He was a big, tough guy, very strong, but he had a light touch when working with machines and wood. He loved his job and it was impossible to imagine him not doing it. He took time off very reluctantly, and even in hard times–including losing his wife–his job provided relief and an escape from reality.
That reality hasn’t always been rainbow and sunshine. Despite the idyllic first years with my mum, his life had been anything but easy. He was often overwhelmed by guilt which, in my opinion, was misplaced. Mum had gone to the bank the day that somebody else had chosen to go and rob it, and unfortunately, they were armed. Things got out of control, but while all the other innocent bystanders managed to escape, Mum, holding me in her arms, was stumbling on abandoned backpacks and handbags and fallen chairs. By some miracle I survived without harm, but she lost her life during that gunfight. Dad couldn’t take it. Naturally I thought that the fact that she wasn’t here anymore was much more my fault than his.
His friends suddenly saw this cheerful, kind-hearted man turning bitter and bad-tempered. Dad dealt with his loss and pain by taking on even more work. He might have started sleeping at work too, if it weren’t for his best friend’s wife who decided to intervene.
“You go to work to grieve your wife’s death and neglect your daughter, who’s still alive. It makes no sense, Frank. I’m happy to keep babysitting–Connie’s a darling–but she’s grieving too and she needs you.”
Dad took her words to heart and created more balance between work and his family. After that I never again felt like I came second, although there was no doubt he loved his job.
Everything changed almost eighteen months ago, when he witnessed a nasty accident at the sawmill. The next two weeks he kept turning up for his shifts before the shock of what he’d gone through fully caught up with him. He took a few days off to pull himself together, but it didn’t take long for him to realise that he’s not fighting shock so much as post traumatic stress disorder.
After that he couldn’t keep working there and was let go. A few months worth of severance was a very small compensation for the suffering, nightmares, and inability to keep any other job. He couldn’t keep paying rent, so I suggested he cancelled his lease and moved in with me. I meant my offer seriously, however I didn’t think he would take me up on it. It surprised me when he did and that’s when I realized how serious his mental health problems were. Because Frank Fiala never relied on others and always took care of himself, alone, thank you very much.
He wasn’t materialistic, so after selling all his furniture and basic kitchen equipment, he only needed three medium-sized travel bags for his personal items. I let him have my guest room as well as, on his insistence, some of my responsibilities. He didn’t have his own income, so he couldn’t help me out financially, as if I’d ever ask that of him. So he at least made sure I had as little work around the house and garden as possible. He did the shopping, cleaned and cooked, cut bushes and mowed the lawn, took Ruby to and from kindy, and when I had weekend shifts, he played with her and looked after her better than any babysitter. And Ruby loved her Grampa.
“If I was good for anything, I’d find a job and you wouldn’t have to keep looking after me,” he mumbled miserably. I thought that the three of us had a pretty good system going, but Dad sometimes muttered about being a burden.
“I thought that it’s you who’s looking after me,” I said. My mental state didn’t allow me to magic up any positive energy whatsoever, but I was still able to honestly say: “You’re helping me so much, with everything. Most evenings I can just sit back and wind down. And I couldn’t do that after Ruby was born, not until you started living with us. I know you’ve been through a lot Dad, and you need time, so don’t punish yourself for it. Try to take it easy.”
“But you’ve also…”
A wave of emotions tumbled towards me and feared I’d start crying right in front of him. I quickly grabbed my keys and bag and went to the door. There was no way I could tell him in this vulnerable moment that soon, he wouldn’t have any choice but to pull himself together, find a job, and look after his granddaughter, because in six months his daughter won’t be alive.
Usually I hugged and kissed Ruby before going to work, but today I couldn’t. I just called out a cowardly “Okay, bye!” from the hallway and ran to the car.
Tears got the better of me when I reached the police station. I treated myself to a few minutes alone in the car, but even then I had no privacy. First, my tears were interrupted by a vibrating phone, a familiar number flashing on the screen. Mark from the Animals and Environment Protection Association. I’d completely forgotten about him. He hung up on the first try and left a message on the second. I had absolutely no desire to listen to it.
The area behind my car was also busy. After I saw yet another policeman walk past me, I blew my nose loudly, dried my eyes for the last time, and faced my “normal” life.
Frank
I bent over Ruby, put her hands into the right position,
