Tell Me It's Not True

29th December

Tell Me It’s Not True

It was a little joke that ended up with me be christened Camp-Pa.

Polly had hardly begun to talk but had mastered baby signing and someone suggested that as I was quite camp, I should be called Camp-Pa. It sort of stuck, and the sign that baby Polly would offer whenever she wanted Camp-Pa’s attention? Jazz hands.

So Camp-Pa was born although as Polly is now at school and growing up fast, she sometimes refers to me there as Uncle Andrew, which I’m equally happy to own - it’s a complicated relationship.

Anyway, at home she still calls me Camp-Pa but her little second cousin, Hugh, who is around 2 years old, he now calls me Polly’s Pomp-Pa.   How many names can one man have in his lifetime?

The reason I have spent valuable time telling you all of this is that last evening, Hugh came to call. He had been here last around Halloween, when he came trick or treating with Polly and me.

His memory of whom he had met on that occasion obviously well defined because after being here some time yesterday he suddenly asked “Where is Polly Pomp-Pa’s dog”?

Initial shock & surprise at the question being asked quickly turned to thinking how could we answer, especially as we were fighting back more than a few tears.

Hugh, bless him, unaware of the emotional impact of this query about Gil’s disappearance, kept repeating the question and it was then that Polly, aged 6, stepped in and rescued all the adults in the room.

“Hugh”, she said, “Gil was poorly and had to go to the vet and he’s still there”.

Hugh was totally satisfied with that answer and went back to playing, Polly joined him and the adults continued to sniffle just a little.

The strange thing is that earlier in the day I had a conversation with Polly about lying. She had basically asked if it was OK to tell a lie if no-one was hurt and I had thought about it a bit and then said, I think that’s OK but you have to be very careful because you don’t always know what will hurt someone else.

She obviously worked out that on this occasion a little lie was not going to hurt anyone. Or maybe she believes it was true?

It got me to thinking about lies and the truth, and which is best or better to deal in. I’m guessing most people would think that the truth is better than a lie and yet we spend much of our lives lying to people to protect them from the pain of the truth.

We lie by omission if not in words, we divert attention elsewhere or we change the subject to avoid answering a question with brutal honesty especially if we know the answer will hurt someone we care about.

I know there are some people who love to use what they perceive as the truth to hurt people. They can then claim protection from the fallout by moralistically asserting that they only told the truth. They may be truthful but are they kind?

Sometimes the truth is inescapable and we do have to face it, and this is a dilemma I deal with through my work.

Death is the ultimate hard truth, and yet we try and avoid talking about death in an honest way.  We often find solace in the beautiful lies of poetry or the unproven but supposed truth of belief and religion.

Death is nothing at all, I have only slipped away into the next room…

Goodness knows how many times a year I read those words or offer the various other platitudes that people long for during that time of loss, words like…he’s not really dead as long as we remember him.

We hope to find comfort in the web of self deceit that we conspire to spin together.

Because the truth really can hurt. And why should we live with more pain than we need to?

Gil’s ashes sit in a small wooden box just a few feet from where I’m writing these words. He joined Jake and Danny, whose ashes also rest in small wooden boxes in the same corner of our dining room.

I’m too much wrapped up in my own atheism to believe that they padded over some rainbow bridge and scamper even now through endless meadows in doggy heaven, but I know some people need that fiction to help them cope.

In a world of fake news and alternative facts we should really be fighting to uphold the truth: the unassailable truth established in fact and reality.  We certainly should fight against allowing people in positions of power to pass off their opinions as facts. But in our daily interactions with other human beings, all as vulnerable as we are to the stresses and pains of life, maybe kindness is better than the truth on occasion?

Rainbow bridges, gone to be a star in heaven, still at the vets…much more palatable than the truth perhaps?