Poetry/Prose Marc McCann

BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE: MARC MCCANN

Marc is a keen writer of lyrics, poems and short stories. He has had some work published in collections and anthologies. He writes to express his feelings and emotions in a creative way and to process and understand his thoughts and emotions.

Imagine

Imagine what your hands could make, death or peace or structures shake Or temples built for heaven sake and chemicals to kill Imagine what your thoughts could mean, self-destruction, low esteem Ingenious, unclean thoughts you can’t erase

Imagine what the people know, of life and God, of friend and foe Of why the earth rotates so slow and why the sun is round Imagine what the truth could do, to the masses and the youth In a world that is so untrue, in a world like this

Imagine when the end will be, for the likes of you and me For the souls who’s tyranny, weighs heavy on their mind Imagine how the world was sold, pounds of flesh and pots of gold See the merchants collecting souls with minimum of fuss

Imagine what your dreams could mean, the messages and hidden themes The incoherent, ill-conceived images and sounds Imagine what your eyes could see, beginning, end and in between Over mountains, under seas and things you can’t explain

(Marc McCann)

1996

“Mum, how did dad die?” Liam almost choked on the words and then quickly took another bite of his toast as he waited for an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

His mum went into the usual spiel as she dragged an endless stream of damp clothes from the washer “Well, you know he wasn’t well for a long time, with the drink he took and the tablets didn’t help and his body just couldn’t cope” He had heard it before, very general, very vague and not very helpful. He wanted to ask if it was suicide but he didn’t have the courage. The resulting conversation would be too awkward to bear.

“yeah, but was it like a heart attack or what?” Mum focused her attention even harder on the washing. “I can’t keep up to this washing with you lot, I’m not running a launderette here ya know”. Just then, Liam’s brother entered the room and the moment was gone. Another failed attempt.

“Here mum, how’s the launderette business going”, said Sean. “It’s a wash out, son, now hurry up and get your breakfast or you’ll miss the bus” As Liam walked to the bus he thought about his dad, he hadn’t stopped since yesterday when his form group had a Mental Health talk last two periods. The guest trainer spoke about depression, self-harm and suicide and Liam had a knot in his stomach ever since. His dad was only 52 and was reasonably fit. Fitter than other dads and he didn’t smoke. He did drink a lot, especially in his younger days, but still something about his death just didn’t add up.

“you going to training after school?” shouted Shane Fearon or Fearno as he was known to most.

“Shit, I forgot my stuff, I’ll get my ma to drop it up later” On the bus the conversation turned to last night’s Champions League game. Liam joined in, “did you see that Juventus free kick?” but his heart wasn’t in it. His heart felt heavy, and he wasn’t sure why.

Period 5, Religion, and as Liam stared out through the window and onto the playing fields he had a flashback to a few weeks earlier when Miss O’Neill spoke about euthanasia and suicide and how they were both seen as sinful in the eyes of the church. He recalled how the

conversation made him feel uncomfortable and how a girl in his class, Katie, had challenged Miss O Neill, saying “people who commit suicide are desperate and shouldn’t be judged”. Fair play to her, he thought.

It had been 4 years since his dad died and Liam was 14 now. Old enough to know the truth, at least that was his thinking. Lately there had been all these little signs and reminders. And that word suicide kept popping up. There was a storyline in one of his mum’s soaps, where a woman had taken an overdose. And then there was the documentary about Kurt Cobain that was on channel 4 at the weekend. His dad would have listened to Nirvana a lot. And finally the Mental Health talk in school. It was unavoidable. Signs, surely that it was time to ask outright. Liam winced at the thought.

Miss O’Neill’s sharp tone brought Liam back to reality with a bump. “Absolutely not good enough, 4A. Out of 22 students, only 13 of you have completed the course work that was due LAST week. I look forward to speaking to your parents next week at the PTM, now off you go” The following day was Saturday, Liam’s favorite day of the week. His football team had won 5 -2 in the local park that morning and Liam scored 2. He was still buzzing. It was the same park his dad Daniel had taken him to for his first kick around. His dad was a very good player in his day, he had been a schoolboy international and Liam still had some old photos and medals belonging to him. He cherished the photos especially. They captured him in his prime, smiling, fit and healthy. There was a sparkle in his eye in those phots that Liam hadn’t seen too often in real life. That broke his heart.

Later that afternoon Liam and his mum were driving back from his Grandmother’s house, where Liam had been busy moving furniture around to accommodate a new armchair for his Grandad.

