Objectively Subjective

My Dear Princess, 

I was a little hungover this morning. My sister and I got hammered on the Jura yesterday. We talked about practical things like the will and got steadily drunker.

"I found the will," said Tups. "It was in an old box with his LP's and 45's!"

We discussed what we should do with his house after he passes and then she blurted out, "And I found MUM in the garage!"

What's that?

"I found mum's ASHES in a box in the garage!" she said, horrified. "Dad was supposed to scatter them in Ireland but he never got around to it."

I did remember the trip to scatter her ashes. I think it was 2006 and I was there too. But for reasons to complex to go into, involving a terrorist scare and a cancelled flight, she never made it.  

"Maybe they should be scattered together?" I suggested. "But - cards on the table - do you really think she'd want to be in Ireland?"

We considered this. Her views on Ireland were - um - quite strong. And not entirely positive.

"Maybe we'll do half-and-half," suggested Tups. 

We drank to that. 

So I was a little seedy the next morning but not so bad that I couldn't do stuff. I managed to get my dad a fan, a bluetooth speaker and a bacon roll before popping in to see him. 

I wasn't hopeful about the bacon roll. He hasn't been good with food except very soft food. I thought maybe the scrambled egg might go down. But to my delight, dad scoffed a bacon rasher and looked very happy for it too. 

Other than that, he wasn't as good today. He didn't talk much or respond much when I spoke. I got the impression that he just wanted to listen to his playlist, so I sat with him and watched him drift off to sleep.

Eventually some people from his church turned up so I went back to my hotel and had a hangover nap. 

In the evening I met up with Tups, her boyfriend Graham and Abi. Abi and I decided to go for a walk along the sea front to talk about stuff and things. 

She is a quite extraordinary young woman. She's smart and caring and funny. She's progressive and socially responsible. 

"Objectively, I love you," I told her. "Like, you tick all my boxes. Trying to be rational and dispassionate about it, I just love the person that you are."

"But it's hard to be objective," I went on. "Because subjectively I just love you too. I have ever since I first met you when you were three years old. I can't not love you. Like, you could literally murder someone and I'd still love you. I would totally be your alibi if you killed someone."

"Good to know," she replied. 

Abi told me about herself. Where she is in life, what she'd like to do next and how maybe she's not as independent, confident and together as she sometimes appears. She is still defining her place in the world and realising that she'd like to be vulnerable sometimes too. 

But right now she's holding it together. She calls my dad "G-Dad" which kind of makes him sound like an FBI agent. And she wants to be here for him until the very end. She loves him so much and he's been such a massive part of her life. 

Her heart is breaking but she smiled at me. She is quite beautiful, both inside and out. Her eyes are soulful, full of tears she daren't cry. For an instant, I could see all her sadness. But no tears. 

My heart broke at those eyes.

She is strong in a way I will never be. But I do my best. 

I walked her home afterward. We sat in my dad's house and she made me lemon tea and we talked some more. I told her how happy I was that we are mates and that we can be ourselves around each other. 

"Why would we not be?" she answered. 

I guess part of me feels like I abandoned them when I emigrated. But she has a forgiving heart. Or at least a heart where no forgiveness is required. I'm her Uncle Symon and that is all that matters, it seems. 

I finished my tea and left. I told her how eerie I find the empty streets of Bridlington at night and she advised me there had been a murder a few weeks ago.

Oh great. 

I told her I'd walk home with my keys in my hand, ready to stab any surly youths who bothered me. She asked to see my stabbing technique.

"No, no! Not like that!" she told me. She showed me how to hold my keys so that I could proper stab surly youths with them. 

"You probably just saved my life Abi," I told her. 

When I got back to the hotel I texted her to say I got back safe without having to murder anyone. 

"I mean I'm glad you got back safe but also disappointed that you didn't get the chance to do the stabby thing like we practised," she replied. 

You see now why we are mates? Both objectively and subjectively. I love my niece.

S.