When our sister was given her diagnosis of cancer she chose not to tell her partner, Jim Perrin. On coming home from the hospital she withheld the news in order to protect him — deciding instead, despite her own new terror, to give him no worry; no extra cause for grief or concern.
Jac knew how hard it was for him — how anguished he was, following the recent and unexpected death of his son. And with the book — which he later described in a letter to her as ‘This book which has been an albatross for years’ — nearing completion*, she did everything she could to give him the peace and tranquility he required for his work.
Despite all her efforts though, unfortunately they were never sufficient: he, in his newly bereaved distress, would not ‘let go’ and continued as before to compare unfavourably (with his usual criticism and accusation) the actions and behaviour of her sons with those of his own — the son now lost to him.
How could one imagine Jim Perrin’s sense of devastation — his own son no longer there? Not ‘lost’ through illness or by accident — but in the last despairing act of his own hand; whilst our sister’s sons, for whom he felt no affinity and whom he disliked to the point of detestation, were alive and very much in evidence with their youth and natural vitality. (‘Detestation’ is not a facile exaggeration. Later, Jim Perrin went on to assault Jac’s younger son in a physical attack — an incident which was reported to, and logged by, the police.) Continue reading
