Хелен Браун - Bono

Home to surfers, farmers, environmentalists, and a few artists, the island has a rugged beauty that reminds me of the coastal area where I grew up in New Zealand. Untamed surf beaches give way to sheltered golden ones.

I like the down-to-earth islanders, the clear salty air, and the way waves roll up from Antarctica to smash themselves on the rocks. But the main reason I love the island is it’s one of those rare places where wild animals have paid humanity the compliment of sticking around. The ocean is alive with thousands of seals and penguins. Native Cape Barren geese with lime green beaks strut the roads safe in the knowledge anything on wheels will stop for them. Wallabies pay regular visits to our backyard.

When we wake in the mornings to the squawk of black cockatoos, I lie still and wait for the sound of jam being scraped on toast. I’ve realized few things could be more romantic than a husband of two decades bringing his wife tea and toast in bed. To think I wasted so long arguing against his beach shack dream. Sure, it means there are extra beds to make sometimes, but visitors bring their own sheets, and there’s always someone around to pick up a tea towel. Lydia and Ramon generously donated a robotic vacuum cleaner that swivels across the floor collecting the sand I’d fretted about. As for Jonah, he’s happy to exchange two hours on the backseat in his cat carrier for a long weekend sprawled in the sun on the back of a sofa at the beach.

The old house seems to have expandable walls that, when Philip’s dad visits from New Zealand, happily accommodate four generations. Through the cycle of Christmases and birthdays, I watch our granddaughters soak up moments they’ll remember into their twilight years.

Some of my favorite times are when it’s just the two of us (plus Jonah), and the house draws around us in an embrace. Once Philip’s checked the tides and the sea is looking tame enough, I will help him launch his boat. Out on the water, the working week peels away from his face and I see the man I fell in love with all those years ago—and still am.

When a dolphin rises from the crest of a wave and greets me with a curious eye, I realize I don’t need to worry about growing old. All that matters now is to keep on growing up.

Nights can be chilly on the island. After a glass of red wine in front of a blazing log fire, we tumble into bed with Jonah hot on our heels. As we nestle between the sheets, I reach for the fluffy warmth of Philip’s flannelette pajamas. Somehow, green tartan is a perfect match for the island. In fact, they fit into these surroundings so well, I bought myself a red pair to match.

An Aboriginal man once told me people leave a silvery trail wherever they go through life. Even after someone has left a place and moved to another, traces of her spirit remain. Part of me will always belong in New York with Bono, and in New Zealand as well as other corners of the world I love. If I could have a thousand lives, I’d commit to every one of them and make them home. For now, all I have is this life, this moment.

Bono reminded me to live with optimism and great heart. Like him, I try not to waste time dwelling on what I’ve lost and how little time I have left. Fear is irrelevant. Where we’ve come from and where we’re going aren’t so far apart.

I walk barefoot along the beach and savor the waves washing like iced champagne over my toes. With family, friendships, and an enduring marriage, life is complete. Thanks to Bono, I’m not restless anymore. A forever home is beyond price.

Acknowledgments

It takes more than one person to create a book, and in this case Bono has hundreds of guardian angels. Without the unwavering devotion of Michaela Hamilton and Vida Engstrand to rescue cats, I would never have encountered the rock star cat or met the dedicated people who work at Bideawee.

Philip has been incredibly generous in encouraging me to write this book. Through the year I was working on it, he demonstrated limitless patience reading the latest pages aloud every night. Not only did this give him the opportunity to veto the worst of my transgressions, it helped me find a sense of rhythm in the sentences.

My sister, Mary Dryden, in New Plymouth, New Zealand, has also been wonderfully supportive reading extracts of the book. Like the best of big sisters, she never criticized but kept asking, “What happens next?”

Huge thanks to my daughter, Lydia Brown, for being part of the Bono story. I’ve never seen her so moved by an animal, and I’m sure some day she’ll fulfil her dream of having a rescue cat. The first time I wrote about her, I was about to give birth to her, so she’s had a lot to put up with through the years.

A big hug to our younger daughter, Katharine Gentry. I treasure her ceaseless optimism about what I do—not to mention her astute editorial eye. I can’t thank Kath enough for her kindness and care helping me recover from surgery while I was working on this book.

To son Rob, his wife Chantelle, and their daughters Annie and Stella, I love the times we spend together (even if I can’t stand up as fast as you, Stella). You enrich my life more than you know.

Without my extraordinarily talented Australian editor, Jude McGee, I’d most likely still be in the supermarket trying to decide between red potatoes or brown ones. Ten years ago, when Jude scooped the manuscript of Cleo off a pile and saw a glimmer of possibility in it, she changed my world.

I’m grateful to my agent, Anne Hawkins, for her stalwart support. Thanks, too, to Karen Auerbach, director of publicity at Kensington Publishers. And to the enormous number of people who, when they read about Bono on the Huffington Post , took his plight to their hearts. Their generous words meant a great deal through the bleak days when it looked as if he would never find a home.

Speaking of which, the greatest heroes of this story are Monique and Berry. Their kindheartedness and compassion for a terminally ill animal is an inspiration. This book is my homage to them and all the saints who welcome lost and broken souls into their homes.