Love & The Goddess (30 page)

I hate hospitals with their smooth easy-clean surfaces and lack of texture, the clatter of nurses’ shoes and over-sanitised smells. No matter how many plants or designer
chairs they place in the foyer, the corridors and rooms remain soulless, demoralising places. My father looked vulnerable as a newborn, propped up on puffy pillows in a yellow-painted, metal-framed
bed. He had been surprised to see me arrive alone and I could sense his apprehension as I sat in the chair close to his bed. I was usually the one who had felt ill at ease in his company.
“Dad, I want you to know something I never told you or Mam.” At this, he raised his eyebrows. “I’ve suffered from anxiety ever since David died. At times it’s been
very acute with my thoughts racing – terrible reprimanding thoughts that nearly drive me crazy. I’ve had feelings of guilt and remorse that made my life a living hell.” I rubbed
my hands across my face. “I just want you to know that I understand what anxiety is. I’m telling you this because I know you haven’t been yourself lately. I know you’ve been
depressed since Harry’s death.”

“My poor little Katey.” He put his hand out to me. I took it in both of mine and, looking up, saw his eyes well with tears.

“No, Dad. I don’t need sympathy. I’m fine. I cope better lately. It’s you I’m concerned about. I want you to feel you can share your thoughts with me.”

Just then a knock at the door signalled the arrival of a nurse and a tall bespectacled man in a grey suit. “This is Mr Tynan’s psychiatrist, Doctor Waldron. Would you mind waiting
outside for a few minutes?” asked the nurse.

Damn it,
I thought,
just when I was getting somewhere.
“No problem,” I said aloud, stepping outside. After waiting several minutes, walking up and down the corridor,
the door opened and Doctor Waldron stepped out. I introduced myself: “I’m Kate Canavan, Jim Tynan’s daughter.”

“I’m glad to meet you. Your father seems to think you have a better understanding of mental health issues than your mother or your sister. It’s good he has someone he can talk
to. I believe I was in college with your husband, Trevor.”

“Yes. My ex-husband now.”

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry. I’d like to help my father, Doctor Waldron. It seems strange that he was on anti-depressants and yet wasn’t advised to see a psychologist or indeed
yourself. What’s bothering him?”

“Doctor-patient confidentiality, Mrs Canavan. I can’t tell you myself, but I do believe your father is ready to talk to you. Regarding him talking to a professional, I’m sure
you’re aware that was recommended when he was first prescribed Prozac. Now, good day.”

“Thanks,” I said weakly. Though I’d married a medic, I’d never become accustomed to how cut and dried they were. They had a way of making me feel inferior. I knocked on
my father’s door before entering.

“Come in,” he called.

Taking the chair at his bedside, I said, “I want to tell you that you were always the best, Dad. You’ve always been so kind to less fortunate people. You are the kindest person I
know.” I’d remembered all the times he’d brought me with him to visit the homeless, bringing blankets and flasks of soup on Christmas Eve. The countless people he had given free
legal aid to. I had always looked up to him, seeing him as a modern day Messiah who never looked for thanks or praise.

“No, Katey, I haven’t been. That’s the problem.” His eyes grew misty as he continued: “I had another brother. He would have been your uncle. Charlie was his
name.” I was shocked. I had thought my father only had one brother and three sisters. I remained silent, trying to look unperturbed. “He was six years older than me and I looked up to
him. He was funny and kind and like you he spoke his mind. Charlie was thirteen when Mamma was confined to a wheelchair. I don’t know what happened but he had grown impulsive and a little
aggressive. Then six months later, he suddenly disappeared from our lives. I asked about him but was never given a satisfactory answer until one day my father said he would bring me to visit
him.”

“Where had he gone to?” I asked, the blood draining from my face.

“We drove for what seemed like hours, until we eventually came to a large set of gates leading to a huge grey building. My father was a silent man, believing children should be seen and
not heard so I knew it was futile to ask questions. Inside, we were met by a nun who told us she would bring Charlie to see us. After a while she returned with him, except it wasn’t the
Charlie I knew. It looked like him all right, apart from his slow shuffle and his vacant eyes which seemed unable to even register who we were. The three of us went out for a walk around the
hospital grounds and Charlie never spoke a word during our time with him. As we drove back I asked my father, “Dad what happened to Charlie?” to which he replied impassively.
‘Charlie had a nervous breakdown. He can’t live with us anymore.’ I accepted what my father told me, though I was deeply saddened. I didn’t know then that Charlie had had
several bouts of shock treatment and a prefrontal lobotomy.”

“Oh God. But why …?”

“Oh Katey, it could have been something as simple as autism. I see Liz’s youngest little fellah and he reminds me so much of him and he’s been diagnosed with ADHD.” His
voice caught. “It was so cruel! He spent his whole life living in a mental hospital. I should have done more. He died seven years ago but it’s only in the last few months when
…” His voice caught in his throat. “When Harry died and I was under stress at work, I began to have a lot of memories. A nurse from the hospital took Charlie out to live with her
and her husband during his last three years when the hospital closed down. She contacted me recently when she was visiting Dublin to talk about him and give me his rosary beads. A very simple
humble woman. Her kindness towards him made me feel so selfish.”

I could feel my father’s excruciating pain. The torment he’d felt as a little boy was evident in his shaky voice, as he gasped for breath. I shuddered to think how cruel my
grandfather had been; an intolerant army doctor from another era. Squeezing my father’s hand, I said, “But they were different times, Dad, and you were too young to be able to help
him.” This explained my father’s strange moods over the years. I’d never understood how he could be so happy one minute, playing with Liz and me on holidays or at Christmas, and
then the next moment his joyous face would turn glum and he would wander off to be alone. As a child I used to wonder had I done something to upset him. Later it just angered me, because I
didn’t understand the reason for such odd behaviour. I came out of my reverie. “Does Mam know?”

