At about 1AM this morning I suddenly felt the urge to write the following. Maybe in the future I will use it as the opening of my autobiography.
When we are young we have a tendency to blame ourselves for everything that happens around us and our parents have a tendency to reassure us that this is not the case.Sometimes it isthe case.When I was younger I was on a summer holiday in Great Yarmouth with my dad, my gran and granddad, and my sister. We did all the usual holiday stuff: walking along the promenade, playing on the 2p slot machines, and having sandwiches on the beach while gale-force winds blew sand into our eyes, mouths, and ears.
While we were making our way back to the hotel we were staying in we found a little boat lake. My sister and I pleaded to be allowed to go on the boats, and so my dad and granddad agreed to row us both around for a little while.
My dad and sister got in one boat and headed out into the lake. My granddad and I got in another boat and I waved goodbye to my gran who watched on from the side.
After a few laps of the lake my dad and sister went past us at considerable speed. My sister and I began taunting each other. My dad rowed on quickly, and my granddad accepted the challenge. Already at a disadvantage thanks to our lack of run-up I began shouting and cheering on my granddad and encouraging him to go faster so we could win the race.
This didnāt go on for very long before my granddad started flagging. I kept shouting āfaster, fasterā but his heart didnāt seem in it. His heart, in fact, was in it about as deep as it gets.
The first time I noticed my granddad was having a heart attack was when he was struggling to breathe. At this point I became worried. Not only was my granddad looking very unwell and struggling to catch his breath, but we were also in a boat in the middle of a small boating lake, and I didnāt have a clue how to row to shore.
Luckily my dad helped pull the boat along with his so we could get to the side. When we were out of the boats I noticed how panicked everyone else was and this was enough to scare my sister and me to tears.
As my granddad was helped to the boat rental shack and laid down on some hastily arranged chairs an ambulance was called. Watching this scene unfold all I could think was that this was my fault. I had demanded my granddad row faster, I was the only other person in the boat with him, how could it not be my fault?
My dad did his part to tell me it wasnāt my fault, and once the ambulance turned up assigning blame seemed less important to me. Thereās something about flashing blue lights, a crowd of gormless staring people, and knowing that itās because someone you love is in serious trouble that puts all other thoughts from your mind.
Just recently I have looked back at that event, and I realised that, yes, my granddad had a heart attack because he was rowing too fast. He was rowing too fast because I was telling him to and he didnāt want to disappoint me. It is my fault that he spent the rest of the holiday recovering in Great Yarmouth hospital.
I donāt disagree with how my dad handled me blaming myself at the time. I was a child, and that sort of weight is not the kind a young person should have to bear. They simply canāt separate blame and guilt.
Now I am older I can see that I triggered the heart attack, but I donāt feel any guilt about it. I didnāt know what a heart attack was, and certainly not that my granddad might have one if he exerted himself too much.
I can accept blame without the guilt because I had the excuse of being too young to know better, and no intention of causing any harm or doing anything wrong. Itās when youāre older and you do know better that it becomes more difficult to deal with.
