refusing to speak to anyone who is anything other than positive.
She doesn’t view organ donation as a positive move. She doesn’t want to think about it at all, it interrupts her unflinchingdesire to facilitate Silvia’s recovery. Questions it. Doubts it. Eats away her determination. She has told Ed that she will support his decision, but she doesn’t want to know any details.
So it’s all up to him. Ed feels immensely alone with it, and more than a little queasy.
‘S’pose really, it’s skin, probably. Don’t think I can tick that box, you need that, alive or … Otherwise. Keeps everything else in, contains it all. No, that wouldn’t be right. Let’s see, of all the other organs, which do I think you wouldn’t mind giving? Um. Why are eyes the hardest to say yes to? I don’t think I’d be able to tick “yes” for my own eyes on a form like this. They’ve seen such a lot, I suppose, and I imagine my memory of all that would go with them. Idiotic, I know, but I think it’s something like that that bothers me. Plus the ridiculous notion that supposing all that Sunday school bollocks was true after all, it would be terrible to arrive in heaven and not be able to actually see it. To have no bloody eyes to witness the wonder, that would be just my luck.
‘After years of believing that no God could possibly exist, that it was all nonsense, when push came to jump off a log, it was that same impossible, improbable God I spoke to, wasn’t it? Actually spoke to him aloud! Same when you gave birth to Jamie and to Cassie – I spoke quietly to God both times, wanting you all to be safe. Spoke to him when Cassie had Willow too. And when Jamie went off to a pointless war in a big green bus. I murmur something every day for him, in the hope thatGod notes it. Y’know, the God I don’t believe in? That one, who definitely isn’t there at all the important frightening moments in my life, but whom I still choose to address. Him?
‘The same one I raise a little prayer to each night for you at the moment, Silvia. I give it a go, why not? What harm can it do? Yep, that’s the same God who’s gonna be in charge of the whole heaven shebang that I wouldn’t be able to see if I give away my eyes. Wouldn’t see the gates, the clouds, the angels, Elvis, Ayrton Senna, Kurt Cobain, Shergar, nothing. Wouldn’t be able to see you. Not that you will necessarily be there before me but, just, whenever you do turn up.’
He falters.
It occurs to Ed that perhaps Silvia won’t be checking into that particular celestial department at all. Maybe she is headed elsewhere, possibly somewhere subterranean, considering how very unkind she has often been. He doesn’t say that bit out loud. He isn’t as unkind.
‘Either way, God or no God, heaven or no heaven, I don’t think you would choose to give your eyes up. I don’t blame you, so no to that. Kidneys? Yes, OK. Liver? I suppose so, although it will be, how shall I put it, “previously enjoyed”. Ha. Bowel? They can have that. Lungs, pancreas, yes yes. Heart? … Ah …’
What heart? thinks Ed. She used to have one, many years ago, but he imagines if they go rummaging around in her chest, there is every chance they will find only a heart-shaped hole where a heart should be.
In order to make sense of what she did to him and to their kids, he has had to demonize her, he knows, otherwise he would have to face the fact that he might be partly to blame, and that is too hard. When a big hurtful difficult thing happens to you, it can shock and shake all logic or reasoned memory out of you. That hinterland of victim thinking often becomes the line of most comfort. Ed is sure that Silvia’s sudden and inexplicable malevolence must have its roots in something he doesn’t yet know or understand, but whilst he is ignorant of it, his method of coping is to render her irrefutably spiteful. That, in turn, must mean she is heartless, or at the very most have a heart of flint, only
She doesn’t view organ donation as a positive move. She doesn’t want to think about it at all, it interrupts her unflinchingdesire to facilitate Silvia’s recovery. Questions it. Doubts it. Eats away her determination. She has told Ed that she will support his decision, but she doesn’t want to know any details.
So it’s all up to him. Ed feels immensely alone with it, and more than a little queasy.
‘S’pose really, it’s skin, probably. Don’t think I can tick that box, you need that, alive or … Otherwise. Keeps everything else in, contains it all. No, that wouldn’t be right. Let’s see, of all the other organs, which do I think you wouldn’t mind giving? Um. Why are eyes the hardest to say yes to? I don’t think I’d be able to tick “yes” for my own eyes on a form like this. They’ve seen such a lot, I suppose, and I imagine my memory of all that would go with them. Idiotic, I know, but I think it’s something like that that bothers me. Plus the ridiculous notion that supposing all that Sunday school bollocks was true after all, it would be terrible to arrive in heaven and not be able to actually see it. To have no bloody eyes to witness the wonder, that would be just my luck.
‘After years of believing that no God could possibly exist, that it was all nonsense, when push came to jump off a log, it was that same impossible, improbable God I spoke to, wasn’t it? Actually spoke to him aloud! Same when you gave birth to Jamie and to Cassie – I spoke quietly to God both times, wanting you all to be safe. Spoke to him when Cassie had Willow too. And when Jamie went off to a pointless war in a big green bus. I murmur something every day for him, in the hope thatGod notes it. Y’know, the God I don’t believe in? That one, who definitely isn’t there at all the important frightening moments in my life, but whom I still choose to address. Him?
‘The same one I raise a little prayer to each night for you at the moment, Silvia. I give it a go, why not? What harm can it do? Yep, that’s the same God who’s gonna be in charge of the whole heaven shebang that I wouldn’t be able to see if I give away my eyes. Wouldn’t see the gates, the clouds, the angels, Elvis, Ayrton Senna, Kurt Cobain, Shergar, nothing. Wouldn’t be able to see you. Not that you will necessarily be there before me but, just, whenever you do turn up.’
He falters.
It occurs to Ed that perhaps Silvia won’t be checking into that particular celestial department at all. Maybe she is headed elsewhere, possibly somewhere subterranean, considering how very unkind she has often been. He doesn’t say that bit out loud. He isn’t as unkind.
‘Either way, God or no God, heaven or no heaven, I don’t think you would choose to give your eyes up. I don’t blame you, so no to that. Kidneys? Yes, OK. Liver? I suppose so, although it will be, how shall I put it, “previously enjoyed”. Ha. Bowel? They can have that. Lungs, pancreas, yes yes. Heart? … Ah …’
What heart? thinks Ed. She used to have one, many years ago, but he imagines if they go rummaging around in her chest, there is every chance they will find only a heart-shaped hole where a heart should be.
In order to make sense of what she did to him and to their kids, he has had to demonize her, he knows, otherwise he would have to face the fact that he might be partly to blame, and that is too hard. When a big hurtful difficult thing happens to you, it can shock and shake all logic or reasoned memory out of you. That hinterland of victim thinking often becomes the line of most comfort. Ed is sure that Silvia’s sudden and inexplicable malevolence must have its roots in something he doesn’t yet know or understand, but whilst he is ignorant of it, his method of coping is to render her irrefutably spiteful. That, in turn, must mean she is heartless, or at the very most have a heart of flint, only
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