My Friend Reg

Many years ago, as I pushed my baby in her pram I fell to thinking that there must be more to life.  Emma was one of those babies who tranquilly slept and didn't need my full attention every waking moment.  I happened to be passing an old people's home when I had this thought so I went in and asked the matron if there was anyone who'd like a visit.  I was given the names of two old men who apparantly had few if any visitors and I started to visit them both.  One man had nothing wrong with him other than having and indulging in a chronic urge to moan.

I listened, honestly, I did.  I listened and I really tried but no amount of charity, Christian or otherwise,  could counteract the bitterness.

The other man was blind, had cancer of the eye sockets, diabetes and heart trouble, was totally deaf in one ear and partially deaf in the other.  He had been in bomb disposal during the war, had never married and was a Christian though oddly he didn't believe in the after life.  He believed that the Lord expected you to do your best here and now.  He was knowledgeable, cheerful with a lively mind and a good sense of humour.  He became a family friend. 

I would visit him, first with Emma and then with Aidan when he came along and Rob, my husband when he was home from sea.  There was no question of having a private conversation.  There wasn't a person in the home who didn't know what was going on in my life as I shouted what I thought might interest him.  The residents also heard of his foibles and small prejudices.  I learned to drive and he entrusted his life to me and we went on rides with him confidently telling which roads to take though it had been years since he had been sighted.  He shared family meals with us, again risking life as I endeavored to adher to his diabetic diet.

Reg grew weary.  He used to say to me "Moya, I'm tired.  I'm not telling the Lord his business but I feel it's time to go".  One day, leaving the children with a neighbour, I went to visit him.  Before I had even reached his room, unusually he was in bed, his voice boomed out with a strength I had never before heard.  "Moya" he said "I'm dying".  I went home and collected the children.  We made our way back to the Home and we said "Goodbye" to our friend Reg.  At nine o' clock that evening he died.