“Well,” said Mary, “I’m never going to forget where I was when Andy Murray won Wimbledon.”
As over-bloody-joyed as we were to see Andy win yesterday, we were even more happy that Mary was here to make a joke about it. Comrades, it’s been a crazy six days. My parents-in-law miraculously survived a terrible head-on collision on Tuesday. I’ll forever be grateful to the inventor of airbags, sturdy Volkswagen Golfs and the National Health Service.
David was thankfully okay, but Mary was in surgery for six hours with internal injuries. The surgeons did amazing things, and she survived. There is a very long road ahead, but she is going to be with us. The relief of typing that feels so good.
It amazes me how our brains make room for such a range of emotions and experiences all at once. Despite the shellshock, we got sucked in to the tension and excitement of Andy’s quarter final on Wednesday. With happier news on Friday, it felt a little more like okay to shout at the telly as he put us through the semi-final wringer.
We watched the big one yesterday from the Intensive Care Unit. There was a television, so we gave Mary a running commentary amongst the bleeping machines. Credit to Castle, McEnroe and Boris et al – commentary is hard! Righto Mary. Murray’s 40 – 0 up. Match point. SHIT! I mean, sorry. Deuce. When he finally clinched it, a cheer rippled around the cool quiet of the ICU.