Bravery

I have a friend who is very brave. She is almost impossible to write about, because she is discreet and diffident and has no idea how brave she is. She is facing an Alzheimer's diagnosis with energy and practicality. She has sold the car she is no longer allowed to drive, and has bought a splendid new red electric bike. She's got all the gear, fluorescent gilet, helmet, water bottle, the works. Her particular version of the plague means she has lost all her words, but not her skill in navigating drumlins. She has minded me for a very long time, handless, useless, devoid of domestic talent as I am. She's stopping now and, though she can't talk to me about it, I really, really hope it's to make more time to cycle, to dance - her other passion -, to carry on walking with all those many, many friends and to travel to England to see her treasured family. She can also navigate airports rightly. She is the backbone of her family, transcending all the Northern Ireland prejudices, intimidation and interpersonal misunderstandings. She just loves every generation, willingly deals with humiliation and judgement and carries on supporting those that need it, and keeping in touch with those who don't keep in touch back, until eventually they do. She also leads a completely creative life. Everything she touches just looks cleaner and better. Her flower arrangements are clean and stylish and a revelation. Her stories, when she could still tell them, of home above Attical are full of telling, joyous detail. I will miss them very, very much. I will miss her very, very much as I learn to look after myself and confront my own deadly housekeeping. I'll be all the more wrinkled, sartorially and on the brow from now on.