there, I have now spent more than half my life in other places. In a few years time, assuming I stay in Aberdeen all that time, and that seems likely at the moment, I will have lived there for the longest portion of my life. That seems like a momentous thought, like I should notice when it happens immediately and that the whole balance of my life must shift, but I suspect that it will pass completely unnoticed.
And this brings me, tenuously, to a second topic. Being at home has given me the opportunity to see my maternal grandmother again. She has Alzheimer's and, seeing her as irregularly as I do, I find her in an increasingly worse state each time. Before I left for university she was still fairly compus mentis, with just the occasional lapse in memory. As the years have passed she's moved into a nursing home and has begun to forget who all the relatives visiting her are.
The last time I saw her she didn't seem to know I was her grandson, but saw me as someone she cared about a lot nonetheless. She always smiled and laughed and talked about how lovely I was. It was very moving in a strange way; sad and yet reassuring that she seemed so happy.
I visited her again yesterday - the first time in about a year and a half. She didn't speak at all, just smiled and laughed and hummed along to the Viennese waltz from The Sound of Music playing on the big screen TV. She could hardly stay awake.
I know that she wasn't unhappy, or distressed by her situation at all, and yet I had so much trouble reconciling the sleepy, blissfully unaware old woman with the bright, sometimes fearsome lady I remember visiting as a child in Birkenhead. Back then she was looking after her own mother at home, a hunched over figure in a chair and a blanket with a basket of sweets from which I was often treated. I don't remember her very well other than that, but I know that my grandmother must have worked very hard to look after her in her own home.
I remember flying back over to the Wirral with my mother sometime after we'd moved to Northern Ireland for the funeral, which I did not actually go to. It didn't really mean much to me then.
I wonder now alot of things and they all make me feel sad. When might I get called over here for my grandmother's funeral? Will there come a time when I might see my own mother fall into such a decline?
I hope and pray that I do not, but there is some comfort from knowing that we all must face moments like this, one way or another. It is likely that Jesus faced Joseph's death early-on in his life. In this as in all things we can go to him for comfort. He taught us that we need not worry about the future because our Father in heaven knows the things we truly need and will provide them for us. We need to focus on what we're doing day by day and making the most of our lives.
I had aspirations of rounding this point off in some profound fashion, however I'm now being distracted by television - oh irony of ironies - and cannot think straight. Go figure.
