Background
If John Morgan were a tree, he'd be an oak; others find shelter from his strength. A character firmly rooted, drawing others to his circle of family and friends: under the shadow of the Eden Tree.
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I met Sean, Rachel and the small Filipino boy at the arrivals area at Ninoy Aquino International.
With their cases on a trolley, the wheels clattering on the cobbled road, I steered them towards a taxi rank. A short drive of 20 minutes in the navy-blue Volvo 744 and we were established at the Ramada Inn in Manilla. It was a whitewashed modern hotel with palm trees on the paved area outside.
"I've spent the last few days visiting various offices and making calls," I said to Sean and Rachel in the lounge while Iggy played a video game. "The orphanage sent the paperwork and the adoption service gave me the forms, which you both need to sign."
They signed and I witnessed. Persuading Iggy to have his photo taken in a booth, we all rushed to the UK Embassy. Passport papers were authorised for Ignacio and a passport issued.
He was in a whirlwind, not fully understanding at first but now he repeated, "Mi familia...my mama and papa?" his face brighter than the sun.
Monday June 18th at 9:35 a.m., Sean, Rachel, Ignacio, and I boarded a United Airlines flight to Las Vegas, a 20-hour flight with a brief stopover at Vancouver. Ignacio Gonzalez, leaving his homeland for the first time in his life, would within weeks be the son of Mr Casey and the soon-to-be Mrs Casey.
I notice that Iggy wasn't eating any of the in-flight meals and asked Rachel to ask him why.
"Aww, he thought he had to pay! " she explained that it was paid for.
Looking incredulous, Iggy remembered the phrase they'd used on the island and asked, "Free food?"
"Aye, son, it's all free, like on the island," Sean said, looking emotional.
"Free food! Free food!" Iggy called out, and we all laughed as the lad scooped as much as he could into his mouth and then into his pockets.
*
Sean and Rachel's wedding ceremony at a chapel on the main boulevard was simple. A kilted Scots piper played 'Amazing Grace' as the bride entered at 4:30, beautiful in her white gown. A small Filipino boy held her wedding train aloft, licking his lips nervously, having never officially attended a wedding.
In a marvellous Southern drawl, the black-shirted reverend with his starched and well-worn dog collar pronounced Sean and Rachel husband and wife.
Ignacio whooped and whistled, managing a backward somersault before he crashed into the floral display. We paid for the damage along with the service, as Sean tucked the marriage licence into his hired suit pocket.
I texted Liz with the news, knowing that in the UK it was after midnight but also knowing she was waiting for the news.
the honeymoon meal, the four of us wined and dined at 'All the Restaurants of the World', opting for Japanese teppanyaki. Wide-eyed, Ignacio watched as the chef placed steak, tomatoes, onions, and sliced potato onto the hot plate, and then theatrically tossed the salt and pepper shakers high into the air and caught them again.
Iggy accidentally placed one of the condiment shakers on the hot plate, where it burned, melted and emitted a noxious cloud before becoming a discoloured lump.
"Sorree Meester Sean." He bowed his head. He also assumed the clear liquid in the glasses was water and downed a glass of saki before we could stop him, soon experiencing drunkenness for the first time.
As Sean carried him to bed, he said, "And I thought I was supposed to carry my wife over the threshold!" Rachel laughed and mock punched him.
The next morning after steak and eggs for breakfast, we caught a cab to Las Vegas McCarran International Airport and caught our Virgin Airways direct flight to Manchester, arriving at 8:00 a.m. after a nine-hour flight.
I collected our luggage, wheeling it through the concourse and thinking about all that had happened in just a few days. Rachel, smiling radiantly, had learnt survival skills on a tropical island during her pre-marriage honeymoon. She would soon become an adoptive parent.
I knew that Ignacio would be both a challenge and source of joy to the Morgan family. Wesley, my grandson, would have a new friend. I was a little apprehensive about what he would learn from the Filipino.
My friend Sean, I could tell, was relieved to be heading home. Though wild at times he had demonstrated his single-minded ability to use all his knowledge and experience to get a job done. It was a characteristic that benefited all in the Morgan circle of family and friends.
*
Not long after we returned home, Bill, Liz's dad, died. The family comforted Liz as best we could. I helped to make the funeral arrangements. Grieving is a journey that must be travelled, and family and friends can relieve some of the anguish.
