My Nutty Professor

Would you ever stop acting like a fucking teenager?!

I opened my mouth to respond but was interrupted by extraterrestrial static on the line. Not knowing this would be my very last phone conversation with Professor Ivor Browne, I simply hung up.

I’m nuts. You’re nuts. Everybody’s nuts!

Sage wisdom extolled upon me on the occasion of my first visit with Ivor. The first of many many. Well into his 80’s, he was practicing psychotherapy in a private practice in those days, 7 or 8 years ago now. An email from my long-suffering mother, profiling the life of her 35 year old problem child – yours’ truly – had intrigued Ivor & he had invited me to come see him.

I knew I smelt something fishy! He would later say.

The Professor took it upon himself to be instrumental in extricating my Mom from my life. He requested her presence for one of my now weekly sessions with him. Talk therapy of the highest order.

As Mom sat meekly before him, the image of her as a 7 year old child sprang to mind. She was listening & nodding obediently at his words.

The only assistance you can give your daughter now is financial! You can give her money! Ivor declared.

I haven’t got any money! My mother retorted.

Nor was I looking for money…Ivor & I had not discussed this matter previously. He had no idea of my mother’s semi-dire financial situation. She was spending her last 12 years living & working on an organic farm.

Ladybird Farm in Ballybrado, proudly named by Mom herself. How she loved ladybirds! On the farm she raised chickens who laid the best eggs ever! All 100 chickens were eventually eaten over the years, one by one, by the fox,. I’d say there was probably more than one fox.

If I need money, I ask my Dad. So I explained to Ivor.

Her father never gave me a penny! Spat Mom.

Well I wouldn’t say never, but never since their acrimonious separation from marriage when I was 5 & there were 6 of us siblings.

What a mess!

Ivor’s confrontation with Mom had come to a close. As it happened, it took a lot more than a conversation with Ivor to quell Mom’s zeal for trying to rein me in. But it happened eventually.

Mom was suitably horrified when she went against Ivor’s advice & I bawled her out something rotten. After which my Mom & I didn’t speak for 6 months.

I broke our silence by sending her a pair of silver crystal earrings in the post. She called me the day she received them. With news of her wedding the following year.

Will you come? She was wondering.

If I’m not in hospital! I returned, secretly & evilly hoping that I would be.

I had a horrible habit of spending my summers in psychiatric care throughout my 30’s. Sunshine has a way of driving me bloody bonkers. a common symptom of Bipolar Disorder.

A problem alright but not for a problem child. For I was no problem child. I was a grown woman with a child of my own for fuck’s sake!

Mom’s 2nd wedding never happened, as it tragically turned out. Heart disease was to intervene. The wedding was planned to coincide with Mom’s 62nd birthday on the 6th of July 2014.

On the 16th of March 2014, Mom awoke with a shriek of alarm from a nap on the couch. Richard, her husband-not-to-be, was present & witnessed his wife-not-to-be promptly depart with the Grim Reaper as the result of her 4th & final heart-attack.

Congratulations! You made your peace with your mother before she died! Exclaimed Ivor when I imparted the sad sad news to him.

Mom had suffered for 6 weeks before she passed. She didn’t want any of her offspring, as she called us siblings, to see her in such a state. According to her beau Richard, she was visibly wasting away day by day during those 6 weeks.

I called her everyday. Could feel her slip, slip, slipping away from this world. Well, Ivor had a point, as always. Thank Holy God my Mom & I had healed our fractious fractured past before her time was up!

On the 25th of March 2015, as I strode along the banks of the Grand Canal, en route to a now monthly chat with Ivor Browne, I was wondering to myself how my life could possibly get any worse. Wishing I was a duck.

As if in answer to my question, my phone rang. Uh oh, uh oh, uh oh, uh oh! Baddest news I’ve ever received to date.

‘Twas my oldest sister.

Faith, I’ve got bad news for you.

Oh no, here it comes!

Dad fell down dead in his gym earlier.

Dear God, what?!

Only the night before Dad had called me & I, otherwise engaged, had failed to answer…thinking I could return his call the following night. He was far far away in New Zealand, where he spent his last 25 or so years but we could catch each other at suitable times morning or night. We chatted at length at least once a week.

So first Mom, now Dad, dead & gone. I cried my eyes out all the way to Dun Laoghaire, where I was due to see Ivor. He consoled me no end. I was in the right place at the right time. How I love Ivor & owe him a debt of gratitude! How I wish we were still in touch!

Ivor turned 90 in 2019 & finally finally retired from the practice of psychotherapy. So I heard via Facebook. Thank God & thank fuck for Facebook! My window on the world is wide open & I am truly truly grateful! And may God bless Ivor through his 90’s!

How my sisters used to hound Ivor by telephone whenever I was misbehaving…which is what led to our final one-sided conversation while I lay languishing in a hospital bed on the psych ward, for my sins.

My family would groan collectively when the sun came out & I went out to play. Pure lunacy! On my part, that is. Drove ’em absolutely collectively insane to the point where Ivor was always on my side, fielding them off after he had checked in with me & told me that I’d better behave myself.

But mania rules. Try over-ruling a maniac! You’re risking your life! I can be a murderous monster when I’m manic if anyone double-crosses me!

Would you stop trying to save the world & get yourself out of hospital! Funniest words Ivor ever spoke to me.

I was bouncing off the walls on the psych ward in summertime, as I did.

Nowadays I’m admitted any & every time of year. And so it has been for the last 3 years…more hospital admissions than I care to remember! Well, I’ve stopped trying to save the world alright. I just wanna party!

I’m not acting like a teenager, I’ve grown up somewhat. Somewhat being a whole decade! I’m acting like a twentysomething these days, love it! And I love Ivor!

Love,

Faith