Sunday 5 September 2010

My Little Ramazan - Day Twenty Six

Sun 5th September 2010

I have ascended yet another rung of the glittery Ramazan ladder or, more accurately, I will have done in exactly thirty three minutes and counting.

Today has been a special day. Not just because Baran and I splashed about in Inverness’s excellent leisure pool until we resembled a couple of prunes. And not just because I managed a quick trip round Tesco without being tempted by their excellent range of sweet pastries. Today is a special day because it would have been the twentieth birthday of a very special young man called Andrew. Or Andy as most people knew him. Or Little Star as others knew him. Or Dipton Devil, if I’m honest, seemed to be the firm favourite.

And by golly was he ever a devil. This was a boy who completely outran the life expectancy the doctors gave him when he was born with severe cerebral palsy. This was a boy who failed every hearing test he ever took yet still, by some strange coincidence, laughed uproariously when he heard a juicy piece of gossip. This was a boy who, when his exhausted mother was meticulously monitoring his precarious breathing patterns, thought it was hilarious to hold his breath. As I said, the label of ‘Devil’ was the firm favourite, and for good reason.

I got to know Andy years ago when he and his family moved into my street. He saw me go through lots of pivotal life changes, most notably my heart-rending break-up with the first boy I ever loved. It was then his Mum, Jenni and I became close friends. In fact, I fell hard for the whole family and am convinced to this day that Jenni is actually an angel in disguise. How many women do you know who could raise three boys, one of them with complex medical needs, and still have time to nurse a teenaged girl’s broken heart? Not to mention the ridiculously long list of other calamities I endured through university and, ultimately, adulthood. Jenni has always been there for me and she was the first person who I ever wrote a poem about. I’m not hot on poetry, but I still think it’s probably one of my best.

And, despite his impish ways, Andy had a gentle side too. He was officially the world’s best listener. He knew when to make soft, sympathetic sounds and when to grip your hand even tighter. He also knew when to roll his eyes and groan at you as if to say, “get with the program”. He was also usually right. I think I told him about falling in love with a Turkish man four years ago before I even told Jenni. It’s not the kind of news you revel in telling people, especially considering the agonizingly clichéd aspect to it all. And do you know what? There was no eye rolling or huffing and puffing. He actually smiled. Now that, for me, was a seal of approval.

The news of Andy’s departure last December was devastating for everyone, not least his wonderful family. So today, his birthday, must have been incredibly hard for them. Baran and I had made a shiny star of tin foil and coloured tissue paper and sent it down to England to make sure they know they are in our thoughts. It was a bit crooked and soaked in far too much PVA glue, but I guess I have to allow my artistic standards to slip slightly when co-creating with a toddler.

I rang Jenni too and was relieved to hear a fair few voices in the background. She had invited some of Andy’s carers over to the house, and support the family through the day. We didn’t speak for long but it was marvelous to reconnect with her and Andy’s dad, Billy. Sometimes thoughts just aren’t enough, but the voices you need to hear make you feel a whole lot better. At least for the meantime.

So after that I felt the urge to indulge in a spot of Zakat. No, it’s not a cheap white wine, it’s the Arabic word for ‘almsgiving’ or, more accurately, it means ‘to purify’. During Ramazan Muslims are encouraged to donate money to charity. This is thought to purify wealth by ‘transforming it into a resource that can aide those who need help’(1) . During this fasting period, I have tried to be more generous as a general rule, and have popped change into charity tins, bought copies of the Big Issue and donated to the Pakistan Floods appeal. But today, inspired by Andy and his unwavering, beautiful memory, I donated to St Oswald’s Hospice.

St Oswald’s cares for children and adults with terminal illnesses. I always remember how, after years of struggling to find the right treatments and care for Andy, this hospice transformed the life of Andy and his family. Whilst his prognosis wasn’t going to change, his quality of life did, and this consequently affected all those around him. Andy was pain free, relaxed and happy. From what Jenni’s told me, this was largely due to St Oswald’s’ holistic approach to care, embracing the spiritual and emotional needs of patients as well as the medical ones.

My small donation won’t magic Andy back into our world but I’m sure he’s happy in the one he has built somewhere for himself. And whilst I don’t have much actual wealth to be purified, the combination of a scruffy tin foil star, a phone call and an online donation, have done enough to purify my mind for today.

www.stoswaldsuk.org


(1)The Koran For Dummies, Sohaib Sultan

1 comment:

  1. Abi this is just amazing and I know Andy would be so happy to read this just as I am whilst the tears fall there is a smile on my face. Your discription of our little minx is just him to a tee. Having your support means so much. Thank you xxxx

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