Doctor Faustus made a pact with the devil, one he came unsurprisingly deeply to regret though remorse was no escape. I made no such pact, would not even if I could. But I did, when this wretched sarcoma came, avow that as best I could I would live long enough to see E grow up.
Being somewhat the pedant I would have seen her turning eighteen as that moment of formal adulthood. But I think she has beaten me to it at a mere seventeen. Left school, with a more or less live-in boyfriend [see earlier] the dear infant - ah but no longer that - even started her first job on Tuesday this.
A veterinary practice in the village has taken her on as a trainee, but the first of many steps to qualifying in some profession to care for animals. A man - a father more - could not be more proud. At lunchtime on her first day, I texted her to enquire how she was doing. 'So far so good' came the reply. Dear child - that too no longer - I could not bring myself to add 'Just another forty years to go then!'
And so she has grown up and my avowal is fulfilled, thank the Lord. I do not believe Lucifer has come to claim his reward, for it was not with him I made my concordat. But maybe, just perhaps, higher claims are being put upon me. We shall see. It may not be, but if so then I shall rest in peace.
Not until the very late autumn is my next scan - the proverbial now annual date with destiny - and I do trust I shall manage some undisturbed nights while I wait. I get the message, believe me, if message there is to be one.
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