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Authors: Helen Crossfield
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don’t feel you have to say anything if it makes you so uncomfortable. Only tell me if it is going to help you in some way.”
“Right” said Issy bracing herself. “I am blaming everything that comes out of my mouth in the next five minutes on the Greco del Tufo.”
“I can’t promise you I won’t laugh, if it’s totally strange by the way,” said Dan kindly as he watched her face contorted with anguish “but I can promise you I won’t ridicule you and I’ll treat you in exactly the same way as I did before you told me anything.”
At those words of reassurance, Issy felt comforted enough to continue. She took a deep breath, looked at Dan square in the eye and started to describe the point at which her world had spun on its axis and put her emotional development and perception of the world and what life was supposed to be about on a wholly different course.
“When I was six years old,” Issy said solemnly “my dad died suddenly right in front of my eyes. I watched his last moments as he fell to the ground in slow motion. The speed at which it happened and the shock was so painful that I buried it deep inside me. The only way I could process it was to try to understand why it had happened and where he had gone to. I blocked out most parts of the world that did not give me the answers I was looking for.”
“That’s so terrible Issy” Dan said sitting up straight. “I wasn’t expecting your story to start with your dad’s death.”
Issy shook slightly, just talking about her dad set off emotions and feelings that she had never ever really dealt with.
“I know. But I keep going back to that in my mind to understand where I am today and why I ended up with Jeremy. Dad’s death made me feel beyond terrible, he died of a massive heart attack in front of my eyes” Issy continued. “My mum was out teaching piano at the time and I was washing up at the sink with him after breakfast. I noticed that he hadn’t cleaned one of the plates properly, and so I asked him to wash it again. And then, shortly after that, without any warning whatsoever he collapsed onto the kitchen floor and died. There are some images I’ve never been able to escape from. His face as he fell and his body contorted in pain as it hit the floor. I’ll never forget the kindness of our beautiful old cat Snoopy as she watched over his body and waited with me until mum came home.”
Dan clasped his hand over his mouth and said “God. You were so young to witness something like that by yourself.”
“I know,” Issy said. “I was with him on my own for over an hour. I knew something terrible was wrong but I was too little so didn’t really even understand the finality of death. There was a memorable piece of music on the radio that came to symbolize his last moments which, I later found out, was Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto 1. That’s the music he died listening to and the music that continue to play whilst I stroked his arm as he lay there.”
“Christ,” said Dan slowly letting it all sink in. “I don’t know what to say I just can’t imagine what it must have felt like.”
“At the time it happened I didn’t really compute the magnitude. My final memory of him though is a strange one and it has never ever left me. Sometimes it comes back and haunts me in the most unexpected moments and normally when I am extremely stressed. You see, weirdly just before he collapsed, he was desperately trying to undo his collar as he fell. But couldn’t because he was wearing bright yellow Extra Large Marigold washing up gloves. I’ve had a lot of nightmares about Marigold washing up gloves all my life. The colour, the squeaky noise they make when wet and the texture of the insides.”
As Issy fell silent she looked over at Dan before trying to give him some context to what she’d just said to gauge his reaction. “Dad had psoriasis you see, so he always wore Extra Large Marigold washing up gloves in the kitchen and even in the
“Right” said Issy bracing herself. “I am blaming everything that comes out of my mouth in the next five minutes on the Greco del Tufo.”
“I can’t promise you I won’t laugh, if it’s totally strange by the way,” said Dan kindly as he watched her face contorted with anguish “but I can promise you I won’t ridicule you and I’ll treat you in exactly the same way as I did before you told me anything.”
At those words of reassurance, Issy felt comforted enough to continue. She took a deep breath, looked at Dan square in the eye and started to describe the point at which her world had spun on its axis and put her emotional development and perception of the world and what life was supposed to be about on a wholly different course.
“When I was six years old,” Issy said solemnly “my dad died suddenly right in front of my eyes. I watched his last moments as he fell to the ground in slow motion. The speed at which it happened and the shock was so painful that I buried it deep inside me. The only way I could process it was to try to understand why it had happened and where he had gone to. I blocked out most parts of the world that did not give me the answers I was looking for.”
“That’s so terrible Issy” Dan said sitting up straight. “I wasn’t expecting your story to start with your dad’s death.”
Issy shook slightly, just talking about her dad set off emotions and feelings that she had never ever really dealt with.
“I know. But I keep going back to that in my mind to understand where I am today and why I ended up with Jeremy. Dad’s death made me feel beyond terrible, he died of a massive heart attack in front of my eyes” Issy continued. “My mum was out teaching piano at the time and I was washing up at the sink with him after breakfast. I noticed that he hadn’t cleaned one of the plates properly, and so I asked him to wash it again. And then, shortly after that, without any warning whatsoever he collapsed onto the kitchen floor and died. There are some images I’ve never been able to escape from. His face as he fell and his body contorted in pain as it hit the floor. I’ll never forget the kindness of our beautiful old cat Snoopy as she watched over his body and waited with me until mum came home.”
Dan clasped his hand over his mouth and said “God. You were so young to witness something like that by yourself.”
“I know,” Issy said. “I was with him on my own for over an hour. I knew something terrible was wrong but I was too little so didn’t really even understand the finality of death. There was a memorable piece of music on the radio that came to symbolize his last moments which, I later found out, was Tchaikovsky’s Piano Concerto 1. That’s the music he died listening to and the music that continue to play whilst I stroked his arm as he lay there.”
“Christ,” said Dan slowly letting it all sink in. “I don’t know what to say I just can’t imagine what it must have felt like.”
“At the time it happened I didn’t really compute the magnitude. My final memory of him though is a strange one and it has never ever left me. Sometimes it comes back and haunts me in the most unexpected moments and normally when I am extremely stressed. You see, weirdly just before he collapsed, he was desperately trying to undo his collar as he fell. But couldn’t because he was wearing bright yellow Extra Large Marigold washing up gloves. I’ve had a lot of nightmares about Marigold washing up gloves all my life. The colour, the squeaky noise they make when wet and the texture of the insides.”
As Issy fell silent she looked over at Dan before trying to give him some context to what she’d just said to gauge his reaction. “Dad had psoriasis you see, so he always wore Extra Large Marigold washing up gloves in the kitchen and even in the
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