Oh Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the  moon; we have the stars.
Bette Davies in: Now Voyager

There is this scene in A Complete Unknown when Bob simultaneously lights two cigarettes and shares one with his girlfriend Sylvie Russo (who, in real life, was called Suze Rotolo). Or did she lit the two cigarettes and shared one with Bob? In any case, the scene brought back long forgotten memories. Like many older ex-smokers this is something I remember having done more than once. The scene also includes a quote from Now Voyager, in which Bette Davies invites Paul Henreid to share the stars, rather than being bothered too much about the moon. There are those who consider this to be one of the most romantic and sob inducing cinema moments of all times.

How many times can a man turn his head and pretend that he just doesn’t see?

What you wish for doesn’t have to be what is “in your face”, the nearest, the brightest, and the biggest.

Perhaps it is those far-away tiny little sparkling mysterious stars way beyond that big auld moon that hold your dreams and hopes.

How many ears must one man have before he can hear people cry?

There have been no massive in-your-face improvements in Pádraig’s condition. But there are “little” star moments when they shine extra-bright, bringing incredible joy and hope to us all. When it seems that some of our dreams are coming true.

Last week, we had two of those.

The first one was when Pádraig did some fantastic exercise in An Saol. He was half upright on a tilt table and the physio he was working with asked him to allow himself to slide down by lifting up his knees. That worked fine. Hard, but not too special and not new. But when I expected the physio to ask him to push himself up again, the physio asked him to come down a bit more. And then: to hold himself in that position. Now this was hard and very special. Pádraig managed this pretty complex exercise to perfection. And on 3-2-1, he pushed himself back up completely, without hesitation, when he was asked.

There are a dozen things happening here that had not been part of the plan of the Cape Cod-based consultant who predicted an “intolerable life” for Pádraig following his accident. Yes, the one who, in open daylight and full knowledge of his colleges, repeatedly recommended organ donation to us. They even happened to have an organ donation team waiting for us in the hospital canteen.

Would he now have second thoughts if he saw Pádraig?

How many deaths will it take ’til he knows that too many people have died? 

Pádraig didn’t stop there.

What we saw next brought untold happiness to our hearts and tears to my eyes. Despite it being the most normal, every-day thing that each of us do all the time. Or, maybe, because it was (or should be) such an every-day thing.

We had bought a packet of “Luftis” in Germany. Just corn, oil, and salt – they’re large, like chips, very crisp, light, easy to grip and get into your mouth. They don’t taste spectacularly well but provide you with an immense amount of satisfaction. Especially if you manage to pick them up and stick them into your mouth all by yourself, without any help. As Pádraig did last week.

Let’s stop turning our heads pretending we just didn’t see. We can hear people crying if we open our ears. Too many people have died. We know. Enough is enough.

There is no impossible. Sometimes the answer is not blowin’ in the wind. Sometimes you don’t have to wish for the moon because you’ve got the stars. (Even if you are in the gutter.)