As we waited for the cars to take us to the church for the funeral ceremony, we reflected that Bron Afon Community Housing had looked after Bill well in the months he had lived there. Family memorabilia occupied the bungalow: vases, knick-knacks, mirrors, photos, and clocks adorned sideboards and dressers. His cap rested on a peg, his walking stick leaned against the wall in the hallway. On the mantelpiece, a signed picture of Nye Bevan reminded us of Bill's social commitment and happy memories came flooding back to Liz, despite the sorrow.
"He was a good man, John," Liz cried, her head nestled on my chest.
"He still is," I said, "probably looking down at us now."
"Cars are here," James called, as several black cars pulled up outside Bill's housing association red brick bungalow. We silently climbed in. The cortege left Bill's bungalow, travelling along the main roads, arriving at Bill's home town of Ebbw Vale. Silent mourners lined the streets outside their terraced houses and bowed their heads as the gleaming funeral hearse slowed down. White roses landed on the top of the coffin-bearing vehicle as we drove slowly along.
Looking at the sympathetic well-wishers, Liz shed a few tears as I held her hand and patted her shoulder. Becky and James were sitting in the rear of our funeral limousine. Wesley, we felt, was too young to attend but would come to the wake later.
Josh, Aly, Sean, Rachel, and Ignacio followed us in a second funeral car. We resembled a mafia procession with Goliath driving a third car, the black Mercedes Saloon behind us, and Mike the solicitor as his passenger. Leaving Ebbw Vale, our cars and a long line of other mourners' cars hugged the inside lane of the Swansea dual carriageway, moving slowly. Turning through the crematorium gates 20 minutes later, we arrived and the undertakers carefully placed the coffin on a silver trolley and opened the limousine doors for us.
Walking arm in arm, Liz and I approached the open wooden doors. 'Men of Harlech' was playing over the speakers. As we walked slowly behind the coffin, the sounds of the melancholic voices of the Tredegar Male Voice Choir were like electric waves. Members of the congregation were wiping their eyes and blowing their noses.
"Jesus said, 'I am the Resurrection and The Life'," I heard, but my mind was floating elsewhere. With the acquisition of the healing leaves, we faced moral dilemmas.
We were certain that healing my grandson and sparing his life had been the right thing to do. We were equally convinced that delivering Simeon from sure death was a good thing.
The Morgan household and extended family had held fascinating discussions about the issues of life and death. If we'd had more healing leaves, for instance, would we be a judge presiding over who lived or died?
After the vicar had recited the final words of "Dust to dust", Liz went forwards and threw a rose on Bill's coffin, kissing her fingertips towards the mahogany coffin, and sobbing, "Bye, Daddy."
Becky and Rachel sobbed behind me.
Leaving the crematorium for the wake, I sighed and said under my breath, "Glad that bit's over."
Keep the Red Flag Flying was playing over the sound system as we departed the church.
Liz smiled and waved to the heavens. "Good on ya, Dad."
The wake held at the West Monmouthshire Golf Club near to Ebbw Vale accommodated 60 people officially, but there were about 90. Locals popped in and out, sharing stories about Bill. In huddles around the room, people balanced paper plates containing a variety of buffet food and held glass pint mugs. Goliath bumped his head several times on the golf club's chandeliers, the locals staring wide-eyed as he strode to the buffet.
"Sit there, my giant friend," Sean suggested, "I'll get Iggy to fetch your food. You might break something."
Ignacio grinned from ear to ear as he became the giant's runner, repeatedly bringing more plates of chicken legs, pork pies, potato salad, beetroot, pickled onions, and other delicacies.
"Free food," he grinned towards Sean and Rachel, who laughed. I laughed too, watching Iggy deposit some chicken legs in his trouser pockets.
Watching Goliath and Ignacio play fighting over grapes, Sean reminded us that in the Bible, a little boy had killed Goliath.
Goliath must have overheard as he said, "If it's God's will, God's will be done."
Sean and I were amused that both Goliath and Ignacio Gonzalez were religious.
Goliath, with his frame and his strength, reminded me of a silverback gorilla while Ignacio looked like the younger, smaller pretender.
