24 August 2012
'The Breathe Easy Club', they called it. Probably the worst named club ever, considering those who were members suffered from lung diseases of all kinds in various stages of development. And one of those members was my mother in law, Iris, card cheat extraordinare. She certainly was a one.
It was never going to change the world for these people, or even make huge differences to their daily lives. These people had trouble taking single steps. But what it did do was to make them still feel alive, I think.
They used to march up in London once in a while, I went twice. The first time was a march, properly organised, mind, around Westminster and the Houses of Parliament, and then off to the London Eye.
But the second time, well for me that probably showed me all I ever needed to know about Iris.
It was a hot day, and this time The Breathers were actually marching on Downing Street in protest at Dr. John Reid. 'What do we want? Air to breathe! When do we want it? Now!' The organisers thought it was great, but the marchers (wheelers most of them, to be honest) didn't really care I think. It was a great excuse to get these people out for the day, see a few sights, be with a few friends.
I was always 'Pusher In Chief' for Iris, and although I always teased her by letting go of the handles or pulling small wheelies, and she always screamed her head off, I think she loved it really.
A point that I think got proved when we got to Downing Street. I was actually pretty excited, I'd never been there before. Just imagine the sight, 100 mainly elderly people, in wheelchairs, with oxygen masks, walking sticks and all their carers and, like us, family members rounding the corner in our Breathe Easy t-shirts and singing the slogan, 'What do we want...'.
I couldn't help myself. I grabbed hold of the handles, told Iris to hold on and tore off down the road to No. 10. I can see it all now, the wheelchair breaking the land speed record, my missus running after us shouting for me to stop, and Iris, screaming, which in no time at all was replaced by laughter. I mean she was really laughing.
In real time, all this took about 15 seconds. But it seemed a lifetime, a really happy moment.
Of course I stopped to receive my customary bollocking but I didn't care. She enjoyed herself, and that was all that mattered.
The last time I saw her was just too horrible, so I won't bother going into it. It's enough just to say breathe easy now Mum.
But the memory I choose to keep is just as we were coming to a stop on Downing Street, just before my bollocking, and just as she'd managed to stop laughing.
She caught my eye, and grinning like a Cheshire Cat, I swear she was thinking, 'Let's do that again...'
Breathe • Opuss № I