Lionel Revisited

It wasn’t the greatest of weather, but I was determined.

I didn’t have the time to see anyone else before my planned flight-date, but there was one friend who I was darn well going to make time for. If I didn’t, I would never forgive myself.

Lionel.

So, despite my laziness, I forced myself onto a train down to Margate this afternoon, and then into a taxi.

2½ years ago Lionel, in his 70s, had retired to New Zealand to live out his days in a backpackers’ hostel, only to suffer a stroke and get deported back here again. The last time I’d seen him had been in Auckland Hospital last November, the day before his departure.

Today it was good to catch-up with him again at the retirement home where he now wishes to escape from. He told me how he wished that he was back in Auckland Hospital again, as even that was better than here.

We went through photos, I listened to him as usual, and it was all very very normal. Several people of course assumed that I must be his son. As we sat down to eat dinner together, it was just so nice to see that, although his arm was still paralysed and he had difficulty standing, at least he was up and dressed instead of going out of his mind stuck in bed all day.