What Dreams are Made of

By Edna McCabe

Part 17 - Some Final Words

Well, I've written a lot about Martin and myself and it's about time I said that we were very much human beings. Because one might say, writing this, I am prejudicial by my love for Martin. But we could cry, we could laugh, we could be cross, we could disagree, even be contrary and annoyed, tired, upset. We were by no means perfect. As the family will confirm, we were human. But we did not let the sun go down on our anger. And we loved each other unconditionally.

Speaking for Martin I can honestly say he never hurt me either by word or deed. For me, well, my love was forever and the worst he ever said of me was "Oh boys, oh boys, where did I get you?" The family must wonder how we had such a tender relationship for so many years.

Everything is over now. Martin and I had some sad times in our lives, such as when we lost our baby boy and I nearly died. Then there was Denis's tragic drowning and the time when Martin was lined up to be shot, while serving in the Congo. Then there was the loss of Grace's baby boy and the time Jemma was so ill in the children's hospital that we thought we'd lose her. But my world ended the day Martin died. That year was the worst time of my life.

The girls tell me about all the acts of kindness which from our wonderful friends and neighbours and I can't praise my family enough. Mary and Frank asked Trevor, their son, to put the sensor lights in the back of the house. Tina looks after the grave. As Mary is the one who lives nearest to me, she takes me shopping and for my pension and. Being so near me she is the one who gets the phone calls for help (if needed) and she is always in touch with the others.

Valerie keeps an eye on Martin's beloved garden and glasshouse. Grace calls when she is in town and, if not, she keeps in contact by phone.

My children surprise me at times; like when they get together to get my carpet cleaned or hall painted. They encourage me to get out and about by taking me to the theatre or dispatching me on the bus to visit Martin and Teresa and the children in Sligo.

And of course they are particularly thoughtful on my birthday and at times like Christmas, Easter, and Mothers Day. They make it a big event out of all these occasions.

The first few months were heartbreaking for us all. Our income tax and the funeral expenses had to be sorted out. I'll never forget all the forms that had to be filled in; forms for the widow's pension, the army, the insurance company, and the bank. I never want to see another form.

Then I had to go to the solicitor to see about the will; it was doubly heartbreaking when I was told "Martin left everything he possessed, unconditionally to his wife Edna.

When everything was finally settled we didn't owe a single penny to anyone; and I was told that I'd never want for anything again, as long as I lived. Martin had looked out for me right to the end. Even his headstone (with help from the girls) was paid for.

Then came a bad time. I look back now and know that I just couldn't cope. I used to tell the family that I was fine and that I didn't need anyone to stay in the house with me. But once I was on my own I would start to shake. I was looking for Martin everywhere, out in the garden, in the glasshouse, most of all in the bed. I'd doze off and reach out to touch him and I'd get up and go downstairs to see if he had fallen asleep in the chair. In the mornings I'd wake and wonder why he was so long downstairs as he used to always bring me up a cup of tea. Then I was so stupid. I had to learn again to light the fire and put out the bin.

I'd ring Mary, Frank, Trevor and Dominic at times like 12.30 am. I'd ask them to come at night to fix the alarm or the lights which I used to think were broken. I made so many mistakes despite the fact that the family were all trying so hard to help me. They made sure that I had enough turf and that the fuel boxes were filled. They even papered and painting the kitchen and the hall. But I kept forgetting things I had to do; I was nearly giving up.

The turning point came on New Year's Eve 2001, when all the family got together at number 47 to ring in the new Millennium. At 12 o'clock they were all there, right down to all the grandchildren.

At midnight we all went out to the front garden where to my surprise the fireworks were produced. Martin had brought them with him from Sligo; and Frank had another load in the car. Not only that, the booze appeared from nowhere. Champagne, Budweiser, soft drinks, which I didn't even know they had. The sky lit up with the fireworks and the neighbours came out, or peeped out, to see the scene. I made Martin laugh when I said: "Be careful, the Guards might come." His dad would have loved all that. Looking around at the family so happy and all the trouble they had gone to, to make me happy too was the turning point for me.

I made a silent resolution that I'd go forward for the year 2001 and for all our sakes be happy again. They had all had their sad moments. I don't want to see the sadness again in Mary's eyes when I talk of her dad; Tina going around in a daze; tears in Valerie's eyes that I hadn't seen since Denis died, and a friend of Grace's telling me that Grace wasn't the best. Even the boys on the phone had both said the same thing to me: "It's over, Mum. We have to go forward." Their dad left me a wonderful legacy. Six fine young adults with their own families, following the example of a good person, who made them the good people they are today. I'm as proud of them all as their dad always was. He used to say: "We must have done something right!"

I think about Martin every single day and I'm just trying, just learning to live without him. I have so many wonderful memories of our life together but there is one I cherish more than all the others. It is the memory of a tall, fair-haired, boy with very blue eyes who lifted up a little girl when she fell off her bicycle; and said, "Stop crying, when you grow up I'll marry you."