When All Is Said

by Anne Griffin

Instead I kept on moving, mumbling away, trying to block out the weight of another ending, another loss in this worn-out life of mine.

‘I’m here to remember – all that I have been and all that I will never be again.’

My enthusiasm for the books slipped down, away from me, like my fallen knee socks. In those moments all I wanted was to lay my head on the refuge of the rippled wooden desk, to feel its shiny surface from years of varnish and fingertips, and close my eyes.

School’s not for everyone. The land now, that’s a whole different story. See those hands of yours, that’s what they’re made for.’ I lifted my hands to my eyes, trying to examine them in the pitch dark. I knew he was right this time, but still I’d wanted to be so much more, for him most of all.

In later years, I dazzled Sadie with my talent. I even sang you to sleep once or twice when she was at her wits’ end. I’d stroke your forehead and off you’d go. Nowadays, I sing into the wind at the foot of her grave.

It’s an awful thing, to witness your mother cry.

I often wondered, did those hands that pocketed our cash ever ache for the touch of the soil as they held the smooth glass or the cold concrete or the dusty coal of their new lives?

There was a love but of the Irish kind, reserved and embarrassed by its own humanity.

You heard it here first folks, that boy is going places.’ Sadie clapped her hands in delight. You beamed and laughed, and Rosaleen stretched her hand to yours. Me? I nodded to the tablecloth wondering how much longer. But I wish now I’d smiled over at you, given you a wink that said, ‘Sure, don’t I know.’

I promise you, I’ve willed myself to live this worn-out life of mine.

I looked away, unable for it. Unable for the lie of a man I would have to become to make my way into their circle. To be accepted, to belong.

That’s how she made me feel, happy with the world, with myself.

Dancing her through our highs and lows and all of those bits in the middle that’ve made up this life of ours.