Frank & Red

by Matt Coyne

you see something that’s injured, and you want to fix it. But sometimes you can’t. Fix things, I mean.’

He had once heard a saying that went something like: ‘You don’t need a parachute to skydive once.’ That’s what he was thinking about: that falling in love with someone, and allowing yourself to do so, was like falling without a parachute. And that’s okay when it’s the love of your life, because you only intend to skydive once.

The thing about terminal illness is that it is a plane crash in slow motion. It begins with warning lights in the cockpit: a cough, tiredness, a lack of appetite, sometimes spidery handwriting across a quiz sheet. And then you get a diagnosis and lose control. And then everybody prays and cries, and waits to crash into a mountain.

the one thing I hate most about all this cancer business,’ he said, gesturing at nothing, ‘is when people talk about fighting it. They talk about a battle against cancer. As though it’s possible to stop the unstoppable, with nothing more than courage or wishful thinking, or being positive or whatever. What a load of shite.’

As is a tale, so is a life. Not in how long it is, but how good it is.’

... also in the dedication

You know how at the end of those reality shows I always made you watch, they always say to the person, let’s look at your highlights, let’s look at your best bits? Here’s the thing, Frankie . . . You were my best bits. You and our boy.