Andrew Kay: Prayer

Bad things come in threes – but how many groups of three can you have?

The best laid plans of mice and men eh? You think you are on top of things and then – boom! Everything falls apart, total disarray.

If you are like me you will have planned Christmas some months back. It’s a carefully balanced feat of social engineering, especially when your family live so far away.

Regular readers will know that my mum lives in Somerset and that she has been unwell. My brother and his family live just outside Hay on Wye in a pretty village by the river. It’s a lovely spot, picturesque – and isolated!

That isolation suits them, they love the great outdoors, mountain biking, canoeing and all that rufty-tufty sort of stuff.

I am happier sat at the bar of Hotel du Vin with a martini or even a snowball (note to self, buy Advocaat). That said, I have spent some lovely Christmas holidays there with my nearest and dearest. This year though, my Christmas has once again been tainted with sadness. A few weeks ago I chatted to my brother, as I usually do, late on a Saturday morning. He was a little under par and complaining that he had a headache. He has suffered for years from migraines.

I didn’t stay on the line long as he sounded a bit grim. Later that night my sister in law called to tell me that as the day went by things got worse and that he had suffered a stroke. You can imagine my shock – my baby brother, baby!

Less than a year after Mum had a series of strokes, here he was in the same position – at 55! I cried. I cried a lot.

A few weeks on and things have improved. He has been allowed home, although he still cannot eat or swallow and has to be fed through a tube known as a ‘peg’, not an easy thing for such a vibrant man to accept.

I now live on hope, hope has to be stronger than prayer

At least he is home though, and the slow process of building up his physical and spiritual strength can begin. He is a fighter for sure and I am confident that he will make an amazing comeback, thrashing his collection of guitars and punishing his drums – and our ears.

They say that bad things come in threes (who are ‘they’ by the way?) but right now I seem to have passed that three mark …

It’s time for me to see what we can do now over Christmas. I am keen to see him but our plan to meet up in Somerset may now be too difficult, and I am sure that they will not want the extra pressure of the whole family tipping up, especially if he is still unable to swallow.

I really don’t want to put extra pressure on them all right now, by having them try to work things out, either. I am sure they have enough to contend with dealing with things day to day.

Mum can do without the worry too, the distress of her youngest having a stroke has already set her back a little. Worrying about a festival celebrating the birth of a man who didn’t live long, but in those few years had such a massive impact on history, she does not need. By impact I am of course referring to wars, so many wars – and for what?

I stopped believing in Church many years ago. I still have faith in some of the principals of Christianity, the human elements rather than the spiritual – oh, and I don’t pray.

That evening when I took the call, a little of the history section of my brain suggested that I should get down on my knees – but the more recent bits of the same brain said no. If prayer worked then none of this would happen; no war, no sickness, no pain. I now live on hope, hope has to be stronger than prayer. Please!

Follow me: latestandrew