Saoirse
Twelve Years Since Cillian Left—Dublin, Ireland
“I hate this place.”
“Don’t say that, Pa,” I admonish. “It’s your home.”
“Why can’t I just live with you and Tristan?” he asks.
My heart constricts, but I can’t allow myself to get sucked into this. Not again. Pa knows exactly why he can’t live with us.
It’s because he drives Tristan crazy.
My husband is not a man who likes to share his wife’s attention.
“Pa, please,” I beg him. “Just take your pills and have a nice lie-down.”
“No!”
He crosses his hands over his chest and turns his face to the side like a petulant child.
Well, that certainly makes it easier for me to be firm with him.
“If you don’t take your pills, the pain will come back.”
“The pain’s there anyway.”
“It’ll be worse.”
“I don’t care,” he insists, still turning his head away from me.
“That’s what you said last time, and then you regretted it later.”
“Stop throwing that in my face. It was a year ago.”
“It was a month ago,” I reply with frustration.
Pa’s always been stubborn as a mule. Age has done him no favors in that department. And the last few years have only accelerated everything else about him that’s hardening into place.
His hair has gone completely grey and thinned to nearly nothing. His eyes have gotten lighter, more filmy.
According to his doctors, he’s only got about forty percent visibility in his right eye, and yet he still refuses to wear his glasses.
He had another fall two months ago and broke his hip. Now, he’s on pain medication, but he refuses to take it because he claims it gives him nightmares.
I’ve tried telling him that his past is what’s giving him the nightmares.
But he doesn’t believe me.
Probably because believing me would also mean taking responsibility for that past, for those mistakes. It would mean owning up to it. And Padraig Connelly is still knee-deep in denial.
“Pa, please,” I try again. “Just take the damn pill. If you do, I’ll bring you an extra pudding cup for dinner.”
“Will you stay for dinner?” he asks, turning to me, his little temper tantrum momentarily forgotten.
“Pa…”
His pout is forming before I’m even finished speaking. “You don’t ever stay and have dinner with me.”