Away Again?

Not long after returning from walking the Pembrokeshire coast and we are off again, this time to Northern Ireland. Nigel had booked travel and hotels.

'Um why are we going away again so soon?'

In fact, Northern Ireland is a trip I've been lobbying for for years. Although in our youth this land was all over our TV screens, torn by violence and civil war, this is a moment of comparative peace, an opportunity to enjoy the beautiful landscape, wildlife and history. 

It turned out Nigel had made the arrangements while I was in grief over the death of my mother as a gift to me.

But why now?

The trip will coincide with our 40th wedding anniversary - a chance to celebrate.

So although I feel a bit sheepish about going way on holiday again, I think I'll just say 'Thank you very much, Nigel.'

The Best Medicine

We have felt blue and weary during the weeks surrounding Nigel’s sister’s death.

Fortunately for us, our old friends David and Carolyn did what they could to help.

Months before all this happened, Carolyn had booked a house in the Peak District where we were to meet them for a long weekend.  As the date approached, it seemed unlikely we would make it.

When the date for Sandy’s funeral was set for that Friday, it looked as if our trip was off.

Except that other family members were supporting Nigel’s mother following the funeral, so our presence wasn’t needed after all.

David and Carolyn gave up their Friday to attend the funeral and then went ahead of us to Derbyshire where they had dinner waiting for us when we arrived.  They took us on a long rainy, muddy walk on Saturday.  Then Carolyn and I found a creche in which to leave the menfolk (The Queen’s Head) and raided the charity shops of Bakewell – a form of retail therapy which is both green and socially responsible.

And we talked.  How we talked!

By the end of the weekend we were making silly jokes and laughing again.

That doesn’t mean we are now fine. 

But it was a welcome oasis along the path of bereavement.

Thank you to David and Carolyn for the gift of your friendship.

Some gladness in the goodbye

As I mentioned last week, Nigel’s sister Sandy died.

She had suffered for many years from anorexia and died well short of the years she might have expected.  Undeniably this has been very sad,

However, this week we have found so much in her life to be grateful for.

The reason has been the funeral.

People get excited about weddings, but to me a funeral is the superior rite of passage:

Paul organised the ceremony around the grave.

Afterwards at the church, Pascoe and Benjy read lessons, Jo and Nigel remembered the amazing things Sandy had achieved in spite of her difficulties.  Perran read praising emails from colleagues in the NHS where Sandra did very effective voluntary work.

Carenza read a letter from a new friend whom Sandra had made in hospital the very day before she died.  Abbi sang a beautiful song anticipating Sandy’s future life in Heaven.

Women from Sandy’s church served the tea afterwards.

Friends and relatives got together and reminisced about Sandy and caught up on family news.

God Himself contributed rainbows throughout the day and especially at the interment.

 

As a churchgoer, I find myself at funerals fairly regularly, especially those of elderly members of the congregation.

It is always a chance to appreciate the life lived, to give thanks and to start the process of healing. 

But the best thing is the intense spirit of goodwill which, for a few hours, glues together a temporary community made of the disparate band of friends and relatives who loved the person who died.

 

 Photo by Andrew Johnson on Unsplash

 

 

A Death in the Family

Sadly Nigel’s sister, Sandy, died last week.

It started with a fall and ended with pneumonia.  Sandy was vulnerable following many years of anorexia.

Nigel and her mother were at Sandy’s bedside at the end as she passed on peacefully.

We are all full of regret that she never completely escaped the warped kingdom of anorexia.

However, her Christian belief and ours is for an afterlife and it pleases us to picture her, (like Pilgrim, in the book by John Bunyan), casting aside her earthly burdens and bounding on eager feet over springy green turf towards her Heavenly Father.

There have also been blessings for those of us left behind - as the email messages and cards roll in we see how many friends and supporters she had and how many people valued her voluntary work for the Royal Victoria Infirmary in Newcastle, where she had previously been on the board of governors, putting the patient’s point of view, piloting new projects and writing clear reports.

Fittingly, it was in the RVI to which she had given her time and energy that she died. 

Even with her life limited by severe illness Sandy had achieved so much that was worthwhile and she will be missed by many.

Which we shall try to see as a comfort.

The photo above shows Sandy with her mother when still in her twenties.

The death of a friend

When we downsized to our new house four years ago, Ann and Helen kindly came to help me unpack the kitchen.  We worked hard for several hours and at the end of the day we were all tired.

“I think that’s enough for today,” I said.

But I had reckoned without Ann’s characteristic of being a completer/finisher.  It was one of the things that made her so effective, but at that moment, I could have done without it.

“Let’s just leave it now.”

But she was determined to finish the job.  And because she was tired, a dish slipped from her fingers and got chipped.

The dish was part of a set, so I kept it.  But every time I used it, the chip annoyed me a little.

However, this summer, Ann suffered a terrible horse-riding accident, and after three weeks in a coma, she died.

She leaves a great gap in all our lives and when her funeral took place, four hundred and fifty people arrived from all over the country to pay tribute to the extraordinary person she was.

It has been too hard to write about, but suffice it to say, that chipped dish is now the most precious one in my house.

The Very Last Gift

My friend Carole Heselton writes:

“Perhaps the death of a parent is the last gift they give us.  It’s a chance to reflect on what we ourselves have become and to see the life of our parent led in its entirety, rather than a work in progress.”

Years ago, I heard the advice of the mystic John O’ Donohue that we must grow to know our own death and to befriend it, but I did not quite know what he meant.

Over the last ten days, my father-in-law Maurice has died slowly and comparatively peacefully after a long illness.  There has been time for his children and grandchildren to travel to his bedside and say farewell. 

There is deep sorrow for his parting, but gladness at an end to his suffering.

For a long time, as he was incapacitated by Parkinson’s disease, his successful career and his energetic charity work have seemed to lie in the unreachable past.

However, now is the time to get all these accomplishments out and admire them once more.

But at this time of stock-taking, I can see that Maurice’s greatest achievement is not his deeds in themselves, but that there are people who will want to recall them – people who loved him while he was alive and will miss him now he is gone.

In seeing this, it helps me to know more of the kind of death I would wish for myself and should work towards.

Thank you Maurice.