“Did dad kill himself?”. The words were out before he even realized. “What…who told you that?” his mum was visibly shaken. At that moment the car in front took a very late exit off the roundabout and she snatched the opportunity to change the subject. “you bloody eejit, that’s right, don’t you indicate, we’ll just bloody guess where you’re going. Jesus Christ of Almighty!” Liam was sort of glad of the distraction himself, it momentarily broke the tension. His heart was thumping but he regrouped and stuck to his guns. It was now or never. “Well, did he?” The look on her face went from anger to resignation in a second, she pulled into a side street, stopped the car and turned to Liam in what felt like slow motion. She looked deep

into his eyes, knowing that she was about to deliver a dagger to his heart. “He did, son…. he did. I wanted to wait until you were a bit older to tell you” her words were soft and sincere. Liam was part shocked and part relieved. He stared at the dashboard in front. “How did he do it?” another question that Liam wasn’t sure he wanted an answer to. “I left for work one day and I got a phone call from the police about 11am, a jogger had found his body in the woodland behind the old carpet factory”. Her eyes had glazed over with tears at this point. But her voice was so calm and he could sense that a burden had been lifted from her. She was staring straight ahead now with both hands on the steering wheel. As Liam looked through the window at the bright blue April sky he noticed a plane way off in the distance. White jet streams dissected the vast canvas behind it, for a split second he found himself thinking of how care free the passengers must be, while here he was, world collapsing around him in a second hand Fiesta.

“was he depressed?” Liam asked, his own voice now way calmer than he expected.

“He was troubled, son, and yes, he must have been depressed, but he hid it well for a long time”

“Did he leave a note?” Liam remembered that Kurt Cobain had left one, maybe his dad had written some heartfelt words that would somehow make things easier, more logical.

“No, son. He didn’t” Liam had other questions he wanted to ask, but they could wait. The Dam had been broken. The wall breached. The hard part was over. “come on mum, let’s go home” “Aye, son. Let’s get the dinner on” and at that she wiped away a single tear from her left cheek and put the keys in the ignition.

Liam tossed and turned in bed that night. The TV in his room was turned off now, not that he had been paying much attention to it. He had been staring at the screen but his mind was elsewhere. The same questions replayed over and over. What was his dad thinking at the time…? was he scared? drunk? eerily calm? Did he pause to think about us, his family, and how we would be affected? He also thought about how he must have planned it out, the actual method he used, the preparation. It was all so deliberate, calculated and bleak. But one thought nagged at Liam more than anything. The notion that his dad could be experiencing so much emotional pain that he couldn’t bear to live another day. And the gravity of that thought alone was so overwhelming that he couldn’t dwell on it for more that few seconds. He couldn’t match that suicidal person to the one in the photographs. They were poles apart. Liam started to sob, he wanted to bawl but Sean was in the next room and the walls

were paper thin. So he lay there, sobbing, convulsing, venting, until exhausted he fell asleep.

1955

“Daddy, how did mum die?” Daniel continued setting up his sisters Dominoes in an S shape on the sitting room rug as he nervously waited for a reply.

His dad lowered the newspaper to make eye contact. “what’s brought this on, son?” “Just something Uncle Jack said to Auntie Mary” “And what was that, then?” His dad had set the paper down now on the nearby sideboard and was lighting up another cigarette.

“Uncle Jack said the drink took her in the end” Daniel was on edge now, he felt like he’d broken the unwritten rule once already and was now pushing his luck. They rarely talked about mum, unless dad was threatening them with her immortal disapproval over some misdemeanor or other. Your poor mother would be turning in her grave, was his favourite.

“Did he now, and he would know, sure he’s never out Kelly’s Inn, now go and top that tea up for me in the kitchen, and make yourself useful” Daniel lifted the tea mug from beside his dad’s armchair and brought it into the kitchen, as he lifted the large worn looking pot he couldn’t help notice how untidy the kitchen was, bread crumbs all over the work tops, a few dried out old teabags had found their way onto the kitchen linoleum. The sink was full of dirty dishes and kitchen table was barely visible with old newspapers.

It was never like this when mum was alive. Back then the house was run like a well-oiled machine, clothes were pressed and floors were scrubbed. Lunches were made and dinner was cooked. His dad couldn’t manage full time work at the carpet factory and keep the house in order, lately he hadn’t even bothered trying. His aunties would take it in turn to call every few days, do a bit tidying up and leave a pot of stew or soup. Other than that they were on their own, Daniel, his sister Sarah, brother James and his dad. The glue that held everything together had been missing for 2 years now and for Daniel at least, time wasn’t proving to be a great healer. He missed his mum so much it hurt. He missed her smile, he missed her cooking, he even missed how she would scold him for running over the freshly mopped kitchen floor before it had time to dry off.

Daniel brought the tea back into his dad. “there’s a good lad” his dad said.

The conversation was over before it even got started. Shut down unceremoniously in the

way only dads can. Known for his temper, Daniels dad would occasionally use his belt to ‘put manners’ on him and his brother whenever he felt the need. He returned to the dominoes. “Have you your homework done, son?” “yeah, just had some Latin and a bit of math’s” “I’ll be heading down to the club later for a game of cards, you get them other two sorted and into bed for 9 o clock and I’ll be home shortly after” “Aye da, okay” and at that Daniel flicked the first domino and watched the others fall in perfect synchronicity. The satisfaction was fleeting. Daniels father turned off the wireless and went upstairs to get washed. Daniel looked out the window. He could see a few of his friends kicking ball down near Mooney’s field. He wanted to go down and join them but knew it was a bad idea. He had jobs to do around the house before bed. Jobs he hated. The kitchen needed cleaning for a start. They were ‘Mum’ type jobs. If only she were here.

The following Sunday evening Daniel found himself sitting at his Aunt Mary’s kitchen table eating one of her homemade buns.

“Do ye want a wee glass of milk with that, son?” “No, Aunt Mary, thanks” crumbs fell from the corner of his mouth as he spoke.

Mary was busy sewing the hole in the knee of Daniels school trousers. She sang as she sewed. He knew the song well, The Emerald Isle, his mum loved that song.

Daniel though this might be an opportunity to ask a question that had been nagging him all week. His cousins were out playing and his Uncle was in bed nursing a hangover from the night before. “Aunt Mary, was it the drink that killed mum?” Daniel had his back to her, and began polishing off the few crumbs that had fallen on the kitchen table.

His Aunt stopped singing. She stopped mid stitch and glanced over the top of her reading glasses at the back of his head.

“Turn round Daniel son” he hadn’t even managed to turn his when she said “what give you that idea?”

“Nothing really, just wondering” She knew that he knew more than he was giving away. She switched her gaze to the photograph of Daniels mum that sat on the nearby cabinet. A wave of sadness washed over

her. “It did son in the end, aye. She wanted to stop but she couldn’t. God help her” “why did she drink so much?” Daniel asked nervously as he scanned his lap now for more crumbs.

Mary was sewing again now. “It’s hard to say, son. It’s a disease you know. Some people can take a drink or two and stop. Your mother couldn’t. I suppose drinking was her way of coping. She had a hard life, she more or less raised us when my mummy and daddy died. And she never got over the death of your sister” Daniel new about his baby sister, she had died at birth before he was even born. It was another subject that no one talked about.

“but she loved you’s son, never forget that” As Mary finished off the trousers, Daniels cousins charged through the back door. “Ma, is tea ready, alright Dan, what you up to?” said Micky.

“Not much, just getting these trousers sorted for school tomorrow, sure I’ll give you a shout in the morning” “Aye, do well, we’ll show you the Chestnuts we got today, some crackers” Daniel lifted the trousers that his auntie had left over the back of the kitchen chair “yeah, dead on, see you later” As he left he could hear his auntie giving off at the muck the boys had trailed in over the carpet. As Daniel walked home it began to rain. The heavier it rained the slower he walked. He didn’t care. All he could think about was how sad his mum must have been to try to numb her pain with alcohol for all of those years. He stopped momentarily to stare at the sky and feel the rain hit his face. He wanted to cry but nothing happened.

2025

Forgetting his age, Liam tried to turn quickly with a trademark shimmy but ended up in a heap on the grass. “Referee, that’s a foul” he roared into the air while trying not to laugh at the sorry state he found himself in. His son Jamie paid no heed, he was off like a hare before Liam could even gather himself up.

“C’mon dad, keep playing” Jamie was full of life like only a 7-year-old can be.

“I think that’ll do me son, I’ve to help your sister with her homework, you keep practicing

there……and use your weaker foot”. It was advice his own dad had often given to him.

Jamie didn’t need any encouragement. He was off dribbling around invisible defenders before Liam finished speaking.

