My friend wanted to ask Brother Thomas something

 A friend wrote to me to ask about Brother Tom, thinking back to the time Father Peregrine was ill, and how Tom felt about visiting him.

My friend wondered, particularly, how this might have affected Tom’s feelings and thoughts about his own process of ageing. She said, I wonder if now that he must be quite a bit older, any of the difficult thoughts and feelings from watching Father Peregrine struggle are affecting him now in relation to his own present and future . . . I wonder if he found a way to be sure of God's love again, after witnessing Father Peregrine's repeated decline and possibly realising he might have to go through something like that himself.

And she mentioned that she feels Scared of how, when changes happen in our physical brains, it affects who we are as people and how we can relate to those around us. Scared of physical dependence and of not being able to move … Scared about how unreal prayer can feel if we are not able to stay being who we are…  

My friend has been involved in caring for someone who has dementia and heart problems, and this has brought these health challenges up close and personal. She wondered what Tom might think about all of this now.

So I went to find him. I tried Abbot John’s atelier, and sure enough Brother Tom was there, on this day of cold wind blowing persistent sleet off the moor. He was occupying himself waxing and polishing the abbot’s boots, primarily because that’s something you can do sitting by the fire on a distinctly dark and gloomy day. 

Abbot John was there too, writing letters. I told them about my friend’s thoughts, and asked the abbot if it would be all right for me to talk with Brother Tom.

“For sure,” said Abbot John. “Shall I go away and leave you in peace to talk by the fire?”

To which Brother Tom immediately responded, “No, thanks, Father! For goodness sake, stay! You know far more about this kind of thing than I do.”

“I think,” said the abbot, “our Little Ghost’s friend wasn’t really looking for advice from a physician, so much as what it all did to you — that time with Peregrine — and how it left you, in your heart, in your soul.”

“Even so,” said Brother Tom. “Just don’t go.”

So Abbot John stayed, listening quietly to what Tom had to say. And I sat on the stones of the hearth which were nice and warm, and not too ashy because Tom had swept them before he got started on the boots.

“Well then,” said Tom, “please will you tell your friend it scares me too. Some of what I saw — the helplessness — I realised that . . . well . . . there’s nothing you can do to lift it away, to ease it. It’s hard to live through, and it’s lonely. Yes. That’s just how it is. It made me do a lot of soul-searching at the time. 

“But then, in fairly short order after all of that, Father William showed up on our doorstep, and that turned me inside out, as I think you know. There was life and death and pain and facing stuff I didn’t want to think about there, as well.

“And those two things kind of melded together. I mean, watching Peregrine suffer so much, and finding the courage to stay with him through it — but then also accepting I was just going to have to live with William and learning to love him. Which I did. 

“There was a turning point, of sorts, the day William tried to kill himself. Brother Stephen ran for Father John, and that left me sitting holding William in my arms to make sure he didn’t choke because he was throwing up. And there was . . . about all that . . . something immediate and something eternal . . . where I realised that all you can ever do is just be there. It’s . . . well . . . you can’t predict what will happen, and life takes you by surprise. You think you know what’s going on and what opinion you hold about it — and then right in front of you it suddenly transforms into something completely unexpected.

“I’ve thought about it all quite a lot, one way and another. I’ve come to see that life is only found in days, in ordinary things, in small encounters. And you know — the best thing I ever did for either of those men was just hug them, hold them. They had enough thoughts of their own and some to spare, they didn’t need mine. I mean, I didn’t need words; only to be there.

“What all that did is bring my focus nearer. Because the only thing we ever have is today. If we don’t live in the here and now, we miss life altogether. The beauty of life is this firelight, the smell of the wood smoke, the feel of soft ash under my hand on the uneven surface of the hearthstone, a mug of ale, some bread fresh made and plenty of butter. That’s . . . that is the love of God to me, and the flame of life. 

“I don’t know what tomorrow will be like. Oh God, yes, I hope I will never be blind or incontinent or mad. I hope I die quietly in my sleep one night, and I don’t mind when. 

“But . . . look . . . life is so sweet, so precious, such a gift. It was William brought that home to me. Holding on to him after we cut him down from the rope. Hugging him after he got in such a mess with our money and he was so full of shame and everything. Doing what we could after Madeleine died. It made me see — grab every moment and love it for what it is. Don’t waste any of it. If this is a day when you can still walk, still hear, still eat; if there’s anything to laugh about, if there’s a robin singing or a blackbird, if there’s the smell of new-mown hay . . . and most of all, if there’s anyone who loves you, if you have a friend  . . . well . . . don’t trade any of that for fear of tomorrow. Don’t let a future that hasn’t even happened rob you of it. Just refuse. 

“Start close — don’t look too far along the path. If your hands are folded in your lap, then feel your hands, skin on skin, and know that is the blessing of being alive. If there’s a breeze blowing, enjoy the feel of it. If there’s a candle burning, watch the flame . . . and know this is a kind of miracle, God’s good gift that he hoped you would enjoy. I . . . am I talking too much, Father? Am I making sense?”

Abbot John smiled. “Yes, I think so,” he said. “Maybe tell your friend, Little Ghost, to be gentle with herself. Every creature, even a mouse, even a butterfly, is held in the hands of God as if that were his only concern. And so is she. The apostle said God’s grace is made known in human weakness. Whatever happens, he will never let her go. Never.”