“Yes, she came to visit him with me a few times. She baked cup cakes for him. You could see that he liked that.” All of a sudden I felt anger towards my mother for having kept this
from us, for having denied us the chance of knowing our uncle.

“Why were we never told about Charlie? I would have liked to have met him.” I twiddled my empty ring finger.

“Ah, you know your mother. She was afraid it would upset you and Liz. But it’s not her fault. I also was ashamed and worried about the stigma of having a brother who was
institutionalised. I hope Charlie forgives me, wherever he is.” He glanced heavenwards.

“Of course he does, Dad. He’s in a better place now and he’s possessed of a higher intelligence than to hold any earthly grudge.”

“Thank you, Katey. That’s a lovely way of putting it. You’re a blessing to me.” A knock on the door signalled the return of the nurse, this time to check his blood
pressure and change the needle in his hand, which was attached to the drip. I took it as my cue to leave and gave my father a hug, checking to see if there was anything he wanted from the shop
downstairs. “No Katey, thanks for everything.” He smiled, looking less strained, as though he had unloaded a boulder from his broad shoulders.

I arrived back to my parents’ house to find Billy Costello sitting in the kitchen having tea with my mother. Julie had gone to town to catch up with some friends from college.
“Goodness, Billy, you appear everywhere. You survived Machu Picchu then?”

“I did, all right – great place. I was just visiting my mam when she told me about your father. Thought I’d drop over and see how he is. It’s great to hear he’s on
the mend.”

“I’ve just been to visit him. He’s only got a few scratches, really.” His cup was empty. “If you’re finished, I’ll walk you down as far as your
mam’s house, Billy.”

“Have you thought about my offer to you?” Billy asked, as we walked.

“I’m very flattered. But you know me of old. I’m a bit of a stick in the mud when it comes to relying on the good old permanent pensionable job. No offence to you or
anything.”

“Is it worth it? I mean you as much as said your present job was a drag. I’ll match your salary and set you up with a pension policy.”

“No, honestly, Billy. I can only cope with so many changes in my life at one time. I’m too long in the tooth for uprooting myself and starting all over again.” As I spoke, my
sister Liz’s black Mercedes passed us, heading towards my parents’ house, Liz waving out the window.

“I think you underestimate yourself, Kate. Give it some thought, will you? Maybe come out to visit me in Wicklow. We could catch up on old times.”

“I will do, Billy. I’d better get back to my mam, now.” I knew I was distracted, but my father was on my mind and if I’d learned nothing else in Peru, I had to deal with
one issue at a time. As I walked back up the drive, I breathed into my belly and visualised my connection to the earth below me, while calling on Spirit to be with me, in an effort to ground and
centre myself for what I needed to do.

Liz was just getting out of her car as I arrived and I followed her into the kitchen. “I need to talk to you both.” I pulled up a chair to join them around the kitchen table. I told
them everything my father had told me and finished by saying, “All this has weighed very heavily on his shoulders over many years. I’m not an expert but it’s obvious his recent
depression following Harry’s death brought back memories. I think he should be encouraged to see a psychiatrist on a weekly basis.”

“But your father’s not mentally ill.” My mother’s voice hinted at hysteria.

“Mam, it’s time to stop talking like that. There’s no stigma any more about depression. It can happen to anyone and Dad had a complicated childhood. I think he could have done
with seeing someone a long time ago. His regular disappearances and anti-social behaviour indicated a problem.”

“Oh for God’s sake!” Liz said. “Daddy was a very good father. You shouldn’t criticise him like that.”

God she could be exasperating, always shoving accusations down my throat. “Liz, I’m not criticising Dad. No offence, but you’ve always had your head in the sand. Dad needs help
and we have to encourage him to get it.”

“Kate’s right, Liz,” my mum said, as Liz visibly reeled. “Life is short and it’s not worth putting on an act for anyone. No more than your Jonathan’s ADHD.
You want to do the best for him and you don’t love him any less because he’s finding school more difficult than the other three, do you?” My mother spoke softly. Liz sighed. Mam
had hit a nerve by mentioning her youngest child who’d been a worry since the day he started school.

“I’ve been finding it difficult but I suppose you’re right. It’s hard when things don’t go according to plan,” Liz said earnestly and I could feel her letting
go.

“The three of us have to do everything we can to support Dad and help him put the past behind him,” I said. “That means we have to all sing from the same hymn sheet. If that
means encouraging him to get help, are we on?”

“Yes, Kate. He has been acting very confused lately and the hospital suggested he see someone. I suppose I’ve always had a problem with hearing the word depression and in
Daddy’s case I just hoped it would go away. But I want him to go privately … I mean I wouldn’t want him sharing a waiting room with some psycho.”

I smiled inwardly. At least she was coming round even if she wasn’t quite willing to let her prejudices go. I leaned over, stretched out both arms, to touch both of them. I remembered
Raúl’s words about coming into my heart. The past twenty-four hours had been harrowing for me and I felt drained, yet in some strange way I felt a genuine heart connection to Spirit
guiding me. I had initiated something positive by addressing an old problem which had affected us as a family. Some good had come out of my father’s accident, since I felt closer to them than
I had done for a very long time.

I
f August anywhere is a wicked month, August in the west of Ireland is even more so. Clammy weather beloved of fungi, moulds and wild
mushrooms, along with congested traffic, made me decidedly uncomfortable. Oh don’t get me wrong, I was relieved to have left the madness of Dublin behind, delighted to arrive back to Galway
City. My father had come out of hospital and Julie had moved into a new apartment and now I had time to meditate and meet up with friends.