Liam went into the house and took a bottle of water from the fridge, as he stood there he couldn’t help smiling as he watched Jamie through the window. “Are you ready, dad?” Liam’s daughter Shannon had just entered the room armed with her tablet and wearing her reading glasses. She turned 13 last week. Liam still couldn’t get his head around that. She sat down all business like “right, let’s get started” “yes, boss” said Liam as he took another drink of water. “What is this homework you’ve been on about anyhow, and how did I get roped into it?” “We’ve to write an essay about a grandparent for English, I told you this earlier, you never listen to me” Shannon replied sharply as she searched for the homework file.

“Sorry, what was that?” Liam couldn’t resist. Shannon looked at him over the top of her glasses “HA, HA” she shot back with the kind of sarcasm that 13 year olds specialize in.

“Right, when was grandad Daniel born?” “mm that’s a tough one to start, let’s see, August 15th 1948, I think” For the next ten minutes, Shannon asked about her Grandad’s work history, hobbies, achievements and anything else she thought would make an interesting essay. Liam was able to answer most of the questions but the more Shannon asked, the more he realized how little he actually knew about his own dad. He found that revelation both startling and disheartening. He didn’t know about his own fathers hopes and dreams, his fears and insecurities. He didn’t know what inspired him. What amazed him. His funniest memory. His proudest moment. He knew him as sons know dads, but he didn’t know the person, at least not intimately, the way you might expect to know someone who shared your genes and personality traits.

“How did Grandad die?” Shannon’s question was not entirely surprising.

Liam took a deep breath and prepared to answer the question as he had promised himself he would. Honestly and directly. The question was inevitable. Unavoidable, not so much in the course of Shannon’s essay research but nevertheless he knew this day would come and now was as good a time as any to open up this can of worms. Jamie was still playing outside and his wife Carla was out with her walking group. “Your Grandad took his own life, love?” She

stopped typing and their eyes met. She paused for a few seconds, searching for the right words. “What do you mean, like, he…. killed himself?” she lowered her tone just above a whisper for those last two words. “yes” Liam replied and then gave her space to process. He could tell her mind was racing.

After a few moments all she could manage was “But…. but, why, daddy?” “He was suffering with depression for a long time, he tried to block out the pain with alcohol. And it got to the point where he didn’t see any other way out” The directness of his words surprised even him.

Shannon was speechless. She felt so sorry for her dad, but she fought back the tears.

“Daddy, that’s so sad?” “it is, Shannon. It’s heartbreaking. I didn’t talk about it for many years, but when I was ready I got help and support. And then things got easier” Liam felt liberated. He was transported back in time to the day his mum had pulled the car over and told him the ugliest of truths. The truth will set you free, he thought to himself. Back then he felt at the mercy of this shadow hanging over him but now he could honestly say that he felt in control of it.

“Shannon, Mental Illness is real. Suicide is real. It happens and shouldn’t be some deep, dark secret. When your Grandad was suffering there was no real help available. Men especially, tended to suffer in silence. But that’s changing now. Society is changing. We have more support services, more media coverage, a better understanding” “But, how can people commit suicide?” She was still coming to terms with the initial shockwave.

“We don’t say commit anymore, Shannon. Commit makes it sound like a crime. It’s not. It’s a desperate act from a desperate person. Your Grandad, My dad, completed suicide. The best way I can think of describing it is, when the pain of living becomes greater than the fear of ending your own life” Shannon felt sad, it was a deep sorrow that she couldn’t put into words, but there was something else stirring inside her, a sense of pride perhaps, that her dad had overcome such a tragic event.

“Is that why you work in mental health now?” she said. “I don’t know, Shannon. Maybe. During these last few years especially I just sort of

gravitated towards it. I got so much from the support services where I could share my experience with others, I felt great strength in that group environment, great empathy, and to this day I have so much admiration for the people that supported me. Six people in a room talking about depression is so much better than one person sitting alone suffering with it. It’s the difference between black and white, Illness and wellness, life and death. And to be part of that recovery is a great feeling” Shannon couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, she left her seat, walked over to her dad and hugged him from behind as he stayed seated. He leaned back into her hug and placed his right hand on top of hers. Her tears were a mixture of pride and sorrow, but most of all love. Liam was tearful himself but more than anything they felt like tears of relief. This was yet another step on the road to recovery. A moment of truth, a feeling of hope. During the worst of times and the darkest of days he sometimes felt that history might repeat itself and that, weighed down by the burden of his past and the specter of suicide, he might become another victim like his dad. Despite this a mantra always remained in the back of his mind. Three simple words became a source of light. An inextinguishable flame.

‘Better days ahead’ Days like today.

(Marc